This makes me feel about 5 percent better.

And then the answer hits me.

I gasp and grab my laptop. “Of course. I’m so stupid sometimes.”

“What?” Sadie peers over my shoulder.

“The internet. Ty could have posted about homecoming.”

I don’t spend any real time on social media, but I do have an account for most things. I log in to one of them. I go to Ty’s page. It’s flooded with posts from other people, messages like We miss you, Ty and Why’d you have to leave us so soon? and We won’t forget you.

We really should close this down, I think. I can’t put my finger on why it bothers me, the idea of Ty’s internet presence still being active when Ty himself is not. But it bothers me.

“When was homecoming, again?” Sadie asks. “September? I never go to the stupid dances.”

“October.” I scroll down to the bottom, press OLDER POSTS, then scroll to the bottom again, back and back through his timeline until I get to October.

And suddenly, just like that, there it is. A picture of Ty and his date at homecoming. He’s standing behind her in front of a blue satin backdrop, his hands on the waist of her gossamer pink gown, smiling wide. She’s turning her head, looking up at him, her mouth slightly open like the camera has caught her in a laugh.

I wonder if she noticed the makeup.

Her hair is long and blond, like I remember, and I can’t tell the color of her eyes from this angle. But I recognize her instantly.

She must have cut her hair. She must have dyed it.

Because I know the girl in the picture. I drag the mouse over her face, and her name pops up. He tagged her.

Ashley Davenport.

The letter belongs to the cheerleader after all.

16 February

The first time Ty ever liked a girl, at least that I was aware of, he was 8 years old. He came home from school one day and announced that he was going to marry Melissa Meyers, a girl in his second-grade class. Because she was pretty, he said. And because she was “the nicest.” Apparently, he’d proposed at recess, and she’d accepted. So it was a done deal.

My parents, ever the sensitive types, burst out laughing when he told them.

“Did you kiss her yet?” Dad inquired between chuckles.

“Ew, no, gross,” Ty replied. “Girls have germs.”

This answer only made Mom and Dad laugh harder, and Ty caught on that he was the butt of some kind of joke. He reddened and scowled, then skulked off to his room to contemplate his undying love for Melissa in private.

That was the first time that Ty ever volunteered information about his love life to the family. It was also the last.

I remember the incident well, because at the time my 10-year-old self had a crush on one of the McIntyre boys: Seth, who was 2 years older than me and kind of a tough kid, always getting in fights at school, but to me was, as Ty phrased it, “the nicest.” I saw what happened to my brother and took a mental note never to tell my parents about my romantic experiences, either.

Not that there would have been a lot for me to report. I didn’t exactly brag about my little encounter with Nate Dillinger.

I used to tease Ty about girls, not excessively, but enough. It was my sisterly duty, I thought. “Nice cologne,” I might have said occasionally. “Trying to impress a girl?” “Who are you texting?” I’d ask if I caught him checking his phone. “A girl?” “Was that your girlfriend?” I’d prod if he smiled at a girl as we were walking into school together. “What’s her name?”

He typically had a two-part response:

1. No.

2. Shut up.

But I only teased him because I knew there was nothing serious to tease him about, and he knew that. When he said his “No, shut up” line, he always wore a wry smile, because he knew it was a game we were playing, the big-sister-harasses-little-brother game.

It was different with Ashley. That night before homecoming, when he admitted that he liked this girl, he really liked her, I didn’t joke, because I sensed that it was serious. I didn’t push to find out the details: Did she go to our school? Was she a sophomore too? Did they have classes together? What kind of person was she? What was it that he liked about her? Had he kissed her yet?

He would have hated it if I’d asked whether or not he’d kissed her.

He’d tell me about her when he was ready to tell me about her, I thought. In his own time.

I didn’t pressure him, didn’t tease, but I watched him. I noticed things. Like how all through October and November he was on his cell a lot, and his voice when he spoke into the phone was softer and sweeter than I’d ever heard him talk. He started wearing his cologne every day, and shaved even though he didn’t really need to, and spent more time in the mornings styling his hair. He walked with his chest out. He whistled as he came up the driveway. He even seemed more relaxed during our dinners with Dad.

I was glad for him. It was nice to see him smile when he saw her name come up on his phone.

I didn’t think about the fact that he was 16 and so the happy part wouldn’t last.

I didn’t think about the fallout.

I don’t know what day it ended exactly. I became aware of it the first week of December, when Ty got into a fight at school with one of his jock friends. He didn’t give us the specifics, but the way the principal described it to my mom, Ty threw the first punch. He was only suspended for a day, on account of the fact that it was his first offense, but I noticed a subtle shift in the way people were acting around him at school after that. Like he was on suspension from the cool club, too, maybe not permanently, but for now. And Ty was trying his best to act like he couldn’t care less.