Lola’s arms hold me tight.
“I’ll wait for you,” she murmurs. “Even if he doesn’t.”
I don’t let go.
Not yet.
Not while she’s the only thing keeping me standing.
“You think he hates me,” I whisper into her shoulder.
“No.” Her answer comes fast, certain. “I think he’s terrified.”
“Of what?”
“That you’ll come back someone else. That you’ll come back just like him.”
The words hit like a blow because they’re true.
Iamchanging.
I can feel it happening like a slow leak under my skin.
The girl who kissed him under the stars is already fading, dissolving, hardening.
“I’m scared, Lo.”
“I know.”
“I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I feel like my body’s here but the rest of me’s already gone.”
She presses her cheek against my hair. “Then hold on to the part that still loves him.”
My breath stutters. “I don’t know how.”
“Start small,” she murmurs. “Pack his hoodie. Write his name in your journal. Say goodbye to him like he didn’t.”
Something brittle snaps inside me. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t.” Her hands tighten around my arms. “SayI love you.Saycome back.Sayyou ruined me and I still fucking miss you.Just say something.”
We pull apart slowly.
Her eyes are red.
Mine are worse.
We’re just two broken girls pretending we’re ready for war.
“Don’t die,” I whisper.
“You either.”
She bends, picks up the small plushie from my bag — the stupid jellybean with legs he won me at the fair, the one he shoved at me with a crooked grin like he wasn’t falling.
Lola smirks through her tears. “He’d want you to take this.”
I stare at it — at the memory sewn into its seams.
