To make it easier, he was allowed to take his finals early, in April, so he could leave without the pressure of school hanging over him.
Now he’s spending his days with his grandparents, working out at the gym with Aunt Evelyn—Chris’s younger sister—who he’s very close to. Whenever he video calls me while she’s around, the three of us end up talking for hours. She’s warm and funny, and I can tell how happy she makes him. Together they started yoga and meditation classes.
He’s also learning to cook with his grandmother, and every weekend he goes fishing with his grandfather. He always throws his fish back into the lake, because he says it makes him think of me. When he told me that, we were on video call, and his grandmother was peeling an orange for him.
His grandparents’ home’s beautiful—a two-story house in the countryside, surrounded by green fields, with three dogs, two cats, and a rabbit pen. It’s the perfect place for him to heal. The Coopers are the kindest, most loving people I’ve ever met.
Someday, I want to live in a house like that too—with a big garden, flowers everywhere, and noisy animals filling the air.
I miss Vincent. Nothing feels the same without him. Still, Steven, Aurora, and Max keep me company. Steven and I have grown closer these past weeks. He helped me survive the end of the school year with halfway decent grades and promised to teach me how to drive when I turn sixteen.
Aurora, though... she’s different. Since she got together with Tom in April, she barely sits with us anymore. She doesn’t wear bows in her hair, doesn’t carry her romance novels everywhere, and spends lunch sitting on Tom’s lap, laughing in a way that looks forced. She doesn’t ask me to go to the library with her anymore—now it’s all band practice or parties with him.
I don’t get it. If she wanted to be in love, fine. But whyhim?
I know what it’s like to want to be with someone all the time. I feel that too. But Tom Owens? He’s not worth it.
And through it all, I miss Vincent. We talk every day, but it’s not the same. I miss his hugs, sneaking into the movies together, lying on the lawn and naming shapes in the clouds. I miss his guitar humming me to sleep, the way how he twists my hair around his finger, his endless debates about Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix, his absentminded nose-wrinkling, my legs tossed across his lap during TV marathons. I just... miss him.
The one silver lining: his letters. Every day he sends me one, even though we FaceTime constantly.
Today’s July 5th. If all goes as planned, he’ll be back next month—in time for my birthday.
Still, there’s talk that he might stay in Minnesota until the end of high school. My dad says his parents are considering it since Vincent seems calmer there. I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. Is it selfish to want him here, with me, even if Minnesota is better for him? Maybe. But I also know San Francisco has never been easy for either of us. I want to leave after graduation—and I want him to come with me. Anywhere. We’ll choose together.
For now, I clutch his last letter, dated June 19th.
He’d gone to a small music festival with his aunt that day. He playedYou Give Love A Bad Nameby Bon Jovi on stage, terrified, until Aunt Evelyn joined him and sang to calm him down. Then she playedSeven Wondersand said it was for someone special. He thought she meant me.
Vincent loves music like it’s the blood running through his veins and Evelyn’s fed that fire. Together they bonded over Green Day, Guns N’ Roses, Linkin Park, Quiet Riot, Red Hot Chili Peppers, TOTO—but mostly Nirvana.
There are so many bands Vincent and his aunt Evelyn love, and they’ve been to so many concerts together. Most of thetime, they took me with them. Those nights are stitched into my memory like treasures.
I have a playlist full of Vincent’s favorite songs. I play it often, almost like keeping a part of him with me. And every time he goes to the music store—pretending he’s just browsing while his eyes linger on the guitars—he comes back with a CD for me. That’s why my shelf’s stacked with AC/DC albums, and why I own every Nirvana record ever made.
The very first CD he ever gave me wasRumoursby Fleetwood Mac.
The first time I met Vincent’s aunt, she made us watchSchool of Rock. I thought it was just going to be another funny movie, but then suddenly this song started playing—Edge of Seventeenby Stevie Nicks—and I swear I almost fell off the couch. My eyes went wide, my heart literally started racing, and I remember blurting out, “Oh my God, what song is this?” like I couldn’t breathe until I knew.
Evelyn smiled at me, kind of amused, and told me the title and the singer, and I swear it felt like she had just given me the keys to some secret world. Meanwhile Vincent didn’t even notice—I mean, he was totally into the movie with his aunt, laughing at Jack Black and quoting lines. But me? I couldn’t stop thinking about that song. It felt like something inside me had just... shifted.
And that was it.
From that night on, it was like I’d discovered a new planet. Fleetwood Mac becamemy band. Don’t get me wrong—Christina Aguilera will always be my queen, my forever idol, the top of my heart’s chart—but their music? Their music wasn’t just music—it was like they were singing parts of me I didn’t know how to explain. Stevie’s voice? It felt like it could break me in half and put me back together in the same breath. Lindsey’s guitar made me want to scream and dance at the same time. Andthe way the band was—messy, complicated, dramatic, but still creating something magical.
A year and a half later, Evelyn actually took us to Fleetwood Mac’s concert in Oakland, and I swear I thought I was going to die.
I was thirteen, standing in this massive crowd, the lights everywhere, the bass shaking the ground, and then the band walked on stage and started making music history. My whole body just... stopped. And then I started crying, like full-on tears, because it was too much and too perfect and too big for me to handle. I grabbed Vincent’s hand and held on so tight I probably left marks, but he didn’t complain—he just let me.
Two days later, he showed up at the bus stop holding a copy of the only Fleetwood Mac album he could find at the music shop. He just handed it to me, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me.
That’s Vincent thing. He just... knows what will make you happy before you even do.
Since then, Fleetwood Mac has been more than just a band for me. Their songs are like... little pieces of me.Dreams,Landslide,Rhiannon,The Chain—they’re all carved into my brain, like the soundtrack of who I’m becoming. And the way they sing about love, heartbreak, freedom, and chaos—it makes me believe music can actually save people. Just like Nirvana does for Vincent.
Before he left for Minnesota, he gave meRosesby The Cranberries. After hearingZombie, I wanted more, and of course, he was right: I ended up loving that album. He’s always right about music.
Vincent’s taste is impeccable, but his gift goes beyond that. Music runs in his veins. The way he plays... it’s unreal. He was learningBack in Blackbefore he left, and I still remember the way my skin tingled hearing him play those first notes.
