"What's going on?" he demands, close now. "Why are you here? Why are you in Miami instead of New York?"
I quicken my pace, eyes locked on the glowing EXIT sign ahead.
"Did you really transfer to my school—in Ridgewater U? When did that happen?"
His questions hit like rapid fire, every word tugging at a thread I refuse to unravel.
I don't answer. Not one.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"And why would I tell you?" I snap before I can stop myself.
He halts mid-stride, his head jerking back like I'd just slapped him.
A scoff tumbles out, sharp and disbelieving, and he throws his hands out in this helpless, exaggerated gesture. "Uh, well, I don't know." His voice pitches higher, incredulous. "Because we're friends?"
We're outside now. The night air is thick with cigarette smoke from a group of guys loitering by the curb, their laughter cutting through the haze. Cars whiz past on the street, headlights flashing, horns blaring.
Across the way, a club door swings open, dumping bass-heavy music onto the sidewalk every time someone stumbles in or out.
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts and shake my head, forcing my gaze down to the cracked concrete. God. Why did I even open my mouth in the first place? Stupid. Should've kept walking. Should've kept my lips sealed.
Behind me, I hear him exhale, long and harsh, like he's been holding his breath for years and just realized it.
"Come on, Sugarplum," he says, softer now, almost pleading. "Talk to me. Please."
The nickname slices right through me. My spine stiffens, rage flaring hot and immediate. "Don't call me that," I hiss.
"Why not?" His voice catches, confused, almost boyish.
I don't answer. Can't.
My throat is locked up tight. Instead, I glance down at my phone, thumb swiping desperately at the Uber screen. Six minutes. Six freaking minutes. Only a minute's gone by? Are you kidding me? It feels like hours.
"Please, Caroline," he tries again, his voice breaking around the edges now. Sad. Desperate. "Please, just... tell me what I did. What did I do to make you hate me like this?"
The words slam into me, splintering through the armor I've been dragging around since the second I saw his face again.
Hate? God, if only it were that simple.
"And I need answers. Ideserveanswers," he continues, stumbling forward a step like he's scared I'll vanish if he doesn't close the gap. His hand drags through his hair, his jaw clenching, unclenching.
"Why did you change our plans without telling me? We were supposed to go to Ridgewater together. That was the plan since we were kids." His eyes are blazing now, frantic.
"Why did you cut me off so easily like our friendship doesn't mean anything? And why...why did you leave without saying goodbye?"
My chest is a cage of rattling bones, my heart hammering against it so hard it hurts.
I keep my face angled away, refusing to give him what he wants. Refusing to let him see the storm clawing at my insides.
But he doesn't let up.
"Damn it, look at me!" His voice cracks, sharp, strained, like every word is scraping his throat raw.
He steps closer, crowding me in the glow of a flickering streetlight, his fists clenched at his sides, then flexing open again, like he doesn't know what to do with his hands.
"For three years I've been asking myself what the hell happened. What went wrong. What I did to lose my best friend."
