We look at each other, panicked.
“Home is a small town in England, but I was in London for a bit before I came here,” William insists.
Analiese makes a humming sound, but luckily, we’re saved by the cashier motioning for us. After she takes our order, William produces two twenties and insists on paying for everyone.
I try very hard not to focus on the way the gesture warms me from the inside out.
We find a table outside and grab extra chairs so everyone fits, metal scraping along the sidewalk as we tuck in. I ask Sabine about her birthday because I know it was back in August, and she tells us about Paris and how her dad had surprised her by flying Inessa out. They’d gone to the top of the Eiffel Tower while her dad hung out below, greeting them with warm chocolate crepes when they reached the bottom.
My gaze drops to my dad’s ring. I twist it out of habit, the pads of my fingers tracing the detailed grooves of stars. A tender place in my heart squeezes. I don’t know when I’ll be able to outrun the memories I’ll never make. The calls I won’t receive, a voice I onceknew no longer on the other end of the line. Loss haunts the hollow cave in my chest. Even when I think I feel full, the emptiness is still there.
“—and I turn eighteen on Halloween, so please take this as your official invitation to celebrate me,” Inessa’s saying, waggling her eyebrows. “Your spookiest queen.”
“Halloween?” William repeats.
“I forgot you don’t really do it up over there,” Sabine cuts in, and I’m relieved for the excuse. “But you’re in the States now, so youhaveto. Costumes mandatory.”
“But itcannotbe basic,” Inessa says. “Creativity is required. That can be your gift to me, Enzo.”
I cut my gaze to Analiese and wish I hadn’t. Her focus is trained on William, and her heavy observant silence tells me all I need to know.
Inessa insists she has something urgent to do, so the rest of us take a lap around Main Street. William buys a nice fleece-lined jacket from a quaint boutique, which he pulls on as we head back to the school.
“You didn’t have to buy the croissants,” I say as I fall into step with him.
“It was my pleasure.” He looks down at me. “And besides, I’ve come across work.”
He’d mentioned a stipend before, but a job? What could he possibly be doing? I desperately want to ask multiple follow-up questions, but not with Analiese in earshot.
Once we’ve scanned back into campus, Analiese gives me a hug and explains she’s headed to the library for a bit. William peels off toward Segner, and when he’s out of sight, Sabine clasps my forearm.
“Okay,” she says, excitement thrumming through her. “Follow me.”
I have to sprint after her as she winds through the commons and up the stairs, where Inessa and a few other senior girls on our floor are huddled together. When they spot us, they hoist the brass trophy in the air.
I gasp. We’ve spent the better part of a month searching for our next win. We checkedeverywhere. I’d even tried to track Sumner’s movements, wondering if a casual flick of an eye would give it away.
“Hidden in an empty book, those sly weasels,” Inessa announces. “We had to distract a few people, but Ingrid’s the one who nabbed it.”
Ingrid, senior captain of the lacrosse team, beams as she places it into my hands. “You should do the honors of hiding it this time.”
I curl my hands around the angled base of the trophy. I’m flattered they thought to do this. A fiery thrill of competitiveness zips up my spine as I rack my brain for ideas.
“We should all agree on a spot,” I say. “Somewhere difficult.”
We decide to stuff it in a cereal box above the fridge in the kitchenette. When we’re done, my phone chimes with an incomingvoice note from Mads, who belts out an extremely dramatic but pitch-perfect happy birthday song. When I try to call her, it goes to voicemail.
“She stepped out with some friends,” my mom explains when I phone her from my room. “I’ve found it’s good for her to get out and socialize.”
She asks how my birthday has been, and I don’t have to lie when I say it’s better than I expected.
But that changes later in the evening when my cramps start. The ache leaves me lightheaded, so I navigate to my bed and focus on breathing. I try hugging my heating pad on the highest setting. I try ibuprofen washed down with large gulps of water. I try distracting myself by binging my favorite early-2000s soapy teen drama. And when my period actually starts at one in the morning, it takes all my energy to make it to the communal bathroom.
The cramps don’t subside. I can’t sleep. I stream one more episode before rolling over to check social media and then, because I’ve exhausted checking everything else, my email.
I don’t expect to find anything new. Maybe a bulletin notice I missed from Mrs.Vidar-Tett highlighting a few community service opportunities. What I do not anticipate is my dad’s name to appear at the top of my inbox.
The night steals my breath. For half a second, my focus isn’t on the searing pain in my stomach. This must be a mistake. Spam—somethingreasonable. But there it is:Daniel Carmichael. Time-stamped October twelfth of this year.
