Then there were good-morning texts and breakfast orders, walks through the school halls and side-by-side lunches, study groups and movie nights, bike rides to parties and trying things for the first time together, always together. Fervent roll-arounds in the back of his car, in the pool house, on the beach. First times for everything, for touches and kisses and explosions that, in the beginning, were like tidal waves and then gradually crested into security and comfort. Simple directions like “I like that” and “Over there”and “Yes” and the secret admissions thatwe are the lucky onesandhow horrible to do this with someone you don’t know, someone you can’t speak openly withandI will never love someone like I love you.
And yet now I know that all of those moments—every single one—happened because Ethan lied. My stomach ties itself in knots, a ball of rage forming in my chest. Ethan didn’t have the right to do this. To steal from me. Because that’s what he did. He took my autonomy. My freedom. He made something happentome instead of letting me figure things out on my own. And that is unforgivable.
Frankie
I jolt awake, my brow sweaty and the covers twisted around my legs. I blink my eyes open, and my chest rises and falls so fast, like I was having a nightmare. But I can’t remember anything, only the claustrophobic sensation that the ceiling had been dropping lower and lower until it was directly over my nose, like it was about to smush me down into the bed. Thankfully, the ceiling is where it should be, and I’m relieved to find it was just a dream.
I roll over onto my side, and outside the window, the sky is such a dark blue, it’s almost black. I curl my fists under my chin, ball the covers up close to my neck. But I’m wide-awake. It’s no use pretending sleep is only a few breaths away.
That’s when I see it. Something nudged under my door, a slip of paper. Curiosity grabs me, and I sit up in bed, slide out of the covers, and tiptoe to where it pokes out from beneath a stripe of light. I kneel down on my shins and reach for the paper, folded into quarters. When I open it, I see a drawing of a heart, sliced into three equal pieces.
Millie.
My heart rate picks up, and I stand, resting my hand on the doorknob until I twist it slowly so it won’t make too much noise. Millie’s room is across the hall, and I don’t even knock, just inchopen her door until I can fold myself inside her room and shut the door behind me. She forms a lump in her bed, turned the other way so I can’t see her face.
“Mill?” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
“Frankie?” She sits up, revealing dark half-moons underneath her eyes, like she hasn’t slept at all since we all went to bed hours ago.
“I saw your note,” I say. “You could have woken me up.” Within a few steps, I’m at her bed, and she scoots over so I can climb in beside her. My room is all striped curtains and mismatching sheets, balls of worn clothes and lone socks without their partners, and Lucy’s is hotel white except for the color-coding system she employs for her clothes, which hang in her closet, all facing the same direction. Millie prefers soft and cozy pastel throws, fuzzy everything, like the stuff inside her four walls is made of clouds. Tonight her bed is made with lilac sheets and a matching duvet, embroidered with small flowers at its scalloped edges.
And yet, despite the differences, Millie’s room smells like mine, our shampoo and curl cream the same. The Gold-girl scent wafting under doors, embedding itself in everything we own.
“I saw something,” she says.
“What?” I lick my lips, inch closer to her.
“Trevor,” she says slowly. Millie glances at me sideways but stays lying on her back, won’t face me head-on. “I saw him kiss Erica.”
I inhale sharply, my heart launching into my throat.
“Behind the kayak stands over on Birch Street. They werekissing, and then she said something, and he got furious and ran away from her.”
I try to keep my face still, but Millie sees through me immediately. “What? Why do you have that look on your face?”
“Remember how I said Erica took that photo I showed you?”
Millie nods, her eyes growing wider, like she’s putting puzzle pieces together.
“I found something else in her bag when I borrowed that camera.”
“What?” Millie whispers.
“A sonogram,” I say, and then, without stopping myself, I say the words I’ve been holding in for weeks: “She’s pregnant.”
“No,” Millie whispers, her voice warbling. “Trevor’s going to be a father?”
“He never mentioned anything?”
“Never.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and press my head against her pillow. I don’t know what I would do if I learned Alex kept something like that from me. We tell each othereverything. Or at least, we used to, because, I have to remind myself, I never told him about this.
“Does Lucy know?” Millie asks.
I shake my head no.
“She’s going to lose her mind.”
