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“She was crying. I know.” Jase groans. “And you always want everyone to be happy, and I love that about you, Pixie, but we’re talking about Lia here. She wouldn’t even tell me the truth if I asked her.”

I flinch.

“You can’t know that,” Zoe replies.

“Yes, I do. I know my sister. We’re not like you and Caleb. Our relationship doesn’t work that way. We can’t just talk to each other.”

“You’re not even trying.”

Zoe is pretty persistent, I have to give her that. But Jase is one of the most stubborn people I know. He won’t give in. Not even for her. Not now anyway.

“Tell me why I should make an effort if she doesn’t bother? No, don’t say it: I should do it because she’s my sister.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Zoe says sulkily, but even I can tell that’s exactly what she was about to say. Jase laughs, and the sound is so unfamiliar to me that something tightens in my chest.

“Of course not, Pixie.” His voice softens. The way he says her nickname reveals more about how he feels about her than anything he could say in words. “Can we stop talking about Lia now before class is over and we have to move on to theater history?”

“Fine by me,” Zoe says and then lets out a little shriek, followed by a breathless giggle.

My feet start moving on their own. I’ve heard more than enough. Way too much, actually.

* * *

It’s late. I’m lying in my bed trying to sleep, trying to escape the thoughts in my head. I’ve written down everything that happened. How Phoenix kissed me and then left me standing there. How wrong it felt not to follow him and ask him why he just ran away. Even though I know the reason.

This job is really important to me, and I can’t risk getting fired.

I just don’t understand why he needs this job so much. Not that he needs a reason—after all, he makes a living by teaching here. But then I remember how he danced and that he’s too good not to be on stage. There has to be more to it than just the money; it’s got to be a bigger reason. I just need to find out what it is.

I must know.

Before I can think about what a terrible idea it is, I slide out of bed, get dressed, and finally reach for both my phone and his. He didn’t come to get it, so I guess I’ll have to bring it to him. Not that I couldn’t do it tomorrow before class. But no, if I want to sleep peacefully tonight, even for a second, it has to be now.

I leave my room and sneak through the dorm. It’s completely quiet; most people are already in bed.

You should be too.

I ignore the voice in my head and step outside. The air is cool, the sun having set hours ago. It’s windy, and the leaves on the trees rustle quietly as I walk across campus and order an Uber. I remember Phoenix’s address, as if it were only four hours ago and not four months ago that I was at his apartment for the first and last time. The route is burned into my memory. I probably couldn’t forget it if I tried.

It’s like a part of me was preparing to return to him at some point from the very beginning.

Interlude

Ophelia

July 3, 3:07 AM

“You look tired,” I whisper with a smile. It’s crazy, I don’t think I’ve smiled as much in years as I have tonight.

“Hmm?” Phoenix says sleepily, which could mean anything or nothing. He blinks, and it takes a few seconds for his gaze to focus on me. “I’m awake. Wide awake.”

“You almost fell asleep.” I brush the hair off his forehead. It’s already dry, while mine is still damp and sticking to my bare back.

We were outside in the rain for a long time, holding on to each other. We kissed over and over again, not saying a word while it rained on us. If an annoyed driver hadn’t honked at us at some point, we probably would have stayed on the street forever.

Dancing out there in the rain felt like our own little infinity.

Once we were inside, Phoenix pulled me into the walk-in shower in the tiny bathroom across from his bedroom. It was so small that we flooded the entire room. We did it in the shower and again in his bed, which smelled like both of us afterward. I liked the idea of that far too much. Then we just lay next to each other, his fingers tangled in my hair, and we talked. About everything and nothing. About too many secrets but never about anything that would help us find each other again. He didn’t ask me why I was going to London or if I was ever coming back. Instead, he told me about New York and how he had moved back to Boston just a few weeks earlier and how weird it felt to be back here.