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Lily and I didn’t talk, barely acknowledging each other for the next class, and I hadn’t been in charge of grading the pretests—but no one mentioned anything about any worrying student scores in our email thread.

“Did she say something about that?”

I don’t go there anymore. The response to my question about Harvard had been so Lily that I didn’t think about it too hard. But now . . .

“No. But she did have a test all marked up in red—I swear it looked like she got one question right. She did say she doesn’t like her English teacher.”

Filing that tidbit away, I only nod. I’ve been somewhat good at feigning disinterest, but it all crumbles when I clear my throat and ask, “Did she get, like, a packet or anything from your professor? In art history?”

I doubt she needs it, but I know how hard it was for her to get that kind of help from some of our asshole teachers at Walden Prep. Her dad stepped in more than once, a handful of times where I’d actually been glad of his existence. But college is different, probably harder. And if she flunked out of Harvard like I now suspect she did . . .

“What do you mean?” he asks, before shrugging. “It’s been two weeks—and they’ve all been lectures.”

Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about. I clear my throat, hating this.

“We know each other,” I say. “Lily and I.”

“No shit,” Holden deadpans. “You gonna tell me how?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Not your business. I just . . .” A breath saws out of me as I clench my hands too hard on the controller, feeling it creak beneath my fingers. “Have you noticed anything with her? Does she . . .” Fuck, why does this feel like a betrayal? “I don’t know . . . have trouble hearing you?”

Holden’s brow furrows—which I know because I’m not even bothering to pretend to play the game now, fully watching his profile to see if I can catch even a micro expression.

“She . . . sometimes, yes.” I blow a breath and he continues, almost defensive of her. “But it’s only when we’ve been outside of class. In class she’s got no issues.”

I nod again. “Let me guess, you sit on her left?”

A deeper furrow to his brow and then, “Hadn’t really thought about it, but . . . yeah. What . . . what’s this about, Toren?”

Part of me wants to blame the one beer I’ve had, to say that’s the reason I’m being so loose-lipped. But I know it’s something else. Something I refuse to acknowledge, the light hidden deep in my chest that never goes out.

“Lily can’t hear out of her right ear. And she doesn’t like wearing her hearing aid.” I flex my shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension there. “Don’t tell her you know that. She’s self-conscious about it, always has been.”

He’s not playing the game anymore, though there are various levels of gunshots and wild sounds like radio frequency still emitting from the TV. Instead, Holden’s body is turned toward me.

“You know her really well.”

A slip of vulnerability catches me again and the words are out before I can stop them.

“Yeah.” I scratch at the back of my neck, beneath my hair where it’s starting to get a little too long. “She was my best friend.”

The confession slips out, too easy sharing with him. I fucking hate it.

Holden looks at me for a long time, eyes wandering over my leather jacket I never bothered removing, across the dark purple long sleeve I’m wearing underneath. His gaze snags on the tattoos that climb my neck. Flowers. Does he know what kind?

“That’s all?”

Stop. Stop it. Don’t reopen these wounds. They’ve barely been closed. Some still aren’t.

“I don’t—” My breath huffs out.

A hand lands on my thigh then, squeezing.

“Hey,” Holden says, a tinge softer now. “I don’t want to push you, okay? But you can talk to me when you’re ready.”

The problem is that I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

But I can’t deny the warm calm that settles over me at his gentle understanding.