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“I’ve been thinking about it since the rink.” She shoves her phone back in her pocket. “If I block him, he knows somebody told me, and there’s only one person who could have told me. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I don’t know what he’s doing to you, but I don’t want to make it worse.”

I don’t say anything for a second. “That’s not your problem.”

“Well, it’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“It’s mine.”

“I just don’t want to hand him a reason to—” She stops. “What does he even want? Actually. What’s the end of it?”

“My position. So he’s finding ways to get me to hit him in front of people, so everybody thinks I have a problem.”

She stares at the ground for a moment, then she whispers, “Holy shit. And you did it. You fell right into his trap.”

I clench my jaw.

“I don’t know if it helps,” she says, “but I told him we’re not friends. So maybe he’ll lose interest in me.”

Not good enough. “You should block him.”

She breathes out and looks at her shoes. “I’m sorry I bothered you. It’s late, and I showed up at your door with my entire friend group and cried in front of you again.”

“You didn’t bother me. I was doing homework.”

“Oh, so I saved you.”

“Basically.”

She laughs, actually laughs, through the tears, surprised. Then she wipes under her eyes one more time and pushes off the wall. “Thank you, Nash.” She looks up at me. “You could’ve told me to fuck off.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

She chuckles. “That’s true.”

The hallway is empty when we come back through the door, and we walk down it side by side. It’s awkward. I never liked this girl, and she’s hated my guts. She stops at her door, and I stop at mine, eight feet apart, and we both stand there with our hands on our own doorknobs.

“Night,” she says.

“Night.”

We go in at the same time.

Rafe is against the wall with his arms crossed. Koda is sideways on my bed with his feet hanging off, eating my pretzels.

“Well,” says Rafe.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Get off my bed,” I tell Koda, and sit down at my desk with my hand over my face.

“Start at the kitchen,” Rafe says.

I glare at Rafe.

“Better start talking,” he demands.

I start with Greeley’s phone in my face, the number, four minutes, sad girls are easy, and then the part I haven’t told anybody. I’m going to take everything you have. The spot. The line. Waleska, because he’s going to get tired of losing games for you.