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“I wanted to talk to you about it,” she continues, “but thefight we had was… a lot. I wasn’t ready to talk yet, and you weren’t ready to talk yet, and then the days just got away and I spent the summer at my grandma’s, and then you were gone. It feels like you disappeared really, really fast.”

“Funny,” I mutter, staring down at my stubby nails, “because it feels to me like I’ve been disappearing very, very slowly.”

“Does this guy see you? Your hot friend?”

“I didn’t say he was hot.”

“He is, though, right? I mean, if you’ve got a thing for him.”

I’ve been trying very, very hard not to think of him that way, not to think about his long fingers strumming the guitar, or the stormy gray eyes that crinkle so surprisingly when I get a rare smile, or the way his biceps ripple when he takes a shot. If I think too much about how badly I want to press my thumb into his slightly pouty lower lip, or curl into his long, lean body every time we’re sitting on the same bed, I’m afraid I’ll just… do it. “Some might say so” is all I’m willing to give.

“Uh-huh. So, does he? See you?”

I think back to the talent show, not the during but the after, when he came knocking on my door to make sure I was all right. To the very fact that he knew I wasn’t. “He does.”

“Good. You deserve a guy who does. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Noted. Thank you,” I add softly. “And you? Anyone new in your life I should know about?”

There’s a pause, and I jump on it immediately. “Oh my God, thereis.Do I know him? Or her? Or them?”

“Them,” she says shyly, and I can’t help squealing into thephone because I haveneverheard Claire express interest in anyone in the entirety of our friendship. “And you arenotto make a big deal out of this.”

“Are you kidding? I have talked your ear off about boys for years, and nowyouhave a person, and I must know everything. Do they go to Greentree?”

“Their name is Lowen and they go to my art camp. We’ve been hanging out the last few weeks. They’re, uh, also ace, which is nice.”

“That is nice,” I say, smiling into the phone as I settle back into the pillows. Guess Claire’s figured out a lot in my absence, and it’s not lost on me that she’s actively choosing to share it with me now. “Maybe I’ll get to meet them when I come home for Thanksgiving?”

“That’d be cool,” she says. “I have to run—my mom’s been calling me down to dinner for like five minutes already, but send me a picture of the guy. I’ll tell you whether it’s worth it.”

“Deal. Talk soon?”

“Hell yeah.”

We hang up, and I dig through my photos until I find one from my Bad Girl Day, a photo of Salem doing a model pose with his hand on his chin. At the time I thought it was funny in an absurd way, his silly photo shoot following mine, but now that I look at it closely, I… can’t stop looking at it.

Crap.

I send it to Claire, and I’m not even surprised when the reply comes less than a minute later.

Claire

Oh my god?

My mom says to call him rtfn.

I sigh and bury my face in my pillow. I am so screwed.

After two days of being closely monitored for worsening concussion symptoms, I check out of the infirmary during lunch, painkillered and booted up with Salem at my side to carry my bag. It’s so difficult to ignore the boyfriendy feelings I get from having him pick me up, tote my stuff, and give me his arm as necessary, but he’s just joking around as always, even as he helps me pack. My brain keeps filling with words, but they won’t leave my tongue.

My dad’s coming to pick me up in an hour so my parents can bring me to an orthopedist for a second opinion and give me a day at home to get more used to my crutches before I have to start hobbling around campus. I’m praying the time apart will also function as a much-needed mental refresh so I can remind myself that Salem and I are strictly friends.

Now I just need to stop imagining Salem and Jenna getting back together while I’m gone.

Or another girl swooping in.

Or—