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Talking about Parents’ Weekend feels like a minefield, so I just give a brief smile and then together, we get me and my things into my room. I point out as many buildings as I can along the way, but I can see they’re eager to get back home,so I let them go with hugs goodbye and collapse onto my bed, pulling out my phone.

There are about fifty messages from Claire, begging for updates. In the middle of them is a photo of her and Lowen, both of them cheesing for the camera with their cheeks pressed together. Lowen is extremely cute—their curly brown hair frames a face with dimples big enough for their own zip code—and beneath them, Claire has textedYou can have this too!

With your own person,she added underneath, making me snort.

Even in the best-case scenario, I don’t think I’ll be getting Salem to smile hugely for any cameras, but it does look nice.Stop bullying me,I text Claire back.I just got back.

She replies with laugh-cry emojis, followed by some big eyes, and I groan and tuck my phone under my pillows, then rest my head atop them and close my eyes.

A minute later, I hear footsteps through the ceiling.

He’s there. One floor above me. All I have to do is drag this stupid boot up one flight of stairs.

I can’t.

I try to go to my happy place, reflecting on some of my best poker hands, but once again, Claire gets in my head.Why are you so good at gambling when it comes to everything but your own happiness?

Fuck it. I’ve worked too hard at becoming a badass to stop going for what I want now.

Embracing my newfound courage for as long as it lasts, I retrieve my phone and tap out a new message.

Evie

In the interest of honesty, I need to admit something.

I am kind of head-over-ass for your brother.

And I’m going to tell him.

I’m sorry.

Please don’t hate me.

Then I toss my phone to the side, take a deep breath, and hobble upstairs.

My heart is pounding so heavily that I can’t even hear the sound of my fist knocking on Salem’s door. For all I know, it’s silent. Except then, the door opens, and Salem is standing there, and my first thought on seeing him and the flannel pants hanging off his hips and his mess of midnight hair isI cannot believe I ever thought there was anything about this boy that needed fixing.

“Evie, hey, you’re back. And booted! That seems promising.” When I don’t respond, don’t—can’t—even smile, his face grows serious. “Everything okay?”

I shake my head, and he steps aside to let me in, then closes the door behind me. My eyes sweep the room, not just looking to confirm Matt’s out (he is) but to drink it all in. So many of my memories of this first semester at Camden arewrapped up in this room, and if this all goes to hell and I’m not welcome back here, I want to at least know that my last time is my last time.

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” he says as he sits in his desk chair, rolling back and forth across the linoleum. “Are you leaving? Don’t tell me you’re leaving.”

It’s something to cling to, so I do, wrapping myself in it as I take a seat on his bed so I can elevate my ankle. In an ideal world, I’d have a quicker escape route if I need it, but nothing about this is ideal. “Would you be upset if I was?”

He furrows those dark brows. “Is that a trick question? We’ve been over this. I know I’m an asshole, but yes, Evie, if you need to hear me say it, wearefriends. Happy now?”

“Even though I ruined your relationship with Jenna?”

“Youdidn’t ruin my relationship with Jenna, if you can even call it that,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Nothing about that was your fault.”

“Well, it’s my fault if she was picking up… feelings.” I take a deep breath, steeling all my nerves. “Because I think I have them. For you, I mean. And I don’t just think; I don’t know why I said that.” I shake my head, trying to get out a little of the panic. “I’m a mess, I know, and this is probably not the kind of thing you want to hear from me, but I feel like Imissyou and maybe I’ve been missing you a little bit ever since you took your arm off my shoulders at the movie that first Friday, like I’ve just been waiting for you to put it back. And instead you went to Jenna, and I get it—obviouslyI get it, she’sJenna,and I’m me, and clearly she realized this before I did, but—”

“Evie.” He braces his hands on his thighs, those long fingers fidgeting against the soft fabric. “Stop. Breathe. And hear me when I tell you that Jenna picking up vibes isn’t your fault either.”

“What do you mean?”

I’ve been avoiding direct eye contact, but his gaze locks on mine, as stormy and serious as I’ve ever seen it, and I can’t look away. “I know how to do my own damn laundry.”