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My shoulders slump, and my eyelids flick open before I unzip the duffle bag next to me. Then I reach into the side pocket, pull out the metallic pink two-prong spinner, and begin to spin, allowing the sound of the spinner to ground me as I search for a way to respond.

How do I even begin to answer this? Imagine being away in treatment for three months and coming back to find out yourbest friend is dead and that she committed suicide because of your brother. That’s been my reality for the last three years.

I love my brother. He’s been my rock and protector since the day I was born. I smirk, remembering the story of how, at the age of two, he banged on the bathroom door, demanding my mother come out of the shower because I was crying.

“How long will he continue to deny that he blamed Farrah for my relapse?” I finally say, watching the rearview mirror for their reaction.

My mother’s blush-stained lips thin, her hazel eyes narrowing before she sings the same tune. “Callum would never do that,” she argues.

Shaking my head, I turn, looking back out the window as we turn onto Main Street. “That’s not what her note said,” I mutter low enough for only my ears.

She left… she left, and her brother made her. He said I was so toxic that I was snuffing out her light. His words broke me.

I lift my hand, quickly swiping away the lone tear rolling down my cheek.

“Eva Rose,” Dad admonishes, his thick Welsh accent more prominent as he draws out the pronunciation of my name. “Your brother knew how much Farrah meant to you. Can you honestly tell me that you think he would blame her for your return to Bay View Spa?”

Bay ViewSpa.

I fight a snort. Bay View is where the wealthiest people send their children when they need help with their mental health. God forbid they call it what it is. Seeking treatment already has such a stigma. One would think?—

“Are you listening?” my mother asks.

I’m met with her worried stare when I glance in her direction. “No… yes… I don’t know,” I confess.

Two days before I was supposed to leave for school, a text from an unknown number sent a copy of Farrah’s note. When I confronted Callum, he claimed he had never spoken to Farrah while I was away.

Flicking my fidget spinner, I watch the colors blur together, remembering the argument from that day.

“It’s right here, Callum. Why would someone send this claiming it was you if it isn’t true?” I shout, thrusting my arm out to show him the picture on my phone.

Callum studies the image, his eyebrows scrunching as his mouth curls into a deep frown. “I didn’t see Farrah at all after you left, Evie. And even if I had, I would, one—” He holds up his finger. “—never blame her for you needing additional support, and two, never tell her to leave you alone. She means too much to you, and she’s family. I watched her grow up. How… no, why would I do something like that to someone I saw as a sister?”

My brother’s light brown eyes peer into mine.

“Why would I get in the way of your happiness?” he challenges. “Farrah was one of the only sources of your happiness at the time—I wouldn’t do that to you, Evie.”

I desperately want to believe him, but doubt swirls through me, battering against the wall, encasing my faith in my brother.

“How do I know who to believe?” I inquire. “How do I argue with the last words of someone who’s lost their battle? A person who, in the final moments of their life, chose to penthatmessage?”

The car comes to a stop in front of Pierce Residence Hall. My parents had all my things delivered ahead of my arrival, so I only have to worry about the two bags next to me.

Twisting in her seat, my mother says, “Only you can answer that, Eva, because only you can weigh what you see as truth.”

“Truth is subjective,” I retort. “All facts are truths, but not all truths are facts. What I could believe because of my experiences, someone else can’t because of theirs.”

My mother nods her understanding. She’ll never dismiss our feelings.‘Feel your feelings, Eva Rose. Don’t bottle them up inside, or they’ll tether you to your past, imprisoning you to what ifs or wish I hads, instead of, now I will.’

Her voice is so strong in my head, but I can’t move forward. Whether Callum did or didn’t play a role in Farrah’s decision, I unequivocally did. Why should I get to move on when she’ll forever be sixteen?

Grabbing my aviator shades, I slip them on my face and step out into the sweltering Texas heat. I shove my fidget spinner into my lilac shorts as I peer up at the place I will call home for the year.

Groveton College wasn’t my first choice, even though my family has several Pierces who have graduated from here. This is my safety school. I hoped to get accepted to one of the Ivy League universities, but every single one I applied to rejected me. Between my perfect SAT and ACT scores, being the valedictorian at Edgewood Academy, my volleyball acumen, and being a legacy, I should’ve been a shoo-in. Yale would’ve been an easy in, but there’s no chance in hell I would go there and be under my mother’s watchful eyes.

It’s my karma. I don’t deserve any happiness.

The Jacobis have a long history at this college, and the fact that I’m here is a slap in the face to Farrah’s memory. This was her dream school. She wanted to attend school with her brothers.