Just Like Fate

First published in the USA in 2013 by Simon Pulse,

an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

First published in Great Britain in 2014 by Electric Monkey,

an imprint of Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building,

1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2013 Cat Patrick and Suzanne Young

The moral rights of the authors have been asserted

First e-book edition 2014

ISBN 978 1 4052 6807 3

eISBN 978 1 7803 1384 9

www.electricmonkeybooks.co.uk

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Our story began over a centruy ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street. He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

In loving memory of our grandmothers,

Josephine, Lora, and Mary,

who loved us no matter our choices

No trees in sight, just concrete

Still I see

Two roads twist and turn in front of me

No signs, but screams

Which way’s reality?

So you choose; yeah, you choose

Maybe you lose

The sidewalk paved in hitches

Broken hearts not fixed by stitches

But morning’s coming soon

No right in sight, just questions

And you find

There is no map to Mecca

It’s just life

No right answer; perfect marks

It’s no big deal; it’s just your heart

Falling stars and lightning sparks

This will only sting a bit

We are all just

Magnets for fate

Stumbling, skipping, running at our pace

Making choices, losing voices

Making wishes for forgiveness

But morning’s coming soon

And no matter where you sit, how fast you sip

The coffee tastes the same on magnet lips

“Magnets for Fate”

—Electric Freakshow

CONTENTS

Cover

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE STAY

THREE GO

FOUR STAY

FOUR GO

FIVE STAY

FIVE GO

SIX STAY

SIX GO

SEVEN STAY

SEVEN GO

EIGHT STAY

EIGHT GO

NINE STAY

NINE GO

TEN STAY

TEN GO

ELEVEN STAY

ELEVEN GO

TWELVE STAY

TWELVE GO

THIRTEEN STAY

THIRTEEN GO

FOURTEEN STAY

FOURTEEN GO

FIFTEEN STAY

FIFTEEN GO

SIXTEEN STAY

SIXTEEN GO

SEVENTEEN STAY

SEVENTEEN GO

EIGHTEEN STAY

EIGHTEEN GO

NINETEEN STAY

NINETEEN GO

TWENTY STAY

TWENTY GO

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Have you read these books by Cat Patrick?

ONE

There are exactly sixteen minutes left in math class when there’s a faint double knock on the classroom door, and we all perk up. Through the window I can see the office assistant with the frizzy hair standing timidly, like she’s afraid of even herself.

We watch curiously as Mr. Pip lumbers over, wiping his perpetually sweaty forehead as he goes. He opens the door two feet at best, and I almost expect him to ask the woman in the hall for a secret password. She whispers something, then hands over a tiny piece of pink paper. I know that pink: It’s a hall pass.

Someone’s getting out of here early.

“Caroline Cabot, please report to the office,” Mr. Pip says in his nasally voice. At the sound of my name, I drop the piece of strawberry-blond hair I’m twirling and, eyebrows furrowed, look across the aisle at Simone.

“What’d you do now, Linus?” she asks with a twinkle in her dark eyes. The guy one row over wakes up when she speaks. Simone’s like a half Asian Marilyn Monroe with Angelina Jolie lips—guys are constantly checking her out.

“You should talk,” I say, reaching down to grab the backpack stuffed into the basket beneath my seat. “You’re the one with the monogrammed chair in the principal’s office.” Simone’s had detention three times this year already, but as far as the office is concerned, I’m a good girl.

On my way out, I look back at Simone and waggle my phone in her direction. She makes a face to acknowledge that texting me later is obvious just before I slip out of sight.

I think of detouring through the science wing for a glimpse of Joel, but the rule follower in me takes over and I head straight to see the principal. On my way there, I picture Joel and Lauren breaking up—maybe she has a fling with a guy her own age at the community college—and him falling madly in love with me. I laugh at myself as I push through the doors of the main office.

Then I see the look on Principal Jones’s face.

Immediately I feel it: Something’s wrong.

“Caroline,” he says, his deep vibrato at odds with his soft expression. “Your mother called.” He stops, motioning at the chair near the window. “Here, sit.”

My stomach twists. Principal Jones is nothing short of intimidating, and this unprovoked kindness is like a flashing neon sign that reads BRACE YOURSELF. I slowly lower into the chair, even more alarmed when my principal turns to face me.

“Your grandmother’s in the hospital,” he says. “She had a stroke and your mother—”

I don’t hear the rest because I lean forward, my head between my knees like there’s an impending plane crash. My throat seizes, and I make a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper. I was just with my grandmother this morning, rolling my eyes when she told me to put my cereal bowl in the sink. Why did I roll my eyes?

“Is she okay?” I ask, tears coming faster than I can blink them away.

“I’m not clear on the details. But your mom said your brother would be here to pick you up and then—”

“I can’t wait for him.” I stand, pulling my backpack over my shoulders. “Which hospital?” Panic has my heart racing, my skin prickling. Principal Jones is stumbling over his words, but I don’t have time for this. I have to see Gram. “St. Mark’s?” I ask impatiently.

When he nods, I dash out of the office, not stopping even when the assistant calls after me from the front desk. I’m a bundle of fear loosely held together by purpose. As I jog through the empty halls, I take out my phone and text my brother.

DRIVING MYSELF. SEE YOU THERE.

• • •

The hospital is a massive maze, and at the very moment that I wonder how I’m ever going to find Gram, Natalie appears out of nowhere.

“Where’s Teddy?” she says, grabbing my arm from behind like a mugger. My sister’s wearing jeans, a black turtleneck sweater, and her dark-framed glasses. As usual, she looks more forty than almost twenty.

“I drove myself.”

“You were supposed to wait for him,” she snaps.

“Well, I didn’t,” I snap back. It’d be nice if our animosity were a result of the tension of the moment, but unfortunately this is our brand of sisterly love. Teddy is the older sibling who took me to R-rated movies before I turned seventeen; Natalie’s the one who told on me for sneaking out. In a nutshell, she sucks.

“Where are we going?” I ask, looking around.

“Gram’s on the third floor,” Natalie says through permanently pursed lips. “Come on.”

We ride the elevator in silence. When the doors open, my sister walks purposefully down one long corridor, around a corner, and down another. My stomach clenches tighter and tighter with each room we pass. I try not to look at the people inside—to wonder how many of them are dying.

I try not to wonder whether Gram’s dying.

She was already weak from the chemo treatments she finished a few months ago. But she was better. The doctors assured all of us that she was better.

As warm tears run down my cheeks, I’m suddenly twelve years old again. I’m on my grandmother’s front porch with a suitcase, asking if I can live with her. My parents’ divorce is getting uglier by the day, and I don’t want to be their pawn to hurt each other. I’ve opted out. And when Gram agrees, I am struck with relief and gratitude. She’s always been my rock; I can’t lose her.

“Here,” Natalie says, gesturing toward a door open a crack. I nod and take a deep breath of antiseptic air, then follow her in. I can’t help it: I gasp. Seeing Gram in a hospital bed is like a punch in the gut.

“Hi,” I say, desperately trying to keep the despair out of my voice, the tears from my eyes. But when Gram raises a skinny, veiny arm and waves, I can’t hold back. I rush to her bedside, crying the kind of tears that don’t care if they make you look ugly.

“Stop that now, Caroline,” Gram says, reaching out to hold my hand with the arm that’s free from the IV. Her hand is the same one that makes me breakfast, but it feels alien. Cold. Frail. Even worse, her words are coming out funny—slurred somehow. She sounds like she’s drunk. “I’m going to be fine,” she says, but “fine” sounds like “fline.”

“Yes,” I say, knowing if I say more, I’ll start blubbering again. I’m still holding Gram’s hand when Mom walks in with my little sister, Judith.

“Where’s Teddy?” Mom asks when she sees me. Apparently, whether or not my brother is inconvenienced is what’s really important here. The funny thing is that Teddy won’t care—he’s the most laid-back one of all of us.

“She didn’t wait for him,” Natalie mutters to Mom in that annoyingly soft voice she uses when she’s only pretending to be discreet.

“Well, you’re here now,” Mom says, sighing at me.

“Coco!” Judith says, dropping Mom’s hand and rushing toward me. She hugs my leg, and I squeeze her as best I can without letting go of Gram. I run my palm over her baby blond hair and smile.

“Hi, Juju,” I say. “How are you?”

“Mama gived me juice,” she says proudly. At two and a half, she’s all belly and bum; she stands like an adorable troll doll, beaming at me. Then she looks at Gram. “We bringed you juice, too, Gamma!”

Judith runs over and grabs a juice box from Mom’s gigantic purse, then returns to the bedside and tosses it up onto Gram’s lap. Gram beams back at her. “How thoughtful of you,” she says. “Thank you, Judith.”

Julif.

I look away from Gram’s face when I realize that one side is sagging lower than the other. Thankfully, a nurse comes in right then and says he needs to check her vitals.

“Let’s all step out for a minute,” Mom says, giving me a look that tells me I’m coming with her, whether I like it or not. “We’ll go get a snack and be back in a few minutes, Mom.”

“All right, then,” Gram says, releasing my hand. It feels like I’ve just taken off my coat in a blizzard. I want to grab hold again, but the nurse has already moved in with his pushcart full of tools. “See you.”

Sheeu.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and follow Mom, Judith, and Natalie out of the room. Teddy is walking toward us from the elevator, and when he joins our group, he’s the only one on the face of the planet who manages not to give me crap about driving myself. Instead he nudges me with his elbow and whispers, “She’ll be fine, Coco.”

And that makes me cry all over again.

When Judith is preoccupied, hopping from tile to tile in the hallway, my mother talks in a detached voice. “I didn’t want to say this in front of her, but they did a scan.” Natalie’s eyes are round as saucers and Teddy crosses his arms over his chest, listening intently. I feel light-headed.

Mom sighs heavily. “The cancer has spread. It’s throughout her abdomen, her lungs. Her brain.”

“Oh my God.” It’s all I can manage. Natalie reaches for my mother immediately. I look at Teddy as he shakes his head slowly.

“She’s weak from the stroke, and the cancer is everywhere,” Mom continues, letting go of Natalie. “The oncologist says she’s too far gone—that there’s nothing they can do but make her comfortable.” My mother takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. “She doesn’t have long.”

I want to ask specifically how long that means. I want to ask why the chemo worked but then didn’t. I want to ask a million things, but everything stills—even my vocal cords. In that quiet, my thoughts are noisy: I’m losing my confidant. I’m losing my best friend.

“Coco?” Teddy asks, like he said something before but I didn’t hear him. It pulls me out. “Are you okay?” “I don’t know,” I say. My ears are ringing.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asks, nodding to the chairs near the wall.

Natalie huffs, wiping the tears under her glasses. “It’s always about you, isn’t it,” she murmurs.

The anger in my sister’s voice lights a fire in me. I’m so sick of her telling me what to do, acting like I’m some inconvenience to the family. She’s been like this ever since the divorce. I spin toward her, ready to strike back.

Teddy steps in before I tear into her. “Please,” he says to both of us. “I can’t referee right now.” His shoulders are hunched, and I realize that even my always-steady older brother is crumbling too. We fall silent and wait until the nurse leaves before crossing the hall. My mother pauses outside the doorway and turns to face us.

“Not a word about what I told you,” she whispers. She grabs Judith’s hand and walks back inside the room.

TWO

“Come out with me tonight,” Simone says at the beginning of math. It’s been three days since Gram was transferred from the hospital to the hospice facility—three excruciating days of me being forced to attend school when I should be there by Gram’s side.

“You know I can’t,” I say seriously.

“You’ve gone every night this week,” she protests. “You’ve become a slightly unwashed hermit.”

“I still shower.”

“Sure you do.” She smiles, but when I don’t laugh, she sighs. “Linus, I’m sure Gram will be feeling better soon.”

I turn to her. “People don’t get released from hospice,” I say. “They’re giving her drugs to make her comfortable. But she’s still dying.” Too many drugs, I think. So many that half the time, she’s out cold.

“I’m sorry,” she says softer, leaning in toward me because Mr. Pip looks like he’s about to start class. “I’m not trying to sound insensitive. I just don’t really know what to say anymore. No one close to me has ever been sick. You love your gram—hell, I love her too. But it’s like you’re fading away, Caroline. You’re living at your mom’s, sleeping in your weird old penguin bedroom—”

“Not by choice,” I interrupt. “My mom won’t let me stay at my real house. At Gram’s.”

“I know,” Simone says, nodding. “And it sucks. Everything sucks for you right now. That’s my point. Can’t you take one night off ? We’ll do something fun. I hear there’s a party at—”

“No,” I say quickly, but without conviction. Then Mr. Pip gives us a look and we’re forced to be quiet.

My eyes fall to my blank notebook. I feel heavy with guilt, like there’s lead in my veins. Truth be told, I’d give anything to go to a party, no matter where it is. I’d give anything to get away from it all. I’m craving a break from my life. From my grief. From my family.

From Gram.

Because when it comes down to it, waiting for someone to die is like being told a tornado is coming. You press pause on your life and brace yourself—but you don’t know when it will hit, how bad it’ll be. You can prepare all you want, but in the end, you just don’t know.

• • •

When I arrive at the hospice facility after school, Gram is asleep in the bed—but her face is slack, her chest rising and falling slowly. Natalie waits at her side, and she looks up with a weary expression, her hair in a messy knot.

“Where’s Teddy?” I ask.

“He went to grab something to eat. It’s exhausting being here all day.” She says it like it’s my choice to go to school, as if I wouldn’t rather stay here with my grandmother, begging the universe to let me keep her. I pull up a chair on the other side of the bed and try to block out my sister’s existence. It doesn’t work.

“Her vitals were weak this morning,” Natalie murmurs. “They’ve been adjusting her medication.”

“Her vitals were weak two days ago, then they got better.”

“Well, she’s worse now,” Natalie says. “She hasn’t woken up all day, and they don’t know when she will. Mom nearly collapsed and I had to call Albert to take her out for some air. She’s going to need you after this, so don’t pull one of your stunts.”

I scoff. “Stunts? It was five years ago, Natalie. I had every right to move in with Gram.” I lean toward my sister. “And I’m still glad I left. I don’t regret a second of it.” I sit back, feeling sick that Natalie brings out the venom in me.

“Where will you run away to this time?” she asks bitterly. “There’s no one to pick up your pieces anymore.”

I glance sideways at my grandmother’s face, serene in sleep . . . or sedation. “She’s not dead, you know,” I whisper. “So stop acting like she is.” I take Gram’s hand, noting how cool her skin is. I stand and the chair scrapes loudly on the floor. “I’m not going to sit here listening to this,” I tell Natalie. “Have Teddy call me when he gets back.”

I walk away, feeling my sister’s glare on my back. “That’s right, Caroline,” she calls out dramatically. “Run away. Take all the attention for yourself. You’re worse than the two-year-old because you should know better.”

“Drop dead,” I say, and then suddenly wish I could take it back. I turn to my sister, her expression stunned and hurt, but it’s too late to apologize. Instead I can only lower my eyes.

“Love you, Gram,” I tell my grandmother, hoping she can hear me. And then I leave, planning to come back when Teddy does. Just as I get into the hallway, the sunlight outside the window fades behind a cloud, making it seem suddenly dark. It’s eerie even though I’m safe. My phone rings, startling me. I glance at the caller ID and take a deep breath.

“Hey,” I say into the line.

“Well?” Simone asks. “Are you coming with me or do I have to kidnap you? Please tell me it’s the first option, because I’m running low on chloroform.” She launches into a description of the party, who will be there, and what her outfit options are.

“It’s not a good time, Mony,” I say, interrupting her. “My sister is a rag and my mother is having a breakdown. I swear to God if Teddy falls apart, I might just lose it completely.”

“Maybe you need some space from your family.” She says it as if she actually believes the words and isn’t just trying to bend me to her will. “One night off. Come on, Linus. Don’t make me forge important high school memories alone.”

I smile, thinking it over. A party—a college party—sounds like a truly good time, the sort of good time we’ll talk about for the rest of the year. Then again, these moments with my grandmother could be the last I have.

“So . . .” Simone says, waiting for my decision. “Are you going to spend the evening with me and distinguished alumni, or are you going to argue with your sister all night?”

It might be my imagination, but the hallway seems to darken even more. No one is around, and for one moment everything is quiet. And then I sigh.

“Simone,” I start, my decision made. “I’m going to—”

THREE

STAY

“— stay.”

Simone’s quiet; I know she doesn’t understand. She’s never experienced anything like what I’m going through. I think of reconsidering—it’s just one night—but once the decision’s made, my shoulders loosen. Even though Gram seems the same, and as much as I don’t want to be anywhere near Natalie, there’s no way I’m leaving tonight.

“Fine,” Simone says. “But don’t come crying to me, Argentina, when you’re the only one without a superhot college boyfriend tomorrow.”

“Promise,” I say with a forced laugh. The guy I like is our age anyway. “Call you later?”

“You’d better,” Simone says. “I’m sure I’ll have all sorts of scandalous gossip. You know how Gwen and Felicity are when they’re around older guys.”

“Total Lolita-land,” I say, laughing for real. “Remember the time with the water bra?” Simone snorts, which makes me laugh harder. When we stop, she surprises me with sincerity.

“Take care of yourself, Linus,” she says quietly. “We all know how much you love Gram—just remember to love you, too.”

“I will,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”

As I hang up the phone, the light in the hall returns—the fluorescent bulbs and white walls are all their normal boring colors again.

I walk back to Gram’s room. A nurse is checking her vitals while Natalie’s sitting awkwardly on the very front of the recliner near the window, like she doesn’t want to risk getting too comfortable. It occurs to me that it’s like a metaphor for her entire life.

“Is your mother coming back soon?” the nurse asks in a clipped tone that makes me nervous.

“Yes,” Natalie answers. “She just went out for some air. I can call her?” Nat looks at me, and I see the anxiousness in her eyes too.

“I think that’d be a good idea,” the nurse says. “Just in case your grandmother wakes up.”

In case she wakes up?

Before I have time to ask about the alternative—Gram not waking up—the nurse briskly leaves the room.

Panicked, I turn to Natalie. I don’t know how or why, but I see my sister in that moment—really see her. She’s got a tough outer shell, but she’s loyal to those she loves. And one of the people she loves the most is dying. We are the same, she and I. For the first time in a long while, I go and sit next to her.

“I don’t want to fight,” I say quietly. My mouth is dry, and I’m actually nervous to be having this conversation. It strikes me as strange—after all, she’s my sister. “I don’t think I can fight anymore.”

Natalie’s surprised eyes find mine, but she doesn’t say anything. I continue. “Gram’s been there for me, but I’m starting to realize that she won’t always be. And I’m scared.” My face stings with the start of a cry, and I turn to find Natalie watching me with a softened expression.

“I don’t want to fight either,” she says. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I really am.” She’s never told me she was sorry. Never. I let the words linger in the air to unravel the hurt they’ve caused all this time. I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear them. “I don’t know how we got so . . .” I begin, not sure what word to use.

“It was my fault,” Nat says.

“But I made it worse,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sorry.” Natalie shifts uncomfortably. She’s never been good at letting people in. For a while, I thought that if only Nat had my back a bit more, I might’ve stayed at home after the divorce. But that’s just not her . . . not since we were little anyway.

Under normal circumstances—like if this were Teddy or Simone or even Mom—I’d reach out for a hug. Instead I keep my hands folded in my lap.

Gram is dying. I close my eyes for a moment, wishing it weren’t true, but when I open them again, there she is— motionless on the bed.

Slipping away.

THREE

GO

“Simone,” I start, my decision made. “I’m going to . . . go. I’ll go with you to the party, but only because I can’t stand another minute with my sister. I swear she waits for me to screw up just so she can throw it back in my face.”

“If Natalie’s going to be a jerk all night,” Simone says, “you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

I nod, thinking about how many times my sister has belittled me, made me feel like I’m not a part of my own family.

“And really,” Simone adds, “if she’s going to complain anyway, why not give her something good to work with?” I can hear the smile in her voice, challenging and protective as a best friend should be. As a sister should be.

“Yeah,” I say, looking back toward the room. “Why not.” I lean against the wall and exhale. “Hey, would you mind picking me up?” I ask. “That way when you drop me off tonight, I can stop in and say good-bye—good night to Gram.” I pause, thinking how different the word “good-bye” is now. How much heavier it is in my mouth.

“Simone?” I ask hesitantly. “Gram will be okay if I leave, right?”

“Of course she will be. It’s just a few hours.”

A feeling of dread comes over me, but the light in the hall returns—the fluorescent bulbs and white walls are all their normal boring colors again. In a way, it allows me to push away my concern and realize that Simone’s right—it’s just one night out of all the nights I’ve been by my grandmother’s side. If she were awake, she would probably tell me to go to the party. She’d tell me to wear lipstick, too. And a night away from Natalie can never be a bad thing.

“I’m on my way,” Simone says. “We’ll grab burgers or something first.”

I agree, but when we hang up, nervousness creeps up my arms. I’m not a fan of confrontation, and this looming one with my sister is going to be a blowout.

The nurse is just leaving Gram’s room when I get back. I see Natalie hovering near the window, back straight, mouth downturned. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the rift between my sister and me growing. I wonder if eventually it’ll get big enough to end our relationship altogether.

The minute I step into the room, her judging eyes find me. “Where’d you go?” she asks. “I just got done talking to Mom.”

“I was busy,” I say, reaching for Gram’s hand. Her skin is thin and pale, her lips slightly parted in unconsciousness. As I hold her, I have the fleeting thought that this is it. I want to tell my grandmother everything I’m thinking and feeling. I want to tell her that I love her. Absently I bring her palm to my cheek, imagining that she’s awake, saying how much she loves me, too. When tears flood my eyes, I sniffle and set Gram’s hand back down. It’s only a few hours, I tell myself. And maybe then Natalie will be gone and I can hang with Gram—just the two of us, like it’s supposed to be.

“I’m going out,” I say to my sister, not looking in her direction. “Tell Mom I’ll be home after eleven.”

“What? You can’t just . . .” She jumps up from the chair. “You’re so goddamn selfish, Caroline,” she says. “Do you think you can just do whatever you want? You have an obligation to this family. You—”

“Oh, shut up!” I call out, my voice carrying through the sparse room. “You’re not my mother—you’re certainly not Gram. Maybe if you had your own life, you wouldn’t—”

“Don’t you dare!” she shouts. “I’ve been the one to hold this family together. I’m the one who makes sure Mom eats her dinner when she can’t stop crying.” My sister puts her hand over her mouth as if she’s afraid she might betray an actual emotion other than bitch. After a second, she shakes her head. “You know what, go. Go, you coward.”

I’m shaking I’m so angry, so hurt. I can’t even think of something to say, can only grab my backpack and race out of there. I’m halfway down the hall when I realize I didn’t tell Gram that I love her, didn’t kiss her cheek good night. But I can’t face my sister, so I vow to tell Gram twice later.

FOUR

STAY

I’m still with my sister, staring at the muted news on TV as an awkward, post-apology silence fills the space between us. My mother and my stepdad, Albert, return to the room, but my mother looks like a piece of ripped paper that someone hastily taped back together. She’s got that shiny redness to her face that happens when you cry off your makeup, and her hair’s fluffy-weird like she combed out what had been hair sprayed before. Seconds later, as if it were choreographed, Teddy walks in with two greasy bags from Burger Barn.

We dive on him like a pack of wild dogs, and just as Nat takes the biggest bite in history, Aunt Claudia breezes in wearing all black with a hot pink pashmina on top. Her bracelets and necklaces clink and clank, even at her slightest movements.

My mother immediately tenses. Aunt Claudia is her older sister. She’s a manless, kidless career woman who lives by business books. She frowns whenever she looks at me like I’m the visual representation of my mother’s bad choices in life.

Natalie idolizes her.

“Hi, Aunt Claudia!” Nat says, mouth full.

“Hello, darling,” Claudia says, managing to side hug Natalie while still staying far enough away not to get smeared with mustard or calories. She turns to my mother. “Diane,” she says. “You’re looking . . .” Her voice trails off; she doesn’t bother to lie.

“Nice of you to join us,” Mom says, her words dripping with accusation. I watch them, and like earlier with Natalie, I can see them. How my aunt Claudia talks down to my mother. How my mother lets her.

Aunt Claudia startles me from my thoughts as she appears in front of me. “You can’t say hello?” she asks with a chilly smile. Teddy speaks for both of us when he asks how she is.

My aunt doesn’t answer. Instead she turns, like she’s been waiting to look the entire time, and stares at my grandmother lying in the bed. My aunt’s proud shoulders sag slightly, her body seeming to wilt at the sight of her mother dying. But then she straightens and glides across the room to sit next to her.

“Hi, Ma,” she says softly, touching her arm. We’re all quiet until I hear my mother sniffle, and then Aunt Claudia looks over, stoic as usual.

“How long does she have?” she asks. “I’ll need to know whether to reschedule my flight to Cleveland.”

Mom, who’s never been about anyone but family her entire life—maybe to a fault—stares at her sister with her mouth open. Then she shakes her head slowly from side to side, like she’s about to lose it. I freeze with a half-mushed french fry between my teeth, wondering what’ll happen next.

“You callous—” my mother starts.

And that’s when Gram speaks.

“Stop fighting,” she says, blinking her eyes open. “I don’t want those to be the last words I hear.” Her speech reminds me of Judith’s—babylike.

Gram’s eyelids droop as if it’s a struggle to keep them open at all. We all jump up as my mother and Aunt Claudia crowd around her.

I grab Teddy’s arm—relief washes over me. She woke up. I nearly start crying when Gram coughs, gritty and thick. My mother tries to help her sit up, but my grandmother waves her away.

“It’s my time, Diane,” Gram says. “It’s just my time.”

My brother darts a look at me, his face ghost pale. He touches my hand where I’m gripping his arm. “It’s the medication,” he reassures me. “She’s out of it.”

“No, I am not, Theodore,” my grandmother says, matter-of-fact. Natalie actually takes a step back; she looks like she might hurl right on the white-tiled floor. “But I’m not going to sit and waste my last breath when you can’t even get along at my deathbed.”

“Ma,” Aunt Claudia starts to say, when my grandmother turns to her. They both pause, an unspoken mother-daughter look passing between them. The tears in Aunt Claudia’s eyes brim over, and my grandmother reaches to brush her hair back, the same way she’s done for me a million times.

“Let me talk to the kids,” Gram says quietly, gentle words that make my aunt look down. She waits for a minute, then leans to kiss Gram’s cheek before walking out. My mom, stunned and devastated that she has to leave, can’t seem to move until Albert comes over to take her elbow. He guides her from the room, and when she looks back, my gram winks at her.

I can’t help it—I start to sob.

“Take her outside, Teddy,” Gram says. “I want to talk to Natalie for a minute.”

My brother puts his arm around me and forces me to the door; I turn and watch Natalie as she goes to lay her head on Gram’s shoulder.

“Now, hush,” Gram says, brushing her hair.

Their moment is private, intimate. I feel like I’m peeking into a relationship I didn’t know they had, and I’m jealous. I’m jealous that Gram didn’t ask for me first.

“Come on, Coco,” Teddy says, pulling me out. And when the door shuts behind us, I’m suddenly adrift in my loneliness as I wait for my grandmother’s last words, hoping that she lasts long enough to give them to me.

FOUR

GO

I’m staring listlessly out the passenger window as Simone pulls onto Dover Street. The radio is blaring Electric Freakshow; Felicity and Gwen sing along—purposely off-key—in the back. I check my phone to see if anyone has texted from the hospital, but no one has. I’m suddenly so alone—even in a car filled with my friends.

“Check it out, Linus.” Simone has to shout over the music. I turn to look out the windshield and immediately groan. Cars line both sides of the street, all leading up to a house that might as well have a banner that reads PLEASE CALL THE COPS. We drive by once looking for parking, earning a few catcalls from the lawn dwellers, then turn around and try again.

“I’m pretty sure you said low-key college party when you picked me up,” I say, looking pointedly at Simone.

“Did I?” she asks innocently, avoiding my glare. The day has gone dark, but there are only a few stars out. The sky is strange tonight, and I can’t help but feel strange too.

I’m suddenly nervous, even though the party doesn’t look exactly wild. There’s a dude wearing a plaid sweater-vest, kicking a hacky sack in the driveway. And yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I check my phone again. Nothing.

We end up parking three blocks away, a fact that Felicity complains about the whole time we walk through the crisp October air. Gwen nearly kills herself in the spike-heeled boots she’s wearing, and when she’s not groaning about the “hike,” Felicity chatters on about looking for a quality guy. She calls dibs on the sweater-vest.

Although Simone and I have been hanging out with them since last year, it’s pretty clear this is more of a convenience friendship than anything. Lunches and parties—that’s about the extent of our interactions. I’m not close to them like I am with Simone. She and I are forever.

Just then Simone loops her arm through mine. “Guess who I heard will be here tonight?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Joel.”

My stomach flips. “That’s nice,” I say, trying not to give anything away. But her laugh echoes down the street.

“Oh, yes. It is very nice. And from what I hear, Lauren is currently out of town visiting family.” I abruptly stop walking, nearly pulling Simone’s arm from its socket. Felicity and Gwen keep going, calling back that they’ll meet us inside. When Simone turns to me, I stare her down.

“You knew this all along, didn’t you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Is that why we’re really here?”

Simone’s red-stained lips pull into a broad smile. “It’s not like your longing looks in Joel Ryder’s direction have gone unnoticed. Don’t ever say I never did anything for you, Linus.” She smacks a kiss on my cheek and walks up the driveway to the house, giving the sweater-vest a teasing whistle as she passes. He salutes in response.

As I stand watching after her, listening to the sounds of muffled music leaking from the front door, my thoughts turn back to Gram.

I would do anything for her. Anything in the world. But instead of sitting at her side, I’m here at a party. I can’t help but think that maybe my sister is right—I am selfish. I sigh heavily.

You’re here; make the most of it, I think, rationalizing that I’ll be back with Gram in a few hours. I lift my chin and walk inside.

There’s a couple standing inside the entry, blocking my way as they argue over whether or not he was checking out his ex. I clear my throat and quietly say “excuse me,” but neither budges. Simone gets farther down the hall and I try to interrupt again, this time earning a glare from the girlfriend. I’ve started to wonder if I’ll be stuck in the breezy entryway for the rest of my life when I feel someone push in behind me.

“Excuse you,” I say, holding up a palm to stop from being flattened between the door and the wall. The pusher—a blond, blue-eyed typical college random—looks at me in surprised amusement.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he says, too earnest to be serious. “It’s just that sometimes I don’t know my own superhuman strength.” Just to prove it, he pretends to crash through the door—mouthing explosions and slow-motion roars—before shutting it gently behind him.

I can’t help it; I laugh. “Forgiven,” I say. “But they might be your kryptonite.” I motion to the couple, who have now reached complete breakdown status. “Good luck getting past them. They’re like the bouncers from hell.” The guy glances at them, sizing up the situation before taking a spot against the closed door next to me.

“This might take a while,” he says. “From what I hear, Jared there is still into his ex. Gertrude isn’t pleased.”

“You know them?” I ask.

He meets my eyes. “Uh, no. Do you know any Gertrudes? It’s a fairly uncommon name. Wait, that’s not your name, is it?”

I move closer to the wall, putting a little more space between me and Mr. Hilarious. “I think you’re just trying to find out my name,” I say.

“Busted. Well?”

The couple in front of us finally stops talking and instead embraces in what can only be described as a make-up hug, one with roaming hands and whispers. I start to worry that I’ll somehow get sucked into their vortex of drama when my new friend murmurs next to me.

“Looks like Gerdy forgives him. It’s sweet really. Such a bright future, those two.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t think she’ll be as sweet to his ex, Belinda. After all, they used to be best friends.”

The guy beams. “Belinda was a really good choice.”

I laugh and then move ahead, finally getting past the couple as their make up turns make out. I’m scanning the room for Simone when the guy touches my shoulder.

“Do you need help finding someone?” he asks. “I know most of the girls here.”

“Is that so?” I smile, lifting my eyebrow.

“Oh . . . no,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean I know them know them . . . Well, maybe some of them . . .” When I playfully cross my arms over my chest as if waiting for him to go on, he tosses back his head and laughs. “Wow, my attempts at flirtation are going really well, don’t you think? Wonder if I can make it any worse.”

“I have faith in you.”

He bites his lip, looking both embarrassed and exhilarated by our little exchange. I take the moment to check him out, noting that with his stupidly adorable smile, he probably has no problem meeting girls at parties.

“Chris!” someone yells to him from across the room. The guy lifts his chin in acknowledgment, but then turns like he’s about to ask me something. Before he can, Simone appears out of nowhere and pulls me away.

“He’s in the backyard,” she says impatiently, not noticing the handsome blond who was about to . . . well, I don’t know what he was about to do. But it must not have been that important because when I turn back to look, he’s gone.

“Who’s in the yard?” I ask, following behind Simone like a puppy dog. She turns abruptly.

“Joel,” she says. “He’s in the backyard—without Lauren. Are you going to talk to him or secretly pine away for the rest of your life? This isn’t Pride and Prejudice, Keira Knightley.”

“You know that was a book before it was a movie, right?”

Simone rolls her eyes. “Of course I know that. But it doesn’t change the fact that the movie was ten times better. Now let’s not leave poor Joel defenseless in a party full of Felicitys.”

The full impact of her words hits, and a shock of nervous electricity races through me. Even though Simone let me borrow a cute, party-friendly outfit, I’m still in no condition to approach Joel. I might need to have a “Don’t chicken out!” pep talk with my reflection. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Simone.

She sags dramatically against the hallway wall like she’s completely inconvenienced. “Hurry,” she sings.

My heart is thumping: The possibility of talking—actually talking—to Joel is a bit intimidating. It’s not like I’ve never spoken to him before, but it’s never been with the sole intent of ripping him from his girlfriend’s clutches. God, I’m so embarrassed for myself. And even so, I take my place in the back of the bathroom line at the top of the stairs.

“We meet again,” the guy from earlier says as he looks back from two people ahead of me. “We’re on the same orbit tonight. And sorry about—”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and the party fades into the background. The people. The music. Gone. Somehow I just know. I know even before I see that it’s Teddy calling.

“Hello?” I answer, gripping the phone tightly.

“Hurry.”

It’s all my brother has to say before I’m trampling down the stairs, grabbing Simone by the shirtsleeve, and pulling her out the door.

FIVE

STAY

I sit next to Teddy, my head on his shoulder, in the hospice waiting room. My mother cries softly into my stepdad’s button-down dress shirt. I stare at them, wondering if the last of Mom’s makeup will be smeared on the white fabric, the little bits of normalcy of her appearance washed away with tears.

My aunt faces the window, across the room from any of us—on her own island. Just then, I hear the scraping of shoes and look up to see Natalie walk in.

Her face is red and blotchy, but her back is straight, her eyes determined. I’m alarmed at how . . . right she looks. I have this irrational hope that my grandmother is somehow fine. That she’s cured and waiting to go home. But then my sister turns to my brother and says it’s his turn.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Teddy says, untangling himself from me. “Keep it together, Caroline.” His voice is serious, but in his expression I see impatience. He wants his time with Gram too. So I just nod and let him walk away.

Natalie doesn’t take his place. Instead she walks over to kneel in front of my mother, whispering to her. My mom then turns to cry on her, reminding me that they have a bond I don’t. Or at least one that I won’t have once Gram is gone. I wait, and it’s just a few minutes later when my brother comes out. His voice is broken from crying, and—unable to bear seeing his face—I don’t look up at him.

“Hurry,” he says. I stand and start toward Gram’s room, hands shaking, heart about to burst.

I shut the door and walk to the chair next to Gram’s bedside. She’s lying there, her eyes closed, and all at once I think that maybe it’s too late. I’ve already lost her. I stare down, relieved when I see her chest rising and falling.

I drop back into the chair next to her, banging my knees on the metal workings of the bed. I don’t even wince, only lean closer to Gram. Her head rolls to the side, and she opens her eyes to look at me. She’s suddenly so old—lost in her own skin.

“Caroline, at last,” she says weakly. “My favorite.”

I cover my mouth as hot tears spill over my cheeks—sobs shake my body. She watches me with weary eyes, eyes just like my mother’s.

“We’ve always taken care of each other, you and I,” she says. “But now you’ll have to take care of yourself.”

“But I want you,” I say like I’m a child. “I can’t do it without you.”

She smiles gently. “You tend to the things at home for me,” she says. “Walk the cat, water the flowers.”

“I will.” My grandmother’s cat, Junior, walks on a leash and hates everyone but her. He’s a menace, but when I asked her last year to get rid of him, she said he’d only leave when she did. Back then I never even thought it was a possibility.

Gram reaches to run the backs of her cool fingers over my cheek, and I clutch her shoulder like I can hold her to this earth. “Don’t ever give up on yourself,” she says. “Life is hard sometimes, and I’m sorry I won’t be here for you.” A tear slides over her temple.

“I’m scared,” I say.

“Shh,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not. We all die.” Her words give me chills. I swallow hard as her breaths become uneven. “Try to make good choices, but when you make a bad one, learn from it and move on.”

“Gram—”

“And be careful who you love, Caroline,” she whispers. “Never let them take too much. Never let them take what’s you.”

I nod, not fully getting her meaning but wanting to encourage her to go on. To keep talking. But Gram just stares at me for a second, smiling softly until her mouth goes slack.

“I love you,” she says finally. It’s so quiet, it’s barely there at all.

“I love you more,” I return, a stillness coming over me—a thick crushing pressure that’s about to destroy me. Because as we stare at each other, I watch the life fade from my grandmother’s eyes. And then she exhales one more time, long and deep . . . letting go.

FIVE

GO

My grandmother is dead.

I stumble from the hospice, my body on autopilot—empty and numb at the same time. The conversation I just had with Teddy is on repeat, cruelly infecting me with regret and shame. I get in my car and start driving, words in my head swirling in dark, black spirals.

The room is bare—Gram is gone, a single rose on her pillow instead. My brother’s bloodshot eyes find me. He’s destroyed.

“Did she wake up?” I ask him, scared of the answer. If she didn’t wake, it means that she never got the chance to say good-bye. And if she did, I wasn’t there. What did she think?

“Caroline,” my brother says, looking away. Caroline. The use of my full name breaks me.

“Did she ask for me, Teddy?” My voice is high and frantic. My brother’s eyes glass over and he nods before wiping hard at his face.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

It’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

It’s like an echo in my brain as I push harder on the accelerator, fleeing the family I can’t face. I’ve just lost the most important person in the world, and I wasn’t there. I stare at the road ahead, thinking that my sister was right: There’s no one left to pick up my pieces.

I drive aimlessly, looking for a distraction. The radio blasts music, but the words are only screeches of noise. I don’t realize where I am until I see the rows of cars outside the party house. I try Simone’s phone, but it goes to voice mail. Then I try again. Voice mail again. I can’t help it, but I resent her for it. I slam my phone down on the seat and search for her car among the others.

I didn’t get to say good-bye.

I want to replay the entire night, make a different choice. But I know there aren’t any second chances. I screwed up. I ruined everything.

Simone’s car is nowhere to be found and I feel the panic start to seep in, threatening me as it waits to take me over completely. I drive by the party once again, debating going inside—even though the thought of it turns my stomach. I see an open space right in front and go to swing in, but I have to brake fast before I nearly crush a guy sitting on the curb, hidden from view. He looks up, shielding his eyes from my headlights. It’s the blond guy from earlier, and he stands so I can pull into the space.

Once parked, I click off my lights and roll down the passenger window. “What are you doing?” I call to him. “I could have run over your foot or something.” He ducks down, looking in before smiling.

“You came back for me.” He grins, but when I don’t smile, his expression falters. “I got ditched,” he says. “My friend was parked here, but he left with some girl. I thought maybe he’d remember he brought me and swing back through. Guess not.”

I don’t care, I think. I don’t care about anything. I glance past the guy to the party house, people still on the lawn holding hands or holding cups as I sit in my car, wishing I never came here tonight.

“So . . .” the guy says. “Are you getting out?” He’s standing there in his white thermal shirt, his pulled-from-the-floor jeans. Everything about him looks easy and carefree. I can’t even imagine what that’s like anymore.

“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. He takes a step closer, resting his elbow on the top of the car as he stares in, getting a closer look at me. Then his mouth falls open.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Are you okay?”

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and see that my mascara has run. I swipe under my eyes and then wipe the inky black on Simone’s skirt. When I’m done I turn to the guy, thinking he’s the only person who even cares how I am right now. “What’s your name?” I ask.

He seems caught off guard. “It’s Christopher . . . uh, Chris.”

“The answer is no, Christopher,” I tell him with a pathetic shrug. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”

He looks me over, confused, concerned. Rather than press me further about my disheveled state, he nods toward the house. “We should skip the party, then,” he says. “It’s lame anyway. Maybe we can go grab a coffee? I know a place still open.”

I lean my head back against the seat, utterly lost. I can’t go sit in a well-lit café talking to a stranger when I’m not even sure where I’ll sleep tonight. “I can’t,” I tell him. “I have to go.”

“Again?” he asks quickly. “Is it me? I can certainly tone it down.”

“It’s not you.” I debate telling him the rest and then opt not to. “And I’m sorry that . . .” I’m sorry for so many things that I can’t even finish the sentence. I switch the car into gear, but I haven’t even eased off the brake before Christopher is talking fast.

“Listen,” he says. “Is there any chance you could give me a ride to my friend’s house? He’s not coming back, and to be honest, the only reason I didn’t call a cab in the first place was because I was hoping I’d bump into you again.” He smiles sheepishly, maybe embarrassed for having admitted it. “And look,” he says softer. “We did. It’s kind of like fate, right?

I look doubtfully at Christopher, not sure if I should give him a lift. I’m eventually going to have to answer to my family; I’m just not brave enough yet. But I’m not brave enough to be alone either. So after a quick nod, I unlock the car door for him to get in.

The starless sky is unsettling as I drive through the darkened neighborhood toward the freeway. The houses pass in blurs of porch lights, and I’ve nearly forgotten where we’re headed when Christopher starts playing with the air vents.

“Christopher . . .” I start.

“It’s just Chris,” he interrupts. “Only my nana and my family physician call me Christopher anymore. Maybe a professor or two. I’m a freshman at Clinton State, in case you’re curious.”

I glance sideways. That’s the same college Teddy goes to in the next town over, a college I’ve visited at least a dozen times. “Do you know Teddy Cabot?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell my brother he saw me at a party right after my grandmother died. And wondering if my brother would be sickened by the thought.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Chris says. “Sounds handsome, though. Should I be jealous?”

“No,” I say, relieved and a little grossed out by the joke. “He’s my brother.”

“Interesting. Is he the overprotective type?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “He’s never needed to be.” Teddy has always stuck up for me. He’s never judged me—at least not yet. But what does he think now? How can he defend me after what I’ve done?

Chris grows restless and begins to tap his thumb on his thigh like a fidgety child. “Did you think the weather was weird today?” he asks. “I totally dorked out with a few friends and we”—finger quotes—“borrowed a telescope from the science building to watch the cloud patterns. It was pretty cool.”

When I don’t respond, Chris adjusts the passenger seat, sliding and reclining it until he’s almost in the backseat. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “You’re not laughing at any of my jokes,” he says. “I’m debating whether or not you want me to shut up, but I feel wholly compelled to impress you.”

When I look over, he smiles broadly, and I think that he’s the exact kind of cute that I could fall for—if my heart wasn’t already broken. I turn away. We reach the stoplight of an intersection, and Chris reaches to turn down the music.

“I know it’s none of my business,” he says in a quiet voice, “but why were you crying earlier?”

The light turns green, but I don’t move. I’m frozen by the emotions flooding me, threatening to rip me to shreds in front of him. I can’t say it out loud. Finally I compose myself and drive a few blocks.

“You’ll need to make a right here,” he says, sounding defeated. I ease my foot on the gas, making the turn.

“My grandmother died,” I whisper. It feels like saying it can make it happen all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” Chris says. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh.” It’s a stunned word, a sad one. Chris looks out the window. And now I’m the one who can’t handle the silence.

“We’re not leaving the state, are we?” I ask him, filling the void. “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve crossed four county lines already.”

“Why? You want to make a run for it, Thelma.”

Despite all that’s weighing me down, I choke out a small laugh.

“That was a laugh,” he says, pointing at me. “Sure, it was a pathetic one, but it means all is not lost. I’m still impressive.”

I fight back my smile. “Which way, Christopher?” He starts giving directions, and I turn left down a residential street.

“It’s around here somewhere,” he says under his breath.

I look over at him. “Are you telling me that you don’t know where your friend lives?”

“Of course I know,” he says. “It’s just that at night, all the streets look the same. But it’s definitely in this neighborhood. I remember that old church on the corner.”

I groan and slow down to ten miles per hour as he studies the houses on one side, then the other. He snaps his fingers, startling me.

“I just realized that you never told me your name,” he says. “What is it?”

“Caroline.”

“That’s pretty.”

“Thanks.”

“And sweet.” He’s quiet, but the minute he opens his mouth, I interrupt.

“You’re not going to break into ‘Sweet Caroline,’ are you?” He abruptly closes his mouth and shakes his head no. When I see that it’s nearly eleven and Simone still hasn’t returned my calls, I feel abandoned. And then I wonder if this is how Gram felt in her last moments.

“Wait, there it is,” Chris says, motioning to the left side. “The one with the truck in the driveway.” He scoffs. “See. I knew exactly where it was.”

I pull to the curb, letting the engine idle as Chris checks for his wallet and keys. When he’s done—taking way longer than necessary—he clears his throat. “Do you think I can call you sometime?” he asks.

There’s a weird twist of excitement and sadness mixed together as I look at him. “Are you hitting on me five minutes after I told you that my grandmother died?” I ask.

He winces. “Wow, I’m a douche, huh?” He says it so innocently that I have to smile, even though I feel like a traitor for the gesture. Chris runs his hand through his hair, embarrassment painting his cheeks pink in the light of the streetlights.

“You’re fine,” I say. “It’s me. I’m running a little high on the bitch-o-meter tonight. I’m not myself.” I look down. “I don’t know if I ever will be again.”

“I really am sorry about your grandmother, Caroline,” Chris says in his most serious tone of the night. I mean to look at him, to thank him, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll give him the wrong idea. And I can’t be that selfish—not this time.

“You seem really great,” I tell him. “I’m just not in a good place. My life’s a mess, and you deserve better than that.”

“That’s possibly the nicest rejection I’ve ever gotten,” Chris says, soft but playful. “So thank you for that.” He opens the door and climbs out. Under different circumstances, I would have given him my number. Just not tonight.

“Well, Caroline,” he says as he holds up his hand in a wave. “Sweet Caroline. It was a pleasure meeting you—officially. Maybe next time I’ll get that number.”

There’s a small panic that I may never see him again, and so despite my vow to not lead him on, I smile. “Tell you what, if I ever happen to randomly run into you when I’m not crying and miserable, the digits are all yours.”

Chris grins. “I’ll hold you to that.” And then he closes the door and jogs up the driveway.

SIX

STAY

I wake up on Saturday, the morning after the worst day of my life so far, and my sister’s asleep next to me. I don’t know when she came in, but I’m surprised to find that I don’t mind that she’s here. Whatever changed between us at the hospital seems to be still in effect, and having her here is like a silent peace treaty after years at war. Except that her presence reminds me of the reality that Gram’s dead.

I don’t move; I don’t even feel like I’m breathing. I listen to the erratic drum of rain hitting the gutter outside, trying to force my thoughts away from Gram. They land on wondering whether the back window of my car is still cracked open from when Felicity thought she was going to puke after lunch yesterday. I wonder if it was cracked when I went to see—

Gram’s dead.

It hits me again: the helplessness and the heartache. I actually put my hand to my chest; I feel like I’ll never take a deep breath again. But still, I don’t cry. Why don’t I cry?

I think of the way she looked just before she died. I think of standing by her bedside, listening to her talk. Those will be the last things she ever says. The thought makes my stomach tighten like a fist.

To calm myself, I think of all the mundane things I still have to do. Like walking a cat. “Freaking Junior,” I mutter.

“What?” Natalie says, her voice groggy.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. I slip out of the bed. “Go back to sleep.” I gather my messy hair into a ponytail, shrug into a sweatshirt, and step into shearling boots before leaving my room.

I skip my morning routine and head downstairs because what does a cat care about fresh breath? He sure doesn’t have it. And this way, I can pee in my own bathroom instead of the one with the stepstool for Judith. I always trip over that thing.

“Where are you going?” Mom asks from behind me. My hand freezes on the front door handle. She’s always been eerily quiet—she could make a career out of sneaking up on people.

“Just down to Gram’s,” I say without turning around. For some reason, I don’t want to see my mom’s face—her sadness. “She told me to check up on Junior. I hope I can manage to get him out from under her bed.”

“I need to add that to my list,” Mom says absentmindedly. Finally, because it’s getting weird, I turn around. She looks . . . empty. She’s fixated on an old water stain on the antique hall table. “We need to find him a home,” she says.

“What?” I ask, surprised. “You can’t do that. Gram loved that cat.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find someone else who loves him just as much,” Mom says, eyes still on the stain. There’s no fire in her words: She says them like she’s programmed to do so.

“I’ll take care of him,” I protest, staring intently at Mom—needing her to look at me.

“Albert’s allergic to cats. And Judith’s afraid of Junior. He’s not living here.”

“No, I meant with me at Gram’s.”

Mom’s eyes snap to attention.

“You understand that you’re moving back home now that Gram is gone, right?” she asks. “There’s no way I’d let you live there without parental supervision. And regardless, selling the house is on my list too.”

“You’re going to sell the house?” I ask so quietly it’s almost a whisper. Then, a little louder, “How can you even think about that right now?”

Mom crosses her arms; I know I’ve hurt her feelings. “Believe me, I don’t want to,” she says. “But those were her final wishes, Caroline. She wanted Teddy to tell me.”

Mom looks away, and I imagine that she’s thinking about the fact that she didn’t get to say good-bye to her own mother. That, in a way, Gram chose her grandchildren over her daughters.

“Don’t stay over there too long,” she says in a faraway voice before turning away.

“I won’t,” I say after her, but she doesn’t hear. The door to the kitchen is already swinging back into the hallway.

I jog up the steps to Gram’s house and try the door—she always left it unlocked—before realizing what I’m doing. I sigh heavily and walk around to get the key from the magnetic thing under the drainpipe on the side of the house. I go in, lean my back against the door, and take in the house that, for the past five years, has been my home. I look at the brightly painted walls, the dark wood floors. The eclectic furniture. Her handpicked art collection. It’s like I can feel the space missing her. I miss her in it.

The sound of my phone makes me jump.

“Hello?” I say quickly, heart pounding.

“Hi,” Simone says, and I can tell right off the bat she’s using her sympathetic voice today. “How are you doing, Linus? Is everything okay? I mean, no, of course it’s not okay. But, like, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” I say before she continues vomiting words. “Or at least I will be.” I hear her sigh on the other end of the line, relieved.

“Sorry for being such a freak,” she says. “I just don’t really know what to say . . .”

“There’s no right thing,” I say. “Honestly, I wish people would just not talk about it right now. I realize that sounds awful, but it’s not like I’m not already thinking about her. I only just woke up and it’s already too much. I mean last night when we got home, it was just . . . ugh. I wish someone would talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Simone asks tentatively.

“Like anything!” I say, finally walking through the entryway and into the house. I weave through the living room and find myself in the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water like . . . usual. “Tell me about the party last night,” I say before drinking half the glass in one gulp.

“For real?” Simone asks, unsure.

“Yes!”

There’s a pause when I picture my best friend’s internal debate over whether it’s selfish or helpful for her to divulge all the juicy details she’s dying to share. In the end, her inner gossip wins out. She takes a deep breath, and then, like she’s never spoken before and it’s some great release to do so, she says everything at once.

“Felicity met some guy in a sweater-vest and he actually danced with her despite the fact that she was wearing those suspenders again—I mean, what is she thinking ?—and it was geek love by the end of the night. Gwen left early after some girl called her a hooker, which was totally uncalled for, but between you and me, those four-inch heels aren’t doing her reputation any favors.”

Simone takes a quick breath—only enough so she doesn’t pass out but not long enough for me to react—before she dives in again.

“I met a guy named Ed who seemed really great and I know what you’re going to say but I’ll tell you anyway: I made out with him a little.” I can’t help it—I laugh.

“You’re a professional kisser,” I say, thrilled by the normalcy of the conversation. “You kiss guys the second you meet them.”

“I do not!” Simone protests, but she laughs, busted.

“You do too,” I say. “It’s like your version of a handshake. It’s a tongue-shake.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” she says. “You’re disgusting.”

“I speak the truth,” I tease.

“Well, you know what they say . . . you have to kiss a lot of frogs to meet your prince,” she says good-naturedly. Simone’s always known who she is; I love her for that. “And besides, it stops at kissing,” she says. “It’s not like I’m letting them cop a C-cup on the first date or anything.”

“Simone!” I squeal, equally embarrassed by and in love with her forwardness. “You’re so bad,” I say, shaking my head. “So, how did it end with Mr. Wonderful Not Wonderful?”

“You really want to know?” she asks in a way that makes me nervous.

“I don’t know—do I?”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m home . . . at Gram’s,” I say. I can practically hear Simone hesitate—like I just threw a pail of water on her fire— so I quickly add, “Why? Where are you?”

“My house,” she says, “but I have an errand to run. I’ll pick you up and you can go with me—I’ll buy you hot chocolate afterward. Salted caramel hot chocolate.”

“That’s unfair,” I say, drooling like one of those dogs in the science experiment. “Why do I feel like this isn’t going to end well?”

“It’ll be fine, Linus,” she says. “I’m just messing around. The guy gave me his sweatshirt and then texted me this morning, wanting it back. Classic ploy to get to bathe in my awesomeness a little longer,” she says, laughing at her own joke. “Anyway, I’m going to drop it off, then we can go hang out. I’m not into the guy—I just want to rip off the Band-Aid and it’ll be done. But then I get to see you and give you a big hug and we can talk about . . . whatever.”

“You don’t want to go alone, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine. I’ll be your breakup buffer. Just so long as you promise not to mention death,” I say. “Or funerals. You have to promise not to talk about anything serious whatsoever.”

“Done.”

“I need like an hour. I have to go find the cat and walk him.”

“You know that’s completely deranged, don’t you?” she asks. Simone walked Junior with me once and we made it one block in fifteen minutes—Junior was crouched low to the cement, terrified the whole time. Eventually I had to pick him up and carry him back like a baby. Or, I guess, like a cat.

“Yeah, but it was Gram’s thing,” I say quietly. “Anyway, I have to shower. I’m still wearing my pajamas.”

“Pajamas are infinitely better than what Felicity leaves the house in on a daily basis,” Simone says. “You should just wear those.”

“But what if we run into Joel at the coffee shop or something?” I pause, surprised to admit my crush on Joel so easily. Simone gasps.

“Well, aren’t we taking off the training wheels? Are you actually ready to go for it with Joel Ryder, Linus? It’s not like it’s a gazillion years late or anything.”

I smile, blushing slightly. “I don’t know about going for anything. But I think my unspoken admiration doesn’t have to be so silent anymore.”

“Well,” Simone says, “speaking of Joel . . . he was there last night.”

“What?” I ask, gripping the phone and suddenly nervous. “Joel was at the party?”

“Yep. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.” She kisses the phone and hangs up, leaving me exhilarated and anxious. Just perfect for trying to lure a skittish cat from under a couch.

I coax Junior out with a mangy mouse toy before snapping him into his leash. I walk him up and down the block in the opposite direction from my house. Then I run up the stairs and shower with my own shampoo, not borrowed baby shampoo from Juju, and search my real bedroom for clothes that aren’t pajamas. It all feels so normal until I walk down the hall and turn the door handle that leads to Gram’s room.

I step inside: It smells like lavender, mint, and rose, and the air is still, like it’s waiting for something. Waiting for her. Invisible fingertips run up the back of my neck and I shiver even though the heat’s on. She left it on.

The room is like its own planet, so far away from my own. I walk over and touch the quilt draped at the end of Gram’s bed, soft after years of use. I run my fingers along the smooth wooden footboard, then the top of the low dresser.

“I love you, Gram,” I say quietly into her space. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know that.”

Nothing happens—nothing changes. But it feels like she heard me anyway. I leave and head downstairs to wait for Simone. For stories of Joel and kissing strangers and hot chocolate. For anything but empty bedrooms with smells that’ll fade over time.

For anything but thinking about Gram.

Simone turns down the heater when I jump in the passenger seat of her silver car, then she gives me a hug that lingers longer than usual. When she pulls back, dark brown eyes on mine, I remind her of her promise.

“No serious talk,” I say.

She smiles deviously, then, “Did I tell you that this guy Ed kisses like a dog licking himself ?” We both totally lose it; there’s a point when I actually wish I’d stop laughing because my stomach muscles hurt from overuse. It wasn’t the funniest thing she’s ever said, but all of the tension of the past week pours out of me. It’s healing.

“You have no idea what I’m picturing right now,” I say when we’re finally over it and on our way.

“Whatever you’re picturing, this guy was worse,” she says. “Oh, hey! It’s my song!” She turns up the radio and Electric Freakshow’s latest blasts throughout the car. We both sing along at the top of our lungs, but when it gets to the part I don’t know, I take a deep cathartic breath and let it out.

“Thanks for this,” I say, looking at her. She’s in a tight pink sweat suit, and her wild hair looks more model than matted. She glances at me, then back at the road.

“You’re welcome,” she says, navigating onto the highway. “Now grab my phone and check his text from this morning. I need you to read me the address.”

I co-pilot us to a neighborhood across town using the Internet GPS that never quite catches up to where we are. “It’s 2026,” I say as she begins slowly inching down the street.

“Evens are on the left,” Simone murmurs as she continues to creep forward. “That’s 2020,” she says, pointing to a yellow house with black shutters and accelerating a bit more. “2022 . . .” We pass a brick house with trim that needs a paint job. Then she pulls over on the opposite side of the street. “There it is.”

I grin at her. “Good luck.”

Simone sighs, then turns to grab a boy’s sweatshirt wadded up on the backseat. I reach to switch between radio stations.

“I’ll be thirty seconds and then it’s hot choc-o-latte time,”she says before shutting the door and jogging across the street.

In the emptiness of the car, the new station whispers out Electric Freakshow’s song again. It’s barely loud enough to hear:

“. . . are all just magnets for fate; stumbling, skipping, running at our pace . . .”

I whisper along, looking over as Simone takes the front porch steps. She rings the bell, looking back once to give me a thumbs-up, and then talks briefly to a cute guy who doesn’t look at all like a dog kisser to me. I guess that’s why you really can’t judge a book by its cover. She hands over his sweatshirt and gives him an awkward hug. As she jogs back to the car, he watches her go.

“Sammy’s?” she asks as she gets behind the wheel.

“Where else?” I ask, my mouth watering again thinking about Sammy’s famous salted caramel hot chocolate with a shot of espresso. “I need a scone, too. I haven’t eaten anything since . . .” My words fade as I think of the last meal I ate. I need a distraction.

“You didn’t tell me about Joel,” I say quickly. “At the party?”

“Oh, right!” she says, smacking her leg. “He asked about you.”

“Liar!”

“Truth,” she says. We’re still parked, and I’m sure Ed is wondering why we haven’t left yet. Simone goes on. “So Joel was all, ‘Where’s your sidekick?’ and I was all, ‘Dealing with family drama,’ and he was all, ‘Bummer.’ And then some girl barfed on the dance floor, which cleared the party faster than a raid.”

“I can’t believe it,” I say, shaking my head.

“Believe it, sister,” Simone says, checking her reflection in the rearview. “Your little lover boy might just have eyes for you, too.”

I don’t say anything else; I just take it all in. Simone shifts gears, and over her shoulder, the hookup house catches my eye. There’s a different boy leaving, and from this vantage point he looks even cuter than the first. Blond hair, blue-eyed college random. I nearly smile at him, but Simone peels out like she’s driving the getaway car at a bank heist and I almost topple into the backseat.

“Mony!” I yell as I straighten up. She apologizes, and I look back at the house once again. I see the guy stop on the sidewalk, shield his eyes from the sun, and watch after us. There’s a flit in my chest that feels like missing something. Then as quickly as he’s there—the staring, stirring boy— Simone takes a turn and he’s gone.

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