Chapter 3

In the days before I left, I got up on time, did the chores, and read through my enrollment information.

Every so often, they posted more vacation photos on Instagram.

Not one of them asked how I was doing at home.

Then one evening, Luke called.

I watched his name flash across my screen for several seconds before answering.

Waves crashed in the background, nearly drowned out by other voices.

Luke sounded irritated.

“Emma, did you put your Grandma’s silver charm bracelet in the zippered pocket of your suitcase?”

I went still.

Grandma had left the bracelet to me before she died. A tiny forget-me-not charm hung from it.

She had been the only person in my family who never made me feel second to Mia. I had worn it every day since her funeral.

I had taken it off only because I was afraid the salt water might ruin it, then tucked it into the safest pocket in my suitcase.

“Yes.” My grip tightened around my phone. “Why?”

Luke sighed.

“Mia thought the suitcase was too heavy, so she took some things out on the beach.”

“The bracelet fell into the sand. We can’t find it.”

My breath caught.

“You can’t find it? Did you even look properly?”

My voice rose despite my best efforts.

Mia’s tearful voice came through the phone.

“I’m sorry, Emma.”

“I swear I didn’t mean to lose it. There was so much sand, and I looked everywhere.”

Then I heard Mom scolding me in the background.

“Why are you yelling at her, Emma?”

“It’s an old bracelet. How much could it possibly be worth?”

“Mia spent half an hour looking for it in the sun, and now she’s dizzy.”

I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood.

Everything that belonged to me was worthless in their eyes.

Luke took the phone again, his patience wearing thin.

“Your mom’s right, Emma.”

“It was one old bracelet. I’ll buy you a new one when we get back. Something nicer.”

“Mia already feels terrible. Stop making her cry.”

“Try to be understanding.”

There it was again.

Be understanding.

I closed my eyes. The tears came anyway, spilling onto the back of my hand.

When I finally spoke, my voice was barely above a whisper.

“Don’t bother.”

Luke paused.

“Don’t bother with what?”

“You don’t need to buy me another one.”

By then, my voice was perfectly calm.

“If it’s gone, it’s gone.”

It wasn’t important anymore.

Luke went quiet for a couple of seconds.

“We’ll bring you something else from Hawaii.”

I hung up without answering.

I curled up on my bed and wrapped my arms around myself.

When Luke and I first became friends, he knew Mia only from the stories I told him.

The first time I explained why my family always put her first, he stared at me in disbelief.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “What kind of logic is that? Being smart doesn’t mean you deserve less.”

He took my hand and promised, “I’ll always be on your side, Emma. I’ll always love you.”

I believed him.

Then, three years ago, Mia transferred to our school and finally met Luke. She smiled at him, leaned on him, and cried to him whenever anything went wrong.

Little by little, he began making the same excuses my family did.

Tonight, he had repeated their logic almost word for word.

How ironic.

I got up and went to my desk.

In the bottom drawer was a metal box filled with his letters and postcards.

I carried the box into the backyard, emptied it into the fire pit, and struck a match.

One letter, then another. The flames devoured the yellowed pages.

And with them, the last of my feelings for him.