Chapter 2

When I got home, I locked my bedroom door and pulled an empty box from the closet.

Luca was everywhere.

In the photograph beside my bed. In the sweatshirt draped over my desk chair. In the dried roses I had kept long after their petals turned brittle.

I started with the photograph.

We were standing outside the school gym after one of his games. His arm was around my shoulders.

I remembered that night. He had kissed me in front of his friends, then taken me out for burgers.

I laid the frame facedown in the box.

The sweatshirt went next. Then the roses, the birthday gifts, the little things I had saved because he had touched them.

A movie ticket slipped from the pages of a book.

There had been good nights. That was what made this hurt.

I couldn’t pretend I had imagined every kiss, every laugh, every promise whispered against my hair.

But none of those memories could explain away what he had done.

I put the ticket in the box.

I was packing the last birthday card when my phone lit up.

I gave Bianca the necklace to cheer her up. You can get it from her later, or I’ll buy you another one.

I read the message twice.

Even the gift meant to make things right with me had become something he could give her.

Another text followed.

And keep this off Instagram. The recommendation is handled. There’s no reason to make it everyone else’s business.

I opened his Instagram profile before I could stop myself.

His highlights had disappeared. So had the photo of us he had kept pinned at the top.

I could still see his posts, but whatever he was sharing now, he had made sure I wouldn’t see it.

Once, that would have kept me awake all night.

I would have called him until he answered, then hated myself for asking whether he still loved me.

This time, I closed the app.

A message request appeared almost immediately.

Bianca.

I hope you’re feeling better, Elena.

Beneath it was a screenshot of a post.

She was sitting in the courtyard of the Moretti townhouse, a plate of pastries beside her and a porcelain cup in her hand.

I knew that table. Luca and I had spent countless Sunday afternoons there, sharing pastries and talking about our plans.

Bianca looked perfectly at ease.

Mrs. Moretti made these herself. Feeling so spoiled today. ??

The comments came from people in our senior class.

Already getting the future mother-in-law treatment? ??

Beauty, brains, AND Mrs. Moretti’s approval. Save something for the rest of us.

Heard Columbia’s next. Congrats, girl!

Luca had liked the post.

I stared at his name beneath the photograph until the screen dimmed.

Then Bianca sent another message.

Luca says you’ve been taking everything really hard. Please don’t fight with him over me. I already feel terrible.

For someone who felt terrible, she had chosen an excellent photograph.

A final message arrived.

I’d hate for things to be awkward just because of a letter.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. There were a dozen things I could have said.

Instead, I blocked her.

I deleted every group chat that had anything to do with Luca.

Then I sealed the box and booked a courier to take it to the Moretti townhouse.

I wrote Luca’s name on the label.

For the first time, I didn’t add a note.

Then I opened a new message to my research mentor.

I explained what Luca had admitted. I attached screenshots of his messages and asked her to help verify what had been submitted under Bianca’s name.

Then I clicked Send.

I sat quietly in the dim room, thinking about Luca again.

At school, his last name made people nervous. Plenty of girls were drawn to his looks and the power that came with being a Moretti.

But I had loved Luca, not his last name.

The boy who brought me soup when I was sick. The boy who called me after an argument with his father because he didn’t want anyone else to hear him sound afraid.

I had loved that boy.

And that same boy had given away something I earned because he felt sorry for Bianca—and believed I was strong enough to do without it.

I closed my laptop.

I could miss him and still leave.

Luca called just after six.

I answered because there were still things to settle, and because some part of me wanted to hear him finally understand.

“What the hell, Elena?”

So much for that.

“Why is there a box of my stuff in the foyer?”

“Because I’m returning it.”

“And the group chats? Seriously?”

I could hear a door closing on his end.

“Are you done yet?” It was Bianca.

I said nothing.

“You’ve made your point. You’re upset about the letter. I get it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep finding new ways to drag this out.”

I looked at the pale rectangle where our photograph had stood.

He still thought this was an argument.

Sooner or later, I would get tired of being angry. He would kiss me, I would cry, and everything would go back to the way he liked it.

“Elena, I don’t have time for more arguments. ”He exhaled. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“Look, everyone’s coming to the dinner tomorrow. You should come.”

“The class dinner?”

“Yeah.”

I waited.

“We’ve barely got any time left before everyone goes their separate ways,” he said. “Don’t miss it because we’re fighting.”

For a moment, he sounded like the boy on the townhouse roof.

Then he added, “Just come, okay? We can put this behind us.”

He had already decided what the evening would mean.

I ended the call.

A minute later, the dinner invitation appeared in our senior class chat. I had stayed in that one.

I scrolled past the restaurant address to the list of names.

These were my classmates. People I had known for four years. People I might not see again for a long time.

I wanted that last evening with them.

I tapped Going, then set my phone down.

There would be plenty to remember from high school.

Luca didn’t get to keep all of it.

I sat down and opened my email.

The graduation coordinator had confirmed my college destination. There were fewer than forty-eight hours until the announcement.

Then I would leave for Boston and say goodbye to Luca for good.