Chapter 6

“I’m going to spend the summer doing something for myself,” I told him.

Mason’s lips moved a couple of times. He seemed to be searching for a joke, something easy he could say to make this stop being serious. “Boston’s not the moon. You’ll come home when you’re done, right?”

I shook my head. “I’m staying for the fall. I’ll be starting college.”

“What about us?”

The question came so quickly that it still hurt. “I sent you a message, Mason. The night you posted that video.”

“We were kidding around. Tyler and everyone took their likes back.” He pulled out his phone. The count was down to ninety-something. “See? It’s not even two hundred.”

I looked at the number and didn’t know how to make this any clearer. “I’m choosing not to be your girlfriend anymore. Even if every single person takes their like back, that won’t change.”

Tyler finally stopped smiling. He stepped aside and stopped trying to plan our reconciliation for us.

Audrey moved closer. “Please don’t fight over—”

“Not now.” Mason didn’t look at her. He kept his voice low as he watched me. “I know you don’t like her. I’ll be more careful, okay? But you can’t get mad and stop telling me what’s wrong.”

“I told you. I said my research files weren’t hers to touch. Neither was my sketchbook. When my hand was bleeding, I wanted you to ask what happened.”

“I did ask.”

“After you listened to her.”

He looked down, digging his fingers into the moose’s fur. It took him a while to say, “I thought you knew who I wanted.”

The security line was moving. I put my phone away and asked him to let me through. He didn’t move, but his eyes were getting red.

“At least stay for my birthday. Just tonight. I’ll bring you back tomorrow. I’ll buy you another ticket.”

A few months ago, I might’ve said yes. I’d waited a long time to hear him say he wanted me. But I could also hear every time he’d told me to apologize first, every time I’d put what I needed aside so we could be okay again.

“Happy birthday, Mason.” I hugged him briefly. “Just don’t do this to someone you love again.”

Then I let go and went into security. As I reached the ID check, my phone kept buzzing. His name filled the screen, but I didn’t answer. He was still outside the barrier, holding that toy. I saw him call my name, and this time I kept going.

Once I was in my seat, I texted Grandpa my seat number. He called almost immediately, asking if I’d eaten and reminding me not to wander off looking for a ride when I landed.

Listening to those ordinary instructions, I suddenly asked, “What if I regret this?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “Then we’ll deal with that when it happens. Right now, go where you want to go.”

I turned toward the window and told him I would.

I’d paid for the flight with money from tutoring younger kids at the community library. My housing was confirmed, and I knew who would meet me when I arrived. As I’d worked through those arrangements, none of them had frightened me as much as I’d expected.

What made my palms sweat was doing it without waiting for Mason to agree.

After takeoff, Denver’s lights fell away below us. I lowered the window shade and cried against the seat until the woman beside me offered a tissue and quietly asked if I wanted water. I thanked her, wiped my face, and opened the materials my research mentor had sent.

The watershed model I’d been so eager to learn was on the first page.

It was dark by the time we landed in Boston. A student assistant from the program met me at the agreed pickup spot, checked my name, and took me to the shuttle for Cambridge.

My roommate, Leah, had just graduated from high school, too. She was assembling a bookcase on the floor when I dragged my suitcase in. She immediately moved her jacket off the other bed.

“You can have the one by the window. I sometimes watch games at night, but I’ll wear headphones.”

I set my backpack down, suddenly unsure what to do next. She pointed to a takeout bag on the table. “I got an extra order of pasta. Haven’t touched it. You hungry?”

We ate beside the half-built bookcase and talked about the high school classes we’d hated and all the useless things we’d packed for our first time away from home. She didn’t ask why my eyes were swollen. I didn’t have to explain my entire relationship before we could have a normal conversation.

After I showered, Tyler called again. When I didn’t answer, he sent a video. It showed the converted game room at Mason’s house, last year’s team pennant still hanging on the wall. Our classmates waved paper cups and shouted for the birthday boy to choose someone for a kissing dare.

Audrey sat beside him, smiling as she edged closer. Mason turned his head and held an empty cup between them. “Stop filming,” I heard him say.

Tyler’s message came next: [If you don’t come, he really will end up with someone else.]

I wrote back: [You’re messing with him, and you’re messing with me. I’m done being part of it.]

I muted the chat and was about to put my phone away when a new photo appeared in the fundraiser group. It had been posted from Mason’s account. He was slumped against Audrey on the couch, his eyes closed, while she made a heart at the camera.

The caption read: [From now on, it’s us.]

Immediately afterward came a pledge in his name. The fundraiser’s proceeds would now go toward Mrs. Blake’s rehabilitation, with the Reed family covering any additional costs. The amount was twenty-four thousand dollars.

I sat up. That money had been raised for the community river restoration project. My research was one of the projects we’d presented at the fundraiser to show people what their donations would support.

Almost at the same moment, Audrey sent me a private message: [See? You don’t have to worry about him anymore.]

I didn’t answer. I took a screenshot of the pledge and sent it to the teacher supervising the fundraiser.