To my Romeo, I am dying
"I'm done. I mean it. Keep your secret. From now on, you're dead to me."
He walked away before I found a single word to say. I stood there with the sun beating down on my scalp, thinking, of all things, about the three or four strands of hair that had come out in the shower that morning. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it would hurt less when the real ending came if he'd already stopped loving me first.
I almost believed that, walking back past the trophy case, past the auditorium doors propped open for rehearsal signups.
Then the hallway tilted.