ONE LAST TEXT
who turned out, once I actually cornered him, to know absolutely nothing at all, just enjoying the attention that came with pretending he did.
Every single thread I pulled led back to the same locked door. Dark hallway, bad lighting, a party full of people too drunk to be reliable witnesses to their own night let alone mine.
"Maybe I'm not supposed to know," I said to my mom that night, sitting at the kitchen table again, the physics textbook long since abandoned, the dishes drying in the rack behind her. "Maybe this is just something I have to live with. Not knowing. Maybe that's the actual answer and I've just been too stubborn to accept it."