Inside is a keychain, with the logo of the school mascot. But that’s not what has me frozen.

In my hand is a gift he had bought me, and never given. We were always on the lookout for my name on magnets or keychains or ornaments. It was an obsession of mine, because I could never find it. And there in my hand, the letters glittering in the light of the foyer, is the word Jessamyn.

I’m trying to imagine if there might’ve been a different sequence of events if he’d brought this out of his pocket that Monday morning when he returned. If the conversation would’ve steered out of dangerous territory. I’m trying to imagine a different string of events than what really happened that day.

We were standing in a row of lockers in the student center the Monday morning after his visit, our voices carrying no matter how low we spoke.

“What were you doing, that you were too busy to call?” I wanted to know. We were already there, on the edge. It had gnawed at me all summer, this something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But it was such a big step, such a big leap to make over nothing. Undoing everything we had become, over nothing more than a feeling.

I wanted a reason. Something to cause the final split. But instead we hovered around it. I wanted to say he had done something, something to give voice to the feeling.

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

“Should I?”

He didn’t answer. The silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.

“If you don’t, then you don’t. Nothing I say or don’t say will change that,” he said. He had adopted this air of condescension, affected a level of maturity I had presumably yet to reach.

It was his tone that pushed me to it. “I guess I don’t then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

He slammed his locker shut, spun the numbers on the lock. “Well, then I guess that settles it.” Like we were in turmoil, and now the pieces were settling after a storm, onto opposite sides of the line.

Except it wasn’t settled yet. He found me after practice that day, forcing the point. Making it a moment impossible to come back from.

“Just say it,” he said. His hands were up in the air, out to the side, as if he were bracing himself.

You don’t love me.

I don’t love you.

It’s over.

But instead I shook my head, the words too foreign. A year together. Our existences too wrapped up in each other.

We were standing on the grassy hill after practice. He was in jeans. He’d been waiting for me. He’d been watching. I was sweaty and thirsty and the muscles in my legs burned, and I felt outside myself, like I always did after a long run—that I was overdosed on air. My hands started shaking.

Caleb looked over his shoulder once. Like even this part didn’t require his undivided attention. He was split in two places, even then, already gone—already ten minutes from then, a day, a week. This just an item on one of his to-do lists that needed to be crossed off.

“Just go,” I said.

Caleb narrowed his eyes, the muscles in his face hardening. “That’s it? That’s everything? That’s all you have to say?”

But didn’t he get it? I didn’t want to give any more of myself away. I’d given everything, and now it was time to take it back. To hold on to the mystery, and leave him wanting instead.

“Yeah, Caleb. That’s it.”

He looked at me like he was surprised to suddenly realize he didn’t know this person standing before him at all.

“Wow. Well, what can I say, I’m so glad we did this, Jessa.”

I’m so glad we did this. His words rang in my ears. This. This conversation? This breakup? The entire last year?

I turned to go, walking down the hill to the water cooler, where everyone was still gathered, stretching after practice. Watching. “Hope you’re happy,” he called after me.

I didn’t turn to look, but I knew when he left because everyone shifted their focus from him to me.

I felt their eyes on me, and I knew I needed to say something, that the rumors would begin whether I said it or not. “Turns out I could use a ride home,” I said.

Hailey took a step closer, and Max was still staring at the empty spot where Caleb had just been.

“What a jerk,” Hailey said, because that was what I would say to her if our places were switched. She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezed, then said, “Oh, crap, guess I’m going to need a ride home, too.” Then she let out the slightest giggle.

And then I was laughing too, both of us, a fit of inappropriate laughter, to mask the moment, to mask the tears.

I knew Max would wait for us, after we got changed. I knew in a way that didn’t make me have to ask him, or him have to say it, even though his allegiance was to Caleb in that moment. But I knew, because of how he once pushed back through the crowd for me, how he said You just left her, to him after.

We dropped Hailey off first, on the way, and we were almost to my place when he said, “Want to talk about it?”

But I just stared out the window, resting my head against it. I felt the reality filter in, all the changes. I wouldn’t take out my phone to text Caleb as soon as I was alone in my room. He wouldn’t pick me up tomorrow. I’d have to ask my parents if I could use Julian’s car for school. They’d have to ask why. I’d have to say it. All this talk, and now I just wanted silence.

“No,” I said. He pulled up at my house, and I grabbed my bag from the backseat. “Max?” I said. “Thank you for the ride home.”

He nodded once, his face stoic.

I went to close the door, and he called my name. I turned back. “We’re friends, too. Whether you’re with him or not. We were friends before.” I’d known him forever, it was true, but the last year with Caleb had really cemented our friendship.

I nodded and looked quickly away, feeling the knot in my throat, the burn in my eyes.

Max’s words were both true and not. We could be friends at practice. He could give me a ride home if I needed one. But we couldn’t just pick up the phone, or meet up at the beach, or fight over riding shotgun.

All of this changes, too.