I tear open the drawer of his bedside table, thinking there might be pieces of whatever had broken inside. But it’s practically empty. There’s a pencil, a paper clip, a list written in his handwriting, crumpled up and flattened again. It looks like it’s a list from the end of last school year, projects due. It says English Final. Library. Science Final. 22. Card for J.

I think back to June, when we were taking finals, wondering what 22 could stand for. And what he could’ve been giving me a card for. I can’t think of anything. I don’t remember any cards at all. And then it becomes clear. The J is for Julian. The 22nd was the date. The day of his graduation party.

Caleb hadn’t shown up. I tried not to let it show on my face, when Julian was so happy, and his friends—our friends—were all there. Knowing how hard they’d all worked for this moment, and my parents too, and all the mixed emotions that came with getting him to this point but also letting him go.

I tried not to let it ruin my time, either. But it was late afternoon and Caleb hadn’t been answering my texts or calls all day.

My dad was grilling and my mom was talking to the other baseball parents. I was checking on the drinks. I was getting more ice, when needed. I was answering the call of Jessa, can you that I’d come to expect, and for once, I let it take the place of the circle of thoughts running through my head: Why wasn’t he here? Why didn’t he tell me? Why wasn’t he answering my calls?

“Jessa,” my dad called from the back sliding glass doors. “Can you do me a favor and check on the boys. Just make sure they’re not doing anything too stupid, okay?”

I stopped arranging fruit. “You’re going to have to define too stupid, Dad.”

“Just…,” he said, and he looked up at the sky for an answer, as if filtering an explanation for his teenage daughter was too much to ask. But I knew what he meant. There was an ice bucket of cheap beer that had recently gone missing from the back deck. There were sounds of cheering from the side yard. But he wanted to give them space. Let them celebrate.

“You mean, I should make sure they’re not, like, sacrificing virgins to the Greek gods or anything?” I’d said, trying for humor.

But his face turned red, almost scarlet, and I realized I’d used the V-word, which was strictly against protocol in father-daughter conversations.

“Something like that,” he said, taking the fruit platter from the counter.

Just then, Hailey walked in, in a sundress and ballet flats, red lipstick, wrapped gift in hand. I greeted her with a smile and our mission.

“Can you define too stupid?” she asked my father.

My dad groaned at the ceiling and mumbled to himself, and Hailey didn’t get why I was doubled over in laughter.

“We’re on it, Dad!” I called after him, as he carried the fruit out back.

Around the side of the house, in the flattened area sheltered by trees, Julian and some of his teammates were playing a pickup game of football. Except after a moment, I realized it wasn’t really a game of football—it was Julian trying to make it past a team of five alone.

“Hey, Julian,” Hailey called, and he paused, looking over his shoulder. “Need a teammate?”

He shook his head and took off, before getting brought down by Max and Liam, just shy of the makeshift end zone, his arm extended into the strip of grass between trees, which currently housed the missing cooler of beer.

“That counts,” he said, one hand inches from the container.

Max pulled a beer from the cooler, handing it to him. “Only because it’s technically your beer,” he said, and they laughed.

Max waved from the end zone, and Julian called, “Who’s next?” and Hailey turned to me with a grin. “Do you think this counts as too stupid?”

Hailey slipped off her shoes, held out her arm for the ball. “Over here,” she called. “Except we’re a team of two.”

I laughed, stepping out of my own shoes. But Julian shook his head. “Uh-uh. No.” He looked firmly at each of his friends.

But Max was smiling, and he tossed the ball in my direction. “Let’s see what you got, then!”

I caught the ball and turned to Hailey. “Ready?” I asked.

“Wait a minute,” she called, tying up her hair.

Hailey crouched low, and I smiled in her direction.

“Okay, go,” she said. It was on.

I threw Hailey the ball first, let her weave her way as far as she could get, until Liam picked her up in a bear hug and she screamed, “My dress!” And when he put her down, she laughed and took off, calling “Suckers!” over her shoulder.

She headed straight for Julian, who I knew would not let her by no matter what, because to do so would mean letting his younger sister and her best friend get at their beer. And without looking, eyes still locked on Julian, she tossed the ball to the side, knowing I’d be there. All I had to do was make it through Max, from my side.

I ran straight for him, a game of chicken, guessing he would let me by rather than knock me down. But he didn’t budge. Shook his head just slightly as I approached, and I tilted my left shoulder into him as I ran. Max was much taller than me, and there are certain unbendable laws of physics, and I knew he had me stopped. His arms came around my waist, and my momentum ground to a halt. But at the last minute, he seemed to lose his balance as I tried to push him away. His body tilted back, and we were falling.

He let out an oof as he landed in the grass, my weight on top of his own, his arms still around my back, the ball cradled against his chest.

And from the background, I heard Hailey cry, “Victory!”

I was laughing, and so was Max. “You okay?” I asked.

He dropped his arms, rested his head back. “I will be, when you get up.”

I dropped the ball, stood, smoothed my dress down, reached a hand down for Max.

I heard Hailey taunting Julian in the background. “You think you’re the only Whitworth with moves, Julian? Allow me to introduce you to your sister.”

Max hung an arm over my shoulder, breathing heavy. “Well played, Jessa.”

Hailey was rummaging through the cooler, with Julian watching, his arms crossed, face frozen in a frown. Then I felt Max stiffen, quickly drop his arm, and call, “You gonna take your shot, Caleb?”

My shoulders tensed. I turned to the house, saw him leaning against the corner, watching. “Hey!” I called, jogging over to him. But his face was unreadable. “You made it.”

There was something indecipherable in his expression. And meanwhile I was thinking, Where were you? Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer my text? But he had an envelope tucked under his arm, Julian’s name printed on the front. And all he said was, “Sorry I’m late.”

The day was supposed to be a celebration, not about me at all. “Come on,” I said, hooking my arm through his, “I just earned you a beer.”

And all was forgiven.

“I guess this explains why it’s taking so long.” Eve’s words yank me from the memory. She’s standing just inside the entrance to the room in bare feet, her toenails painted a dark maroon. She’s caught me staring out the window, with the list on the surface of the bedside table, but she doesn’t seem to notice the paper.

“I was just remembering something,” I say.

Eve takes a step closer. “What were you remembering, Jessa?”

I swallow, feeling cornered, like this room is a bunker, exactly as Caleb described it, and there’s no way out. A narrow flight of stairs beyond his mother. A window behind me, too high off the ground, with nothing but concrete down below.

“Christmas,” I say, nodding my head toward the ribbon on the shelf, the last rays of twilight catching the shimmer. “That was from a present I gave him.”

“Any other surprises?” she says, and I can’t tell whether she’s asking out of curiosity, or if she knows. I wonder if he brought this other girl back to his house. If his mother knew all along, and is using this to punish me—hoping I discover it for myself.

“No,” I say. I do not take the bait. Not from her. Not from anyone. I step back slowly, circling my hand around the post of his headboard.

Except as I’m saying the word, my fingers brush against a thick string, a cord. Something that blended in with the grooves of the headboard.

I try not to look at it; I need her to leave me alone up here. “I need to go soon,” I say. “I have a test tomorrow. I’m just finishing up.”

Eve is upset with me, and I’m not sure whether it’s because I’ve had to remind her that life keeps going for me, and I must pretend to care about trivial things like tests and curfews, or because I am bailing on her, and it’s taking longer than she expected. She must want me out of here as much as I want to get through it.

Except it’s getting harder and harder to leave. With each piece that I put aside, there’s less and less of Caleb remaining. I don’t want to move any faster, scared there will be nothing, and scared there will be too much. Things I didn’t want to know. Pieces he never shared, and hid away.

“I have off last period tomorrow,” I tell her. “I’ll come right away. I’ll get more done.”

She doesn’t speak, just walks back down the steps, and I see a second shadow on the landing—Mia, hidden just around the corner, listening.

As soon as Mia retreats to her room and Eve is out of sight, I follow the cord hanging from the back of his headboard, follow it to the item wedged between the wall and the back of the bed, hanging beside his window.

It’s a small pair of binoculars, and I’m pretty sure these don’t belong to Caleb.

I spend a few moments holding them in the palm of my hand, a memory of warmth, followed by a sharp chill.

I quickly shove them in my purse, and I leave.