back before everything exploded with her parents—but after that the waters had been perfectly, mercifully calm. In fact, the closest they’d ever come was at a party Adrienne had thrown over February break a few weeks before they’d broken up: Mason had been a total grouch for no discernable reason, complaining about everything from the music on Javi’s playlist to the burritos they’d picked up at Chipotle on the way over, which had been his idea to begin with. Meg remembered how uneasy she’d been all night at the prospect of a looming fight, how she’d done her best to ignore the fact that it was happening, and her relief when it had blown over without ever coming to a head. She still had no idea what his problem had been. “No, actually,” she said at last. “You’re the only one.”
Colby laughed at that. “I’m so honored.”
“Take it as a compliment,” she teased, settling back against the pillows. “I’m totally honest with you.”
“Yeah, that’s because I’m not impressive enough for you to actually care what I think.”
“Wait, what?” She’d thought they were winding down, but just like that, Meg was sitting up again, adrenaline surging through her veins. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, Colby. It’s not.” Her voice was steady, somehow, but even as the words came out she wondered if maybe he had a point. Did she tell him everything, even the bad parts, because she trusted him? Or did she tell him everything—even the bad parts—because the stakes were so low? She didn’t want to think about it.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said, hating the feeling of being on the defensive and wanting to turn the tables as quick as she could. “Does anybody in your real life even know about me?”
“I—what?” Colby asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m just asking.” Meg raised her eyebrows even though he couldn’t see her. “If we’re talking about whose opinion is or isn’t important, or whatever.”
Colby didn’t answer for so long Meg thought he might have fallen asleep right in the middle of their argument. Then he sighed. “I mean,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “What is there to know?”
“I—” Meg broke off, her whole body getting unpleasantly hot as the utter stupidity of this whole bizarre episode caught up to her all at once: Arguing politics and TV and life philosophies with some lonely, random stranger. Caring so deeply about a relationship that didn’t even exist anywhere but in some invisible signal stretching over state lines. “That’s a good question, I guess.” She felt like she might be about to cry again, which was ridiculous: after all, it was just Colby. He wasn’t impressive enough to care about, and as soon as she had that thought she felt about two inches tall. “I should go,” she said suddenly.
“Meg,” he said—and she thought he sounded a little panicky all of a sudden, though she might have been imagining it. Her head was getting fuzzy. She wanted to go to sleep. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “It’s just late, that’s all. I’ve got school in the morning. And you said yourself you’ve got to work.”
“No, I know, but—”
“I’ll talk to you soon,” she said, then hung up before he could answer. She shoved the phone underneath her pillow before she started to cry.
Thirteen
Colby
Micah’s brother had a night game on Thursday, so they all trekked out to the municipal field to see him play. Colby had pitched in high school—he hadn’t been particularly good at it, just like he hadn’t been particularly good at much in high school—but he’d always kind of liked being out there, the lazy hum of cicadas and the smell of the grass thick in the air. The thing about being done with school was that summer wasn’t that different from any other time of the year, but Colby secretly found himself looking forward to it anyway, like Pavlov’s dogs conditioned for the sound of the bell.
A month and some change till the anniversary, he remembered suddenly, with a hot rush of shame as he realized he hadn’t even really thought about it the last couple of weeks, he’d been so distracted with . . . other stuff. Colby scrubbed a hand through his hair, yanking a little. Jesus Christ, what the fuck did he think he was looking forward to, exactly?
Still, he had to admit it was a pretty night, the spring trees finally getting greenish and the