DESPITE EVERYTHING, I managed to scrape by my exams with high eighties, even a low ninety. It's official. Two days before my eighteenth birthday, I became a high school graduate. Now I'm what some people would classify as an 'adult.' I can buy lotto tickets, play the slots, and vote, so officially, my opinion matters.

Yet even with all these adult privileges, I still feel like a little girl trapped in her small town, hiding in her room with her stuffed teddies.

After we broke up, Carson quit working at Dee's. He'd breezed into the diner to grab his final paycheck, and for an entire month, I didn't see or hear from him. Then one day, I drove Nolan to a dentist appointment and saw him smoking a cigarette on the corner of Elmwood Avenue. If he noticed me, he didn't show it. If he misses me, I have no idea about it. We unfollowed each other on all forms of social media.

That was two months ago.

I still think about him all the time. The bad, mostly, because it's easier to think about the bad. To remind myself why I had to leave him even though I love him.

But sometimes, when I'm alone in my bed—like I am right now—I allow myself to think about the good. I thought the attraction was supposed to fade after you break up. I thought I'd stop thinking about him like this. The memories themselves are a rush; at first they feel good, but the comedown cripples me with guilt. I've tried looking at other people, thinking about other people. No one compares to him.

Does Carson still think about the good things we did together? I wonder who he's sleeping with now. I heard a rumor he hasn't moved on, but rumors are horse shit. Carson told me himself he doesn't like to be alone. So I'm sure there's someone sleeping in his bed.

It's none of my concern now anyway. I'm thinking I might say hi to him next time I see him—as a friend, obviously—but who knows when that'll be. I don't hate him; I never did. But having him as my boyfriend was too destructive.

"Jill!" Nolan calls, and before I can respond, he barrels into my room. The midday sun shines through my curtains.

"Whoa, hey bud," I say as he sprawls on my bed. Nolan holds his phone up, and I flinch when I see Colleen Mills's face on the screen.

"Hey, Jillie," she says.

"Colleen!"

My cousin and I reposition ourselves on my pillow. I hold up the phone so Colleen can see us both. Her blonde hair looks silky and alive, and behind her is a white wall shelved with potted plants. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Colleen looks healthy.

"You look incredible," I tell her, and she smiles. It's the same Colleen smile I've always known, yet there's more life on her face.

"Baby girl, you'd never believe the last time I had a drink."

"That's great. I'm happy for you, Colleen."

"I'm isolated as hell out here though. I miss my kid. I miss all of you."

"We miss you too."

It's strange, but I actually mean that. I don't miss Colleen's drinking, but not everything about her was bad.

"Nolan says you're a high school graduate now," Colleen says. "You know, I never got my diploma, but you've got a real head on your shoulders, Jillie."

"Thanks, Colleen. I'll be applying to universities for next year. NYU has a great music program."

"You'll get there."

"How's rehab been?"

"God awful at first. Trust me, I had a bad time. But as the days ticked by, things slowly started to get easier, like a fog lifting from my brain or something. Plus, the food's real good, which helped me get over how much I missed the booze. I'm gaining weight though."

I laugh. "That's a good thing, in my books."

I'm happy to see Colleen doing so well.

"Hey Nolan," Colleen says, "give me a minute alone with Jill."

Nolan shrugs before he runs off and closes the door behind him. I have a feeling I know what Colleen's going to bring up. We stay in silence for a moment before she speaks.

"I'm sure your mom already told you I've agreed to giving up my legal rights to Nolan," Colleen says, her voice tired and sad.

"I heard," I mumble. "You're doing the right thing. For him, and for you."

"I know I can't take care of him the way she can. Besides, it's not like I won't see him or nothing..." Grief takes over her face. "I mean, he just won't be living at the park with me whenever I get back. I'm still his mom."

"Exactly. Besides, maybe it's time you get out of the park too. Start fresh with an apartment in town or something. You can sell the trailer for at least a bit of cash."

I don't like the idea of Colleen all alone in that dark trailer, ghosts of her marriage to Tim Mills haunting her, ghosts of her former self tempting her.

"It's not the worst idea," Colleen says. "I'm just glad Nolan doesn't hate me for what I did."

"Nolan's smart and empathetic. He has a lot of forgiveness in him." More than I ever had, honestly.

We talk for about half an hour before Colleen says she has to go, but we make plans to FaceTime again next week. Our conversation leaves me feeling reinvigorated. I don't want to spend a beautiful summer day cooped up in my room, so I go for a drive.

***

The sunshine doesn't last. By the time I get downtown, dark clouds have taken over the sky, and it's hard not to feel gloomy again. I listen to the radio as rain begins to splatter the windshield.

Hull is normally alive in the summer, at least when it's not storming. People hurry down the sidewalks with their umbrellas and take refuge beneath trees. I pull up to a stoplight, and through the windshield wipers, I make out Carson's unmistakable shape. Head down, hooded, and waiting for the bus.

My stomach bottoms out.

We haven't said a word to each other since we broke up, and I'd be lying if I said I don't hate not knowing how he is. Swallowing my nerves, I pull over and park the car. God, I don't know what I'm thinking—I shouldn't go over there and talk to him. But old habits die hard, and I've been worrying about him since the night we broke up. I just want to see how he's doing, as a friend. It's been long enough since the breakup, right?

I get out of the car. Fat droplets of rain drench my denim jacket, seep into my hair, and run down my scalp. With my arms crossed, I hurry across the street. Carson sits on the bench in the bus shelter. When I get inside, he tugs the headphones from his ears, and acoustic guitar faintly crackles through them. He looks at me, stunned.

"Jill. Hi."

"Hey... how are you?" I don't know why I'm talking to him like he's a skittish animal. I guess I worry he hates me. I wouldn't blame him, really.

"I'm all right." Carson stands, his height towering over me like it always has, but the hoodie somehow looks bigger on him than it ever did before. His cheeks have thinned out and his arms have slimmed down. All throughout high school, Carson stayed in shape, spent most of his lunches in the weight room or running laps. Now I can't help but think he looks like Death with that black hood over his head. But when our eyes meet, I still see something beautiful in them.

You don't seem okay, I want to say, but it's not my place anymore. I guess that's what I wanted.

"Where've you been?" I ask. "I never see you around town."

"Working. The Stokes' farm picked me up again, have me doing shit around there."

"Oh. That's... good."

"Yeah. Work's shit, but it pays." He pauses. "How's your mom?"

"She's good. Yours?"

"Not much better."

"I'm sorry." I gesture to my car with my thumb. "Do you want a ride? My car's right there and—"

"No. I mean, thanks. But no, I'm good."

I smile tightly and nod, holding my hands behind my back. Of course he doesn't want a ride, I don't know why I even offered. We're not friends anymore. His life is none of my business, so I should back off.

"Take care of yourself, Carson," I say. As I'm leaving, he stops me.

"Jill, wait."

"Yeah?"

The rain grows heavier and slams against the glass roof of the shelter. Carson steps closer to me, but looks at anything but my eyes. His brown hair is in wet pieces across his pale forehead, and I take in every detail of his face, the exact same face I still see in my dreams. It's surreal now, to look at him as anything but a figment of my mind.

I know I did the right thing by breaking up with him. Hell, I was—am—happy about it. I stand by my decision, but sometimes even what's right can feel wrong.

After a long pause, Carson says, "I just wanted you to know that I get it. You're always cleaning up the messes around you. With your aunt, your dad. Me. I wanted to say that it's not your job to pick up every last piece of bullshit around you. You do it anyway, 'cause you're good inside. But it's not your job, and I get that."

Tears threaten me. I don't know why he's saying this to me now. "I never wanted to help you because I thought it was my job. I did it because I cared."

"I just needed you to know that I get it. And I don't hate you for breaking up with me."

All this time away, and so few words make me want to forget the past and take him in my arms again. I won't crumble, but a few tears escape me. I catch them with my sleeve, but he sees them. In one stride, he's in front of me, and his familiar smell of smoke surrounds me in a cloud of nostalgia.

"Jill, there's something I need to tell you."

My eyes snap to his, but he still won't look at me. "What is it?" His reply doesn't come, and a sense of seriousness is slapped into the moment. I cross my arms. "Carson, what?"

"It's—" He shakes his head and takes a step back. "Forget it, sorry. Just wanted to say thanks."

I narrow my eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's nothing, seriously. It's stupid."

"No, please tell me." My chest squeezes. Something about him has always made me want to pry into his head. Take his pain away, if I could. The time away from him didn't make me care for him less, it just numbed me. I should never have come over here.

"Forget it," Carson says. "It's nothing."

I feel like an idiot for being hurt he still won't open up. I could stand here and beg for the truth like I used to, but it's not my place anymore. Still, I have a sick feeling in my stomach that I can't puzzle out. Something about him seems off. And it's about more than drugs.

I leave anyway, because Carson's right: it isn't my job.

***

A few hours later, I'm playing guitar in my room, trying to pluck Carson out of my head with every note. It's stupid, but for the first time in my life, I tried writing a love song—but it's more of a breakup song, really. Is there even a difference?

Thunder growls outside. Through the windows, the sky has gone dark, the moon hidden behind thick layers of gray and black. The wind screeches against the window panes.

I play until I lose myself in the music. I'm getting close to perfecting the chorus; I want it to be a blend of melancholy and hopeful. Sadness, but a sense of what's right. A silver lining. That's how I felt when I left him. If I play the song enough, maybe I'll feel it again, and get rid of the anxiety seeing him today gave me.

What did you want to tell me, Carson?

He's always hiding something, and that's exactly why we didn't work out. I shouldn't care anymore.

My phone buzzes on my bed, and I frown at the name on my screen.

Clarissa Miller.

There's no way she'd call me if it wasn't about Carson. He's the only thing Clarissa and I have in common. Part of me knows I should ignore it; whatever it is, it doesn't involve me. But curiosity wins.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jill. It's Clarissa."

I smack my lips and stand, pacing across my bedroom. Her voice through the line sets me on edge. "What's up? You've never called me before."

"Yeah, actually it's about Blue. You seen him tonight?"

"No, I saw him at the bus stop but that was this afternoon."

"Shit." She moves away from the phone and calls out, "Guys, he's not with her."

There's muttering in the background of the call.

"What's going on?" I ask, voice shaking.

Clarissa sighs. "I know you guys broke up, and this totally isn't your problem, but I'm really worried about the guy. He's acting out of his head. Maybe you're done caring but—"

"What's he doing?"

"Man, I don't know. One minute we were all partying at Shae's, having a great time, the next he'd locked himself in a room and was tripping out. He did a lot of coke, then he disappeared and now we can't find him. Shae and some others went looking, but it's like he's just gone. We're worried he's gonna hurt himself."

Hurt himself?

The panic begins as a small spark then explodes inside my chest. I knew the way he'd acted at the bus stop wasn't normal. I draw a breath and try to keep it together. "Did you check his trailer?"

"Shae called his brother and he said he's not there."

"The cops. What about the cops?"

"We're all messed up, Jill. We'll get in shit."

The walls of my room spin, photographs turning to a blur of color. If Carson's missing, I don't have time to argue with Clarissa. Just as I'm about to speak, Shae's voice sounds through the phone. Another person I haven't so much as exchanged a word with since Carson and I broke up.

"Jill?"

"Shae? What's going on?"

"He's been gone about an hour. He's really high. Before he left, he wouldn't stop talking about you."

"What about me?"

"What do you think? I've never seen someone cut out of another person's life so fast, like a fuckin' guillotine. He wasn't even with us on prom night, you know that, right? He wasn't here. I tried to warn you before, Jill. Blue has issues, and it goes a lot deeper than what you think."

I'm full-blown crying now. I picture him in the bus shelter earlier, so many secrets on his tongue he just wouldn't say.

"We need to find him," is all I say.

"We're gonna look by the lake," Shae says. "Keep in touch."

The line goes dead. I shut my eyes and take a moment to breathe, but only long enough for air to fill my lungs. Hands shaking, I open my phone.

Sometimes when I get a call, I still worry it'll be about Dad being dead somewhere. Lately I've begun to worry it'll be about Carson too. Because even if I've expelled him from my life, my biggest fear is still his untimely death. Maybe it isn't my 'job'—but damn it, I still care.

Carson gave me Dorothy's number in case I ever needed it, though of course, I've never called. I try Carson first, but as expected, he doesn't pick up, so I call his mom. Within two beeps, Dorothy answers.

"Hello?"

"Dorothy? It's Jill."

There's an eerily long pause, but in a weird way, it's good to hear her voice. Carson might be with her. "Jillian? Oh my Goodness... I thought I'd never hear from you again! How are you?"

"Good, thank you. So hey, did Carson come home?"

"Why—yes! He just got here."

I collapse onto my bed and cram my free palm into my eye. He's okay.

But then Dorothy says, "Oh Jill, you have to get here. He's so ill. You know he calls for you in his sleep sometimes. I think he's calling for you right now..."

Dread mixed with fear creeps through me. There it is, his supposed sickness again. I would think it was just about him being high if she didn't say he was sick as a kid too. Which to my best memory, he wasn't.

"Can you put Carson on the phone please?" I ask.

"No, dear, he's far too sick for that. Can't you come see him in person, just this once?"

All kinds of warning bells clang in my head. I told myself I'd never chase Carson again—he's a broken person, but I'm not worried about him as my ex-boyfriend, I'm worried about him as a friend. As another human being.

So I'll try to help him again, one last time.