A shower, makeup, and the perfect skater dress oxford shoes outfit do wonders to hide the ache in my gut.

But they do nothing to lessen it.

This is all my fault.

I fucked up.

I need to find a way to fix it.

Later.

Right now, I have to survive my first day. And that starts with choking down breakfast.

I do one more makeup check. My eyes look perfectly awake.

My lips and cheeks wear just the hint of color.

I look cute, effortless, vibrant.

Hell, with my glasses on, I'm a bona fide cute nerd.

But my smiling reflection only twists the knife in my gut.

"Hey," Emma calls from downstairs. "You need to leave soon."

"You too." I force myself to head to the kitchen.

She jumps to her feet and throws her arms around me. "I wanted to see you off."

I squeeze her back.

"You okay, Kay? You seem... sad." The word is a struggle. It sounds odd on her tongue. She's as bad at talking about feelings as I am.

"Tired."

"You sure that's it?"

No. I want to tell her more. To tell her everything. But she can't know about my depression. And she certainly can't know what happened between me and her brother. I can't take her hating me too. "We can talk later."

She steps back with a smile. "Boy trouble?"

"Sorta."

Her jaw drops. Her dark eyes light up. "You like someone?"

"It's more compli—"

"Oh my God! You like someone." She squeezes me again. "We're going to talk about this all night. Can you help me go red?"

"Of course. How red?"

"More crimson. Like a vampire."

"It will suit you."

"I think so too." She smiles as she picks up her backpack and slides it over one shoulder. "You want a ride?"

"I'd rather bike." I motion to the clock. Her first class is in half an hour. I have an extra hour after that. "Go. Kick ass."

"Okay." She blows me a kiss as she steps backward. "I love you, Kay." She reaches for the door. Pulls it open. "Don't worry. We'll put our heads together. Figure out this boy problem."

I swallow the confession that rises up in my throat. "I trust you."

She blows me a kiss as she makes her way out the door.

The lock clicks. Her car turns on and pulls away.

I fix a cup of tea. Pour my own bowl of cereal. Watch as my Trader Joe's brand frosted wheat cereal goes from hard to soft. Force myself to eat the shredded wheat until it's soft instead of rough.

Then I clean up all the dishes. Make another cup of tea. Stare at the text from Brendon on my phone.

Brendon: Spending the night at Walker's place. I'll be home late.

I can still see that look on his face. Like I stabbed him in the gut.

I need to fix this.

But how do I convince him I'm worth trusting again?

That I did it because I want all of him—especially those parts he won't show anyone. Especially the parts he thinks are ugly. Especially the secrets.

I need to prove I can be that person. The one who really sees him. That really lets him see me.

But the thought of confessing that sends shredded wheat back up my throat.

I can barely admit it to myself, much less to him. I have episodes. Where I think about hurting myself. About making everything stop.

I can't even use the word.

It's too ugly.

It scares me.

It will terrify him.

And then...

He might leave.

I want him to know the truth.

I want to be like Ariel, strong enough to sing my fucking heart out.

Strong enough to go after what I want.

To show off my scars.

My secrets.

I'm not ready yet. But I can get there.

I can let him in. Or at least try. Or start to try.

I rush to my bedroom. Pore over my journal for just the right thing. Not a poem. Not a story. An entry. One about him. One that shows off something ugly, something I can stand him knowing.

It takes half an hour, but I find it.

I tear the pages out. Grab a silver Sharpie. Sign my name with an I'm sorry and slide it under his bedroom door.

That's something.

I just hope it's enough.

* * *

I'm halfway through my almond butter and jelly sandwich when my cell starts buzzing. Dammit. I'm going to have to come up with a lie, a believable lie, if I want Emma to drop this.

But it's not a text from Emma.

It's my mom.

My stomach twists. I don't have the energy to pretend everything's okay. Or to hold my tongue.

I pick up anyway. "Hey."

"Kay. Hey." Mom's voice is soft. Loving. "How are you? How was your first day?"

"Okay. It's been Latin and American lit. Tomorrow is chemistry and creative writing."

Her voice perks. "Yeah?"

My shoulders rise to my ears. Is that a why would you waste your time or interesting, tell me more. "It's just an elective."

"No, sweetie. That's great. You've always been such a wonderful writer. Your grandma keeps going on and on about your stories. She misses them."

"Are you going to tell me the truth?"

"What?"

"About how she's doing?" I don't have the energy to pretend like I'm okay not knowing. Or to deny that things are fucked. They are. And I need to know how fucked.

"We're not sure. Honestly, I don't understand half of what the doctors say. Something about heart disease and clogged arteries. Her condition is terminal, but they're not sure if it will be months or years."

"Oh." It might only be months. It might be nothing at all.

"I asked Mr. Kane about the best time to fly you out. He wasn't sure."

It's so weird, her calling Brendon Mr. Kane. "Any weekend. I just need to know in advance. Jake will give me the time off." Probably. But even if he doesn't, I'm taking it. I've worked at The Pizza Kitchen long enough. I can find a better job if I have to.

"You're just starting now. You need time to adjust."

"I need to see Grandma."

"I'll check flights. See what I can do with miles. But school needs to come first, sweetie."

School can wait. School can happen next year. Grandma might not be around next year.

But this is the best I'm going to get from Mom.

That's okay. I have my own money. I can buy my own ticket to Jersey. She's not going to stop me once I'm there.

"Okay." My voice is a whisper. It's a million degrees today, but I feel cold. It might be months. And if it might be months, it might be weeks.

"Grandma wants to talk to you. I'll hand the phone over soon. When's your next class?"

"Half an hour."

"Tell me about it."

I do. I spill all the details of my day. My inability to sleep. My talk with Emma this morning. My professor bragging about all her Latin tattoos.

I don't say anything about how awful it feels, knowing Grandma might only have months.

Or about how bullshit it is that they've been keeping that from me.

I don't want to focus on that.

I want to focus on the good. On soaking up what I have while I have it.

"I really am proud of you, Kay. You're such a talented young woman. I wish you could be here," she says.

"I could be there."

"I know, baby. But then you wouldn't be at school. And I didn't want that weight on your conscious. Grandma either. We don't want you to feel guilty for choosing school over family. We don't want you to give up your life."

Something flutters in my chest. Not quite warmth or forgiveness but something close to it.

Mom didn't want guilt on my shoulders.

That's why she didn't give me a choice.

It doesn't excuse everyone treating me like a child.

It doesn't do shit about the realities of the situation.

But it does lessen the sting.

Just enough to make it bearable.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too."

"I'll grab Nana."

"Okay." I press my fingers into the back of my cell. The anger in my gut fades to a dull ache. This is a shitty situation and Mom is making the best of it. Or trying to.

"Kay-bear." Grandma's voice fills the speakers. "Tell me the truth about your classes. One of them was boring." Her voice is rich. Light. Full of life. Like she has decades.

"No. Latin was tough. I'm rusty."

Grandma scoffs. "It's a dead language."

"I know."

"Pointless."

"Like life?"

Grandma laughs. "You know me to well, Kay-Bear." Her voice drops to something sincere. "You doing okay staying with that hot friend of yours?"

"Brendon?"

"Hmm."

"Huh?"

"Your voice changed. Something's wrong. Don't tell me it's school."

"No. It's good. Really."

"Work?"

"No. Jake gave me the schedule I requested. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. Closing shifts."

"No wonder you're cranky. Who wants to work all weekend?"

"People who want money."

She laughs. "You and Em okay?"

"I think so."

"Kay." Her voice lifts. "It's that boy, isn't it? Things going okay with him?"

"I don't know."

"They're not. I know that tone. I was your age once, you know. I remember how it felt, those early crushes. It was like he moved the stars."

That's a good way of putting it. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Kay-Bear. But you need to focus on school."

"But—"

"No buts. You have a bright future. You're the first woman in my family to go to college. That's what I want for you."

I have a million objections. I can start school next year. She might not be here next year. What's an extra year of education compared to time with Grandma?

"Tell me you've got something good to read me. Something Days of Our Lives."

"I haven't been watching."

"Then another one about Peeta and Gale double-timing Katniss."

"Grandma!" My cheeks flush. "I didn't write that one. It was something I found on that fan fiction website."

"Why not write the sequel?"

"I'll think about it."

"Anything good with Draco and Harry?"

"I'm working on it."

"How dirty?"

"Oh my God, Grandma. It's about the relationship, not the sex."

"No. It's about the sex."

I laugh. Talking to her makes me warm all over.

It's like this empty part of me is full.

But I can't think too hard about it. Or I'll think about how she's running out of time...

I won't be able to talk to her like this soon.

I...

"Tell me about the boy. Same one you mentioned last time?" Her voice gets mischievous. Like she's a teenager.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"He's... I messed up."

"You?"

"Yeah. I did."

"Is it unforgivable?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but he's hard to read. He's..."

"It's him, isn't it?"

"Who?" I ask.

"Your hot friend. The one who's supposed to watch out for you."

"It's not like that. He... He's always saying that we can't. That it's wrong—"

"Always? You nagging him?"

"No. He said it once. But he kissed me too."

"You think it's wrong?"

"I don't know. I... I get that he's older. That he's supposed to be in charge of my well-being. That he's paying for my place to stay and my food. Well, I'm trying to pay my share of the food, but he argues about it."

"Kay-bear, do you think it's wrong?"

"No... I... I really like him."

"He's hot. I don't blame you."

"Does Mom know?" My chest is heavy. Not from the threat of Mom coming between me and Brendon. But from how good it feels talking to Grandma like this. From knowing there's a time limit on that.

"You think I'd narc on you?"

"No. But she might realize—"

"She doesn't."

"Oh. Good." I check the time. Only five minutes until I need to leave for class. Damn. I want to tell Grandma everything. Well, some things. She always gets it. And she won't feel betrayed the way Emma will.

"Does he want you too or is he an idiot?"

"He does. But it's complicated."

"It's never complicated. Not unless you make it that way."

"He used to say that."

"Smart man. But stupid if he hasn't scooped you up yet."

"There are good reasons."

"Still. He cares about you?"

"I think so."

"Then find a way to make it uncomplicated."

It's good advice, even if I have no idea how to accomplish it. "I have to go. Class. I love you, Grandma."

"Gigi."

"I love you, Grandma."

"Love you too, Kay-Bear. Give him hell for me."