Tristan’s father couldn’t console him. They drove home in silence. As soon as he was in the door, Tristan trooped up to his room and remained there. He didn’t want to eat and he couldn’t sleep, woken by constant dreams of Helena’s body falling to the ground—the way her hair fluttered around her face…and then the thud.

The morning brought no relief, so he stayed beneath the covers staring at the paper cranes above him and lamenting the fact that he may never have anymore. His father knocked on his door late in the morning, holding two baseball mitts.

“You want to play catch?”

He frowned at his father’s pitiful attempt, shaking his head and rolling away without a word. He waited out the sigh and the slow click of his door closing before getting out of bed. There were still a few paper cranes sitting on his desk. Snatching a marker, he wrote down his woes on the wings and threw them out the window.

Pressing his palms against the frame, he watched them float on the breeze and land in the gutter.

“It didn’t work,” he muttered. “I still feel like shit.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and shuffling back to bed.

Although he wanted to stay there for a few more days, his father wouldn’t let him. At six thirty the next morning, his covers were thrown back and he was ordered into the shower. Seeing his father take control again was a weird experience. Tristan couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

“I’m driving you to school,” his father murmured, sipping at his coffee before taking a bite from his toast.

“I’ve got my bike,” Tristan muttered.

“Your brain is on another planet today and I don’t trust you in the traffic. Let me drive you to school and pick you up.”

Tristan’s eyebrows bunched together and he pushed his bowl of half-eaten Cheerios away.

His father stopped the bowl from falling off the table and threw Tristan a disapproving frown. “Okay, I get it. You’re not used to me playing dad, but it’s my turn. You looked after me when my heart was in pieces. Now I’ve got to step up and do the same for you, so please let me, okay?”

Tristan shrugged, gazing down at the table and avoiding eye contact.

It was probably horrible for his father, but Tristan had suffered the same stony silence for months, so it was only fair.

Rising from the breakfast table, he threw out his cereal, rinsed the bowl, and then got ready for school. They pulled into the Burlington High parking lot and Tristan got out of his dad’s pickup truck with a mumbled goodbye. He could feel his father staring at his back the whole way into school, but he wasn’t about to turn around and wave.

Jumping straight back to his old tricks, Tristan fell into numb mode, letting the world around him turn to fuzz. He missed the concern in Mikayla’s voice when she asked him how his weekend was, and he nearly got hit in the head with a flying football on his way to PE.

He remained in a dazed stupor until the end of English when Miss Warren pulled him up after class.

“What is it this time?” he muttered, kicking at the desk leg and bumping it out of alignment. He gripped his bag strap, feeling bad but not making a move to correct his mistake.

“You’ve got that lifeless look in your eyes again.”

Tristan shrugged.

Miss Warren crossed her arms, her skin-colored pumps tapping on the floor as she walked around to the front of her desk. She leaned her butt against it and tipped her head to study him. “How’s your friend?”

Tristan’s face bunched. He didn’t want to talk about it, but the soft way she asked was bending his will. He sucked in a sharp breath, bunching his lips and looking away from her.

“Uh-oh,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“She had an accident.” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair and fighting the burn of tears. “She fell and now she’s in the hospital. They think she might be…paralyzed.” The last word nearly choked him. He struggled to clear his throat and remain standing. His legs were quivering inside his jeans.

“Oh, Tristan, I’m so sorry.”

“She can’t be.” His forehead crinkled. “She can’t. She hasn’t even lived yet. She hasn’t experienced all the world has to offer. She wants to leave a footprint, but she won’t let me help her do it.”

Confusion marred Miss Warren’s pretty face.

Tristan sucked in a shaky breath. “She’s had a very sheltered life. I’d finally convinced her that there was more. She wanted to be a part of it, but now…”

“Now it’s going to be a thousand times harder.”

He nodded, biting his lips together and gazing down at the linoleum floor.

Miss Warren stepped forward, her shoes sounding loud in the empty room. He watched them approach—elegant, even steps—until she was standing in front of him. She squeezed his shoulder. “Harder, but not impossible. She’ll learn to experience life in a different way.”

“No she won’t.” He shook his head. “You don’t know… She—” He glanced up at his sympathetic teacher, wanting to tell her but unable to find the words.

He let out a ragged sigh, fisting his bag strap.

“I promised her she’d always exist somehow. I promised her that I’d always keep her with me, but I don’t know how I’m gonna do that when she wants me to leave her. She wants me to get on with my life, without her.”

Miss Warren’s brown eyes were soft with compassion. “That’s obviously what she needs right now to cope. But she might change her mind.”

“I just want her to be happy. I want to give her some sense of hope in all of this. I can’t do that if I’m not there.”

Miss Warren’s eyes grew warm as she smiled at him. “Tristan, you’re new here and I’m still getting to know you, but what I have learned is that you’re a guy with a really big heart. If anyone can find a way to help this girl, it’s you. Keep your distance if that’s what she wants you to do, but don’t give up. You’ll find a way to bring her hope, I just know it.”