I nod my head to my bed where Paige is still deep asleep. Ty lifts an eyebrow at me and I shake my head no.

“She passed out. I slept in the lounge,” I say, finally standing.

“Hey,” he whispers just as I’m about to go. I look at him, and he lifts his head a little more, looking over at Paige again and then back at me. “Why’d you lie about your middle name and your birthday?”

I was wondering when he’d give me crap over that. I lean over to make sure Cass is asleep this time. When I look back at him, I just wink, and he chuckles softly, slapping his hand to his forehead.

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” he says. “I’ll make sure Cass knows you slept in the lounge. Don’t want any of that getting misunderstood.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, giving him knuckles.

I wait at the elevator for a few extra minutes, and then I decide to take the stairs, which are closer to Rowe’s end of the hall. The closer I get to her room, the less I breathe, trying to listen for any sign of her being awake. But the bottom of her door is dark. She’s either still asleep or long gone. Either way, she’s going to realize her roommates never came home. And I hope like hell my brother keeps his word.

Rowe

I woke up early since I never showered last night. I figured most of the dorm would be asleep, so I could take my shower alone. Seems anytime after eleven and before six is good.

Paige and Cass were both gone, or they never came home. I suspect it’s the latter. I spend my entire shower wondering where Paige slept, wondering if Nate paid any attention to her. Since she’s not here, I’m guessing he did, and I hate that my mind keeps conjuring up visions of her sitting on his lap, kissing his neck, making out with him. Jealousy is the theme of the day, I’m afraid.

My laptop keeps staring at me. I haven’t written him in two days. Ross says it’s good for me to write to him, but he also says I shouldn’t make it a ritual; I should make it something I do when I need it. When I want to feel better about things. And I want to now. But it feels wrong to write to Josh about another boy.

I flip my laptop open anyway, and go right to my Facebook messages to read the few sentences Nate sent me. Then I click into his profile and sift through his pictures. There are a lot of him with his brother, and a few of him with his family. He looks just like his dad—sharp, angular jawline, and the clear grayish-blue eyes. His mom is beautiful, dark black hair, blue eyes, and a tiny frame.

I decide to keep going, flipping through some photos from his high school. There’s a girl in a few of them, mostly the ones that look like they’re from some dance or something, and she’s pretty too. She looks like an athlete, her arms are muscular and there’s just something about her smile that looks strong—fearless. Her hair is close to the same color as mine—almost a muddy brown. From the number of photos of them together, I would guess they had been together for a while.

There are a few more photos that are more recent, and those are the ones I’m obsessing over. They look like they were taken this summer, and there’s a different girl in every one—and a lot of them look like Paige. Each time I click to a new scene, I see Ty and Nate, holding a beer in one hand and a girl in the other. Sometimes the girl is on Nate’s lap, and other times he’s carrying her around on his back. His stupid charming smile is the only thing that stays the same.

I click my message button and start to type:

I’ve survived two days, but I don’t know about this college thing. To be fair, I haven’t gone to class yet. That part will probably be easy. But…

I stop and stare at the screen, because I’m about to veer in a new direction with Josh. Closing my eyes, I hear Ross’s voice in my head—“write to him when you need it.”

I need Josh. And I need him now.

…there’s this boy. There, I said it. I know it’s weird for me to write this to you, but I don’t have anyone else. I think he likes me, but I don’t know. I think I like him, but…you know? I’ve only known him for about 48 hours, but I’ve thought about him for 47. He’s a baseball player, like you. Well, except he’s really good (no offense).

I totally Googled him—I didn’t tell him this, but I’ve seen every tape of his games posted on his high school’s website. Dad would love him—he’s a catcher. You know how my dad feels about catchers. “They’re the heart and the soul of the team, Rowe.”

I know, so what’s my problem, right? Well, I’m just not very good at this…this…boy-girl thing. I don’t even know what to call it. When I was with you, though, it was just easy. You wrote me a note in class one day, told me you liked me, and asked if I liked you back. I told you I did, and then boom! We were boyfriend-girlfriend. Up until we weren’t.