I never bring up Josh. My mom found my messages to him once, so I told her they were old messages and that I don’t write any more. I just changed my password though. Okay, so two lies. This one might not be as easy to explain away.

The hallway is eerily empty when I exit the elevator, which always makes me nervous. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so I guess most students are in their classes by now. I’ve learned there are only a few of us who prefer morning classes. I happen to have a pretty full schedule—what with trying out a little bit of everything—so my day starts at seven and goes until three thirty.

After jiggling the door handle, I start to feel silly. The door is locked, and I am safe. There’s a constant string of reassurances running through my head at all times.

I make my way into my room and drop my book bag to the floor. One drawback to having a back-to-back kind of schedule is the pressure it puts on my spine. One philosophy class and one art history class alone add up to fifteen pounds in books. But those two were definitely my favorites, and I think Nate might have pushed me in the right direction with art. Today was all about looking at pictures of famous paintings, and everything I saw inspired me.

When my socks and underwear spill onto my feet, I immediately know that Nate was here. Son of a bitch! I pull the next drawer out and the same thing happens. Again and again, until all of my belongings are in a pile at my feet and my drawer bottoms are staring me in the face.

“That mother…”

“Hey, watch what you’re about to call the guy standing at your door,” Nate says, and my heart kicks.

“That motherly, wonderful, down-the-hall neighbor of mine. What’s wrong with saying that?” I smile, flipping my top drawer over and sliding it in. I get to my knees to start picking up my delicates first, mostly because I don’t want them out for display. Nate, though, is quickly by my side, helping me.

“Oh! Hey, don’t touch those,” I say, grabbing the silky black pair of underwear from his hands. They’re the only girly pair of panties I own, and I bought them with a Victoria Secret gift card my aunt sent me. She wanted me to buy nice bras, but I hate the foo-foo ones they have at that store, and I can’t stand the idea of spending forty bucks on a bra. So I bought underwear—six boy shorts and one fancy panty. I was saving those, but lord knows for what.

Nate just sits back on my bed and watches me piece back together my dresser. “Real funny there, Preeter. But you better watch your back,” I say, my mind already spinning in a million directions with what I can do to get back at him. I’m reveling in the ideas when he brings everything to a screeching halt.

“Oh, I also wanted to give you these. They, uhhh,” he swallows hard handing me a stack of pictures that I recognize instantly. “They fell out of one of the drawers. I didn’t want them to get lost.”

I don’t turn them over to look at them, and instead just shuffle them into a neat pile and tuck them back under my jeans. I don’t like looking at the girl in those photos. It’s hard to see Josh, but it’s even harder to see me—who I used to be. “Rowe? Can I ask you something?” Nate says, and my pulse begins that racing thing again, and my breath gets shorter and shorter.

“Depends,” I say, not looking him in the eye and just pushing on each drawer until they are all lined up and shut neatly again. I sit on Cass’s bed when I’m finished, and keep my eyes at his feet and then his hands. He’s nervous and fidgety, and I know what he wants to ask, but I don’t know how to answer it.

“That guy? The one in the pictures? You said he was your boyfriend. Is he…still your boyfriend?”

Speechless. This is the same question I’ve asked the universe a million times. I asked Ross just an hour ago. I asked my mother before I left to come here. And I asked Josh’s parents, too. But nobody gives me a goddamned answer when I ask. So I’m not giving one to Nate.

“I have to go,” I say, grabbing my heavy bag of books and racing through my door to the stairs so I don’t have to wait for the elevator. I stop at the top of the first floor and I sit down on the steps, tucking my head between my knees and reminding myself to breathe. Breathe deeply, Rowe.

I don’t know how long I hide there, but when I come back upstairs, my door is open and Cass is home.

“Damn it, Rowe! I didn’t want to be a part of this war, but looks like I’m in it now!” she’s kicking around the pile of clothes at her feet and flipping over her own drawers. “Tell me what you need me to do. I’m all in. You don’t mess with an Owens sister!”