They don’t want me to say I’m fine, but that describes me to perfection. I’m not great, I’m not bad, I’m fine.

“What else do you want me to say? Have I been depressed? Yes. Do I cry sometimes? Yes. Does my body ache most days? Sure.” I sit back against the leather couch. “If I don’t want to express myself, it’s because I can’t. Not right now at least.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Dad quickly points out.

Mom wipes her damp eyes, now brimming with tears. “You bottle things up inside and isolate yourself.”

“I went to Club Mystique with Ash and Bree,” I tell them. “Remember?”

“That was a great first step,” Dad says. “Getting out and doing things you like to do. Trey would want you to do that, sweetie.”

I glance at the digital clock on Dr. Singer’s desk. Only four more minutes of this before the session is over. I don’t know if I’ll go to Enrique’s Auto Body after this. I don’t want to run into Vic after what happened last night.

He said he was my one-night stand.

The truth is he’s my best friend.

“Healing is a process, Monika,” Dr. Singer tells me. “And everyone expresses themselves differently.” He pulls out a small brochure. “Your parents and I think that maybe it’ll be beneficial for you to attend a grief group that’s geared toward teens who’ve lost a loved one.”

Mom nods at me through tears. I hate seeing her like this. It’s like she’s broken and I’m responsible for part of her happiness.

“It’s at Glenbrook Hospital in their outpatient center,” Dr. Singer says. “You might find that you like sharing your experience with teens who are dealing with the same feelings you are.”

I really don’t need this. I don’t want this. But I find myself taking the brochure from Dr. Singer to make everyone happy. “I’ll try it.”

Dr. Singer smiles.

Dad nods in proud approval.

Mom sniffs a few times as she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly.

“You’re an amazing girl, Monika,” Dad says. “And we love you. Always remember that. You’re a survivor.”

I don’t feel like I’m surviving right now. I feel like I’m just keeping my head above water, but any minute I can go under and drown.

I glance down at the brochure on the teen grief group. I have the urge to rip it up in front of them, but instead I fold it and put it in the pocket of my jeans.

This is my punishment for keeping secrets—and I’ll do whatever they want to ease their worrying, even if it makes me miserable.

Chapter Forty-nine

VICTOR

Finding Monika isn’t easy, especially when she won’t answer her phone or texts. I haven’t been to Fremont in weeks.

I can feel the veins in my neck tense up as I drive through town in an old GT that Isa let me borrow.

It’s not every day I drive up to Monika’s house. I know her mom thinks I’m a thug and can’t stand the sight of me. Normally that would keep me away, but I’m not the same person I was before.

I’m determined to see the one girl who can make me glad to be alive.

I ring the doorbell. Nobody answers.

Shit.

I drive over to Ashtyn’s house. Maybe she’ll know where Monika is.

Ashtyn’s sister answers the door wearing nothing but a string bikini and a tan to match.

“Is Ash home?” I ask.

“No. I think she’s at football practice or something like that,” she says, then blows on her nails as if she just painted them.

“Thanks. If you see her, tell her I stopped by.”

I have no clue where to go next, until I drive by the police department across from Glenbrook Hospital.

I’ve never gone here before… willingly.

The lobby to the police station is small with pictures of the officers posted on the walls. Heroes, they call them. I wish I was a hero. Hell, I’m nobody.

That’s not true, exactly. I’m the guy who gets in fights and killed my friend on the football field.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asks me.

“Yeah, um…” I clear my throat. “Can I talk to Officer Stone?”

The guy who detained me after getting in that fight with Bonk comes to the lobby a minute later.

“Victor Salazar,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I’ll bet. I didn’t either, I want to tell him.

“I need to talk to you.” I look around at the other people here. “In private.”