MY NAILS PICKED AT EACH OTHER NERVOUSLY as I sat upright in a stiff, barely cushioned chair. The desk in front of me was empty except for scattered papers, a half-full mug of coffee, and a nameplate that read Denise Jackson.

The clock told me I'd arrived at the right time, but it wasn't very reassuring that my new psychiatrist was nowhere to be found. Anxiety began to pile on my shoulders as I waited for her, or, more specifically, waited to spill my deepest, darkest thoughts to a complete stranger. It wasn't like I really wanted to talk to anyone about my problems, but I understood that maybe bottling everything up wasn't a healthy coping mechanism.

Still, this was uncomfortable.

A windowed door swung open behind me just as I was about to get up and ask the neighboring office about her absence. Heels clacked against the hard floor as a woman with a messy bun locked eyes with me and gave an overbearing grin.

"Sorry about that," she said, clutching her purse in one hand and a salad in the other. Denise shook the salad container. "There was a line."

"Oh, um, that's all right."

She dropped her purse onto the desk with a clang as she threw herself into the seat and pulled out a laptop. Her typing was slow. "All right, let's see, let's see . . ." she said through chomps of gum. "Brynn, yeah?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"You don't have to be so stiff, girl!" Denise laughed, as if trying to ease the tension. It didn't work. "All right, so your parents wanted you to come in and see me because you were a witness to the accident that happened recently. Is that all correct?"

"Yeah."

"So you witnessed the incident? What was that like?" She cracked open the salad lid and began layering a rosy-colored dressing over the contents of the bowl.

"Um, well . . ." I tried to resist biting my nails. "It wasn't great."

Denise nodded enthusiastically before grappling the container with two hands and shaking vigorously. "And how are you feeling about everything?"

Another bubble smacked her lips.

My attempt to ignore all the distractions in front of me was futile. It was obvious she didn't care about what I was saying or how I felt and instead was running through routine questions like "How did that make you feel?" and "Do you want to talk about it?" which I no longer felt like doing. My eyebrows creased as I looked in her direction.

"The school isn't really helping."

"Hmm?" she hummed with unfocused eyes. She brought a tissue up to her mouth, and I could tell she was spitting out her gum now. "Why's that?"

I didn't care about being polite anymore. "The announcements were stupid. They just warned us to be careful so we don't 'fall' too."

Denise dug her fork into the salad. "Well, what else should they be saying?" she asked in between bites.

My eyes widened in disbelief. Was she serious? "They should be telling us to watch out for potential murderers, maybe?" I couldn't help the attitude that infused my words.

A cackle escaped her lips, but my expression soon turned that laugh into a pathetic excuse for a cough.

"Ahem," she said, her eyes darting as she cleared her throat. "Look, kids can act crazy, you know? The school just doesn't want to get everyone riled up for no reason."

"It's not for no reason," I muttered, finally having had enough and standing up. "You're obviously hungry, so I'm leaving."

This got Denise's attention. Her head snapped up quickly, midbite, and she tried to swallow it quickly. "What? What's wrong?"

"You are!" I spat, my hands flying in the air. "Everyone working for the school is wrong here! No one's taking this seriously, and I don't get it. If this were anywhere else, the issue would have been handled differently. I wouldn't have to do anything." My gaze hardened one final time as I shot her a stone-cold glare. "Enjoy your salad."

Then I gripped the door handle tight and slammed it behind me with a frustration I knew might have been out of proportion. My hand ran through my hair; straight, dark strands fell back messily as I took a breath and tried to settle myself.

"Didn't go so well?" a familiar voice asked. It was smooth and low, striking an unwilling chord in my chest as I looked in his direction. One of his long legs propped him up against the wall, and Kyler gave a wry smile, as if he'd witnessed something amusing.

Well, he probably had.

"Did you hear all that?" I asked, bringing my hand up to a warm cheek. I wasn't the type to blow my fuse easily, and a minute feeling of guilt was already starting to form.

"Only the last part," he said, straightening up. He wore a navy-blue hoodie that seemed to broaden his shoulders and brighten his eyes. "I was waiting to hand this in." Kyler held a form up with two long fingers and shrugged. "But the office seems busy."

I sent a look toward the Main Office sign and tried to push down the unsettling feeling that now came with it. "They're always busy," I groused. "They made me stay here till eight a few nights ago."

I felt my expression darken at the memory as I turned the other way, but Kyler was quiet. I didn't know how much he knew about the situation with Ingrid or the fact that I had been involved, or if he'd even listened to the announcements at all.

I was tired of thinking about it. I'd noticed bags under my eyes that morning, but even concealer wasn't helping.

"She sucks, you know," Kyler finally said. "The only reason I went last year was because I got to skip out on math."

I hoped my face didn't reflect my surprise: I'd almost forgotten about what had happened to his dad. I didn't know how he felt about the fact that everyone knew. If I were him, I would've been bitter about it, never mentioning it if I didn't have to or calling out those who'd spread the rumors.

So I was taken aback when he spoke about it so casually, especially to me.

I tried to change the subject.

"I don't think I'm gonna go anymore." I tossed a look toward the door behind me before stepping away.

"Yeah?" Kyler chuckled. "What class are you missing?"

"Science." I found myself next to him as we walked into the hallway and turned toward another one lined with classroom doors and windows. "I think I'd rather learn about the powerhouse of the cell than watch her shake another salad."

Kyler looked at me, his gaze intense under long lashes. They brushed against his cheek when he blinked, and I had to tear my eyes away. "You know," he said, his words smooth and thoughtful in a way I'd never heard him speak before, "I never thought you'd be the type to blow up at school staff like that."

"Is that an insult?"

"No."

"I'm usually not." I decided to be honest. "I'm just so frustrated lately. I don't think I've ever felt this upset before, and I guess it's starting to get to me."

"It's not a bad look," he said with a glint in his eye, and I had to suppress a laugh.

"What, are aggressive girls your type?" I raised an eyebrow at him, and this time, his laugh was a low chime.

"They could be."

"Well, I'm flattered," I started, "but not interested."

"Really?" His lips curved into a flirtatious grin. "Not at all?"

For some reason, I almost felt relieved. This was the Kyler I'd heard about: he was cocky, playful, and never serious. The fact that he'd caught me at a vulnerable moment was just bad timing.

"I've got bigger things to worry about than boys."

I gave him a pointed look, but his laugh seemed laced with nothing but amusement.

"I'm serious," I said, crossing my arms.

Kyler's laugh slid into a smile—a smile that seemed daring, challenging even—and his eyes locked with mine.

"I know."

IT WAS NOW FRIDAY, and after a very long week, I was not in the mood for gym class. Of course, the locker room came with a new type of feeling now that I knew there was a boy sharing my locker—and not just any boy, but Kyler Fellan of all people. I was still trying to get used to it, and our conversation yesterday hadn't helped.

Luckily, I had a weekend ahead of me, and I didn't need to worry about seeing him at all.

As I grabbed a shirt from my locker, a familiar name piqued my interest, and I glanced that way, seeing two girls just a few feet away. One of them was standing at her locker, doing pretty much the same thing as me. The other was sitting on the bench, her finger brushing against the phone screen as she scrolled. "I don't really watch the news," she started, "but my parents do."

"Yeah?" the other girl said, her head inside her shirt. "And they were talking about Ingrid?"

"Yeah," the bench girl replied. "You know, my parents work with hers, so we've had dinners together before. Just casual, you know? I mean, we hung out sometimes, but . . . her dad looked really bad on the TV. I could barely recognize him."

"Really?" The first girl peeked her head out. "He looked that different?"

Her friend nodded. "He's way skinnier than before, and kind of pale. My parents don't even talk to him anymore. They said he's kind of gone off the deep end."

"Wow, seriously? But he did just lose his daughter. He's probably having a hard time dealing."

Bench girl shook her head. "No, no. I mean before that."

Now I was intrigued. I'd seen the news, obviously, but I didn't know what he'd looked like before that. Was he really so different? What had happened in her family?

Once I was finished changing, I opened the door, threw my regular clothes back in, and slammed the locker door shut. It was so frustrating not having answers, but at least the gossip would keep me in the loop. Everyone always had something to say.

IT WAS FINALLY THE WEEKEND.

A golden-haired boy plopped onto the couch next to me and handed me a wrapped sandwich from a place he'd stopped by on his way down from school. "It's good," Baylor said, waving his own in front of my face. "This place is a local gem."

"Oh, you're an expert now?" I positioned my laptop on the coffee table in front of us and turned the camera on. The two of us didn't look great from the low angle, and I decided to prop it onto the flattest pillow I could find instead.

"I am, actually." He gave a proud smile. "You know, they recruited me to do campus tours because they thought my face was 'memorable.' That and I'm somewhat charming, if I do say so myself." He gave an over-the-top wink, and I let out a snort. "Anyway, I accepted. So now I know all the best spots on campus to eat and nap."

"And study?"

"I guess some of that too." Baylor glanced at the laptop screen and began unwrapping his sandwich. His hands were just as tan as his face, and the glow of his golden skin reflected just how often he spent time outside. "What time are they supposed to call us?"

"Any minute. They said one o'clock our time, and California is an hour behind us, right?"

"Yeah, it—"

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I almost jumped out of my skin at the high-pitched trills and quickly tapped Accept This Call. I knew there was no reason to feel nervous about talking to them, especially because they were my parents, but I always got a little shy when it came to calling people. It didn't help that I was so used to talking to my parents either in person or through text when they were home.

The excited faces of my parents popped up, their smiles grainy due to the camera quality and the lights that shone from behind them. "Hey!" My mom beamed, leaning forward in her seat. They seemed to be in a conference room, though it was empty from what I could see.

"Hey, Mom," Baylor said.

I gave a timid smile. "Hi."

"What are you guys up to over there?" my dad asked, placing his arm around my mother's shoulders. "Has anything exciting happened in the few days that we've been gone?"

My mind raced through the Rolodex of memories I'd gained since last seeing them. Lots were filled with Ingrid, but I wasn't too keen on talking about her, so I decided to land on something else. "Oh," I said. "Actually, something weird happened after you guys left."

My mom's thin eyebrows creased in worry. "Good or bad?"

"Neither, really." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ears. "Well, I was kind of late on getting a locker for gym class, so they gave me the last one. And it doesn't have a back to it."

Baylor almost choked on his sandwich, and the three of us threw him alarmed looks as he hit his chest and began coughing. Then his eyes settled on me. "Is it on the wall? Like, in the dividing wall in the middle?"

I'd forgotten that Baylor knew about the locker room design. His eyes, sharp and narrow, pleaded with me to say no, but I averted my gaze uncomfortably.

"It might be."

"Oh my God," Baylor exclaimed, setting his sandwich down. Then he turned toward our parents. "That means she shares a locker with some guy!"

They shared an unreadable look before the corners of my mother's lips twitched up, and she gave a quiet chuckle. "And it's the last one? You can't exchange it?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't think I can."

Baylor suddenly looped his arm over my shoulders and tapped our foreheads together. His eyes bored into mine intensely, and I tried hard not to sigh. He was always protective when it came to boys, not that there was a real reason to be, considering I'd never even had a boyfriend before. "Always change with the door closed, okay? Or even better, change in the bathroom! Don't even talk to him."

"I wasn't going to take my clothes off in front of some guy!" I withdrew from his grip crossly and gestured toward the camera with a frown. "Are you guys hearing this?"

My dad's arms were crossed as he nodded. "Your brother's right."

"What?" Now my face was beginning to burn. "I'm not going to strip in front of him! Who do you think I am?"

My mother burst out in laughter, her eyes creasing as the airy sound resonated from our speakers. "Brynn, honey, they're just talking nonsense. I know you were never going to do anything like that in the first place." Then she gave an impish grin.
"But . . . what's he like? Is he cute? Nice?"

"I . . ." My hands inched toward warm cheeks, and I tried to cool them down. "I mean . . ."

"She's smiling!" Baylor announced, appalled.

"He's cute, but it doesn't matter. I'm busy with other stuff, you know?"

My brother gave a firm nod. "Exactly, and—hey! Don't roll your eyes at me."

"I think she has the right to," my mom chimed in, winking at me. "Well, I'm glad you're having some fun at school, Brynn. Has anything else been going on?"

"Actually . . ." My voice came out quietly. "I don't think it's going to work out with the school psychiatrist. We didn't exactly see eye to eye."

"Oh," my dad said. He gave an encouraging smile and placed his hand over Mom's. "That's all right. You gave it a shot. Your mom and I will look for someone better for you to talk to, okay?"

"Okay." I was tired of talking about myself now and decided to drill them instead.

"How is work going?" I finally asked.

"It's going," Dad replied. His expression seemed tired now, as if the high of seeing his kids again was beginning to fade. The purple underlining his eyes was more defined than my mother's.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the power of makeup.

"We'd rather be home," she said. "Working all the time is never fun, even if we have a view of palm trees and beaches."

"Nothing beats the Rocky Mountains." My brother threw a glance toward our own window and grinned. "Are you guys jealous?"

"Ha! Yeah, right. Are you guys jealous?" my dad retorted, and I shook my head. They were so immature sometimes, but at least they were always there to lighten the mood.

"I prefer warm weather, you know," I said.

"Me too," my mom agreed. "We can come here together next time and leave the boys at home."

"Okay." I tried to give her the biggest smile I could muster before seeing my parents glance up at something behind their computer screen. My mom gave a dejected sigh.

"Unfortunately, it's time for us to get back to work." She gave us wistful looks through the screen. "Call us right away if anything happens, though. We might be in a different state, but we're still with you, okay?" She gave me a pointed look.

I gave a slow nod, and Baylor smiled. "Totally," he said. "Text us when you're free again."

"Of course," she replied. Our parents both waved. "Talk soon!"

The call ended, and the screen was suddenly dark with their absence.

"Guess you can finally eat your sandwich now," Baylor said. "Do you want me to heat it up?"

"Oh." I'd completely forgotten about it. "Sure."

He brought it to the kitchen and began shouting over the microwave. "Wanna play games? I bought some new ones for the Switch."

I threw him a thumbs-up and smiled.

It was hard to get lost in my depressing thoughts when Baylor was there, constantly taking care of me or getting my mind off things that would otherwise dampen my mood.

Luckily, his games helped with that too.