It’s like I’m balancing my heart in one hand, and my future in the other, when in fact I don’t want to be balancing them at all. I want to grab on to both and hold on to them for dear life.

I’m screwed.

Sighing, I take another sip of my tea and bask in its heat. I came here to email Autumn, to explain what has happened between me and Ash, to ask for her advice. But now that I’m sitting here, laptop out in front of me, my mind is blank. How am I supposed to ask someone else to help me decide the course of my life? Would that be fair to anyone? The cursor on my blank email just blinks at me. No help there, either.

It’s funny. I’m surrounded by people. I have more people in my life, who care about me, than I’ve ever had at one time before. But at the same time, I’ve never felt so alone.

Somehow, I am going to have to decide what I want. And I am going to have to do that all on my own. And I am going to have to do it soon. I need to be back at school in less than a month. If that’s what I choose. I just don’t know anymore.

Giving up on my email to Autumn, I close that window and open another. Click by click, I navigate over to the hoarding website that had been my oasis in the span between my mother’s death and meeting Ash. It has been nearly two months since I’ve been on it, and it feels strange to be browsing through the once-familiar links and logging into my once-avid profile.

YOU HAVE 3 NEW MESSAGES

Brow furrowing, I click on the message folder and I’m accosted by a wave of guilt as I realize that all the messages are from LuckNGlass, the girl who’d been so helpful when I first realized that I had to clean out my mother’s hoard.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

June 2

Hey, haven’t heard from you lately. How’s the cleanout going?

I can’t believe so much time has passed. It’s gone by like a whirlwind. Feeling bad for leaving my hoarding-buddy hanging for so long, I click on the next message.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

June 29

Hey, I know you’re probably super busy, but when you get a chance, I could use an ear. My parents’ house is getting out of control.

That had been almost a month ago. Biting at my lip, I click on the last unopened message.

TO: Star2274

FROM: LuckNGlass

July 23

Sorry about the other messages. I know I’m being pushy, but I’m going crazy here. I think I have to move out. I don’t know what else to do. My dad’s hoarding is out of control. He’s spent all the money we have.

I don’t think I’m going to get to go to college anymore. Not the way I planned to, anyway.

Look, if you get this, can you please please reply? I’m losing my mind.

I hope cleaning out your mom’s house is going well.

All the best,

Glass

Shit, I think, and toggle the mouse over to the reply button. I’m about to click it when I hear a familiar voice, and my spine turns to steel. I look up from the screen and there, walking in the front door, is Lacey. Luckily, she doesn’t see me. She’s chatting away into her phone, grinning widely as she makes her way toward the line, looking like she’s on her way to spend the day at the beach. She’s got her long hair loose, falling in big waves around her shoulders, and a pair of what look like designer sunglasses perched on her nose. I can’t help but wonder how she can afford to look like that on a waitress’s salary, but there’s no way I’m going to ask. For one bright moment I think I’m in the clear. But then I realize that the line just happens to go right by my table. I stifle a groan and sink down in my seat. Maybe if I just don’t look, she won’t see me. Maybe she’ll just walk right by.

No such luck. Even with the sunglasses obscuring her eyes, I can tell the instant she sees me. Her entire body flinches and she stutters to a stop and goes silent. I can hear the sound of the person on the other end of the call asking in an annoyed tone if she’s still there, even from half a dozen feet away. She grimaces as she mutters, “I’ll call you back,” and ends the call, making a beeline toward me.

“Listen,” she says, plopping down in the seat across from me. I’m starting to think that this is kind of a thing with her. This aggressive no-introduction form of communication. She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. It takes actual physical effort not to jerk away like I want to. But we’re in a public place—extremely public, considering the way people are starting to turn and sneak peeks at us from the corners of their eyes—and it’s not like I’m the town’s favorite resident right now. Or ever, really. Actually, I’m pretty sure that I’m currently occupying the second-to-last spot in the popularity contest, as far as the town of Avenue is concerned. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

I blink at her, confused. What the hell is she talking about? “For what?” I ask.

“Well, for the car, of course.”

What? I blink at her for a few seconds, certain that my confusion is clear on my face, but she doesn’t say anything further.

Okay, subtlety isn’t going to work on this girl. I lean forward and try to keep my voice low, so I don’t attract any more attention than we are already getting. “What are you talking about?”

She pulls her hands back from mine, eyes widening.

“You don’t know?” she says. “Oh my god. I thought for sure he would have told you?”

“What are you talking about, Lacey?” I ask. I don’t like the sound of this.

“Your friend’s car,” she starts, and then suddenly stops talking. She looks away, appearing to gather her thoughts for a moment, and then blows out a deep breath and looks back at me. “Preston and the guys. They were the ones who messed up your friend’s car.”

What?

“What?” I snap.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” she says hurriedly, as though talking faster is somehow going to make me understand. “Preston was just worried about me.”

“How the hell,” I say, “can you say that? What the fuck does one thing even have to do with the other?”

“Oh god,” she says, reaching up and covering her mouth with her cupped hands. As I watch, her fingers curl in, and she’s pressing her fists against her lower lip. “Preston was just looking out for me, okay? He saw that your friend was always hanging around me, and he got scared. He wanted to scare him off before he did anything. To me.”

What.

The.

Fuck?

That’s it. I’ve had it with this fucking town. I shove back from the table, my chair making a god-awful screeching noise as it scrapes against the floor. People are turning in their seats to look at us. I don’t give a shit.

“And you actually bought that? That’s a load of crap, Lacey. First of all, Ash barely goes into the diner just because of the shit he’s gotten from people like your asshole boyfriend—”