“But you can’t say for sure?”

Grandmother hesitated, then shook her head. “The future’s rarely certain, Natalie. All we ever have is the present.”

But my present might already be over. He could be trapped in my past.

Beau doesn’t show up for dinner. My calls don’t reach him, and he doesn’t come to take me to the studio either, so I lie in bed and worry. To make matters worse, Joyce Kincaid just sent me a picture of Matt in his hospital bed, and, for one millisecond, I think she’s telling me he’s awake until I see her caption: Thought you might miss seeing his face.

I don’t. Maybe I should, but there’s nothing comforting to me about Matt’s pale skin or the tubes in his nose or the bruising along his temple. Every time I close my eyes, the image resurges until, despite my fatigue, I get out of bed and pace.

I hate driving at night, probably because of both my nightmares and my steadfast conviction that a murderer’s hiding in the backseat, but I grit my teeth and decide to drive to NKU anyway.

I navigate my way through the unlit building to our studio and force myself to stretch quickly, straining my mind for the sounds of Beau’s fingers settling against the piano keys. He’s here. I know he’s here. I can almost feel him. I close my eyes and try to catch his smell in the air, the twang of his voice, the line of his shoulders.

But I can’t. He’s here, but we’re separated by worlds, and it feels so wrong—I’m so terrified it could be permanent—I can’t take being here any longer, and I head home, heart thumping like a jackhammer and breaths coming spastically all the way there.

When I tell Alice in Thursday’s session about Beau’s disappearance, all I can get out of her is one of her infuriating hmms.

“Hmm what?” I press.

She shrugs. “Honestly, I hesitate to say too much. We should let this work itself out before we panic.”

But I know what she’s not saying. What if I’ve had my Closing? What if Beau’s had his Closing?

Friday comes, and Mom and Dad have the rental minivan fully packed. All that’s left is to say our goodbyes before I go settle in to Megan’s old bedroom. Mom and Dad want to follow me over, to talk to Megan’s parents and make sure I have everything I need, but Jack and Coco opt to stay behind at the house and wait for them to get back, so I give them each a hug in the kitchen.

Gus is intensely whiny, stressed by the commotion of packing—a sure sign that he’s about to get dropped off at the “doggy motel.” I kneel down and wrap my arms around his tree-trunk neck, nestling my face into his downy fur. “Be good,” I tell him, then stand up and face the twins.

“Keep me updated, okay?” Coco says. “About Matt and everything.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Though to be honest, you could probably get more news from Abby.” Coco’s gaze falls, and I can tell something’s wrong. I glance around to see if Mom or Dad is eavesdropping then drag Coco down the hall by the elbow. “What’s going on? Abby didn’t like the body spray? Probably should’ve gone with edible body glitter.”

She sighs. “It’s nothing.”

“Coco, tell me.”

“She’s a bitch, okay? She’s awful.”

“Your best friend?”

Coco shakes her leg impatiently. “She’s just . . . she said some things.”

“Things?”

“Stupid, bitchy things.”

“Coco, if someone’s bullying you—”

“They weren’t about me,” she interrupts, and the situation slowly crystallizes for me. “She said Matt’s accident was your fault. She doesn’t even think that. I know she doesn’t, but she was saying it to some of the juniors to—I don’t know—impress them.”

I glance toward the living room, where Jack’s sprawled on the couch staring into space. “And Jack’s fight?” Coco nods once slowly. My vision starts to splotch, and I dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. “You guys don’t need to get into fights or end friendships over all this.”

Coco crosses her arms. “You don’t get it. Abby’s changing, or maybe I am. Either way, I’m so done with this gossipy little school. And it’s even worse for Jack—and no, not just because of you and Matt.”

“Coco . . . you just told Mom and Dad you wanted to stay at Ryle.”

In a rare moment for Coco, her eyes betray the hint of tears. She shakes her head until they subside. “Jack,” she musters.

“You ready?” Mom appears at the end of the hallway, clapping her hands together, and Coco’s eyes shoot me the don’t tell look as she discreetly shakes her head.

“Let me get my bags from upstairs,” I stammer, and Mom gives us a suspicious look before heading back into the kitchen. I pull Coco into a tight hug. “You fit here. You and Jack fit with me,” I whisper. “I should’ve been there for you, and when you get back . . .” She nods, and I peer down the hall at Jack again. Mom’s buzzing past him back and forth, checking for everything she could’ve forgotten. I decide to risk furthering her suspicions and go sit beside him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he mumbles.

I lower my voice. “Remember when I was the worst?”

His eyebrows flick up, and he struggles against a smile. “When was that?”

“At least all summer,” I say, “but possibly longer.”

He finally looks at me, and despite the way his chubby cheeks have started to hollow after his recent six-inch growth spurt, he is unmistakably a stretched-out version of my baby brother. Coco’s always been the more assertive leader of the two, and it surprises me to see goofy, laid-back, go-with-the-flow Jack looking so grown up and downtrodden.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

“For?”

I look over my shoulder to watch Mom slip into the laundry room. “Coco told me about the fight.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs in annoyance as he cranes his neck to look for Coco. “Jack, it’s fine. I won’t tell Mom and Dad. I just wanted you to know that . . . you’re wonderful, and I love you, and I don’t want you to pick or finish fights on my behalf, and I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, and also you were wrong about the carburetor, so there’s that.”