When I open my mouth and start to sing, I’m singing it for Garrett. I’m transported to that peaceful place, my happy little bubble where nothing bad ever happens. Where girls don’t get raped and sex isn’t hard and people don’t break up because abusive assholes force them to. My fingers tremble on the ivory keys and my heart squeezes with every breath I take, every word I sing.

When I’m done, silence crashes over the auditorium.

And then I get a standing ovation.

I rise to my feet, and only because Jae walks over and forces me to so we can take a bow. The spotlight blinds me and the cheers deafen me. I know Allie and Stella and Meg are out there somewhere, on their feet and screaming their lungs out, but I can’t see their faces. Contrary to what movies and television shows lead you to believe, it’s impossible to make eye contact with a face in the crowd when a blast of light is hitting you in the eyes.

Jae and I leave the stage and head for the wings, and someone instantly swallows me in a bear hug. It’s Dexter, and his smile takes up his entire face as he congratulates me.

“Those better be happy tears!” he says.

I touch my cheek, surprised to feel moisture there. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“That was spectacular,” a voice bursts out, and I turn to see Fiona marching toward me. She sweeps me into her arms and hugs me. “You were breathtaking, Hannah. Best performance of the night.”

Her words don’t ease the tight ache in my chest. I manage a nod and mumble, “I need to use the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”

I leave Dex, Fiona and Jae staring after me in confusion, but I don’t care, and I don’t slow down. Fuck the ladies’ room. And fuck the rest of this showcase. I don’t want to stand around and watch the senior performances. I don’t want to wait for the scholarship ceremony. I just want to get the hell out of here and find a private place to cry.

I sprint toward the exit, my silver ballet flats slapping the hardwood floor in my desperate need to flee.

I’m five feet from the door when I smack into a hard male chest.

My gaze flies up and lands on a pair of gray eyes, and it takes a second to realize I’m looking at Garrett.

Neither one of us speaks. He’s wearing black trousers and a blue button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders. His expression is a mixture of shining wonder and endless sorrow.

“Hi,” he says gruffly.

My heart does a happy somersault, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t a happy occasion, that we’re still broken up. “Hi.”

“You were…brilliant.” Those beautiful eyes go a bit glassy. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“You were in the audience?” I whisper.

“Where the fuck else would I be?” But he doesn’t sound angry, just sad. Then his voice thickens and he murmurs, “How many?”

Confusion slides through me. “How many what?”

“How many guys have you dated this week?”

I jerk in surprise. “None,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

And I regret it instantly, because a knowing glimmer fills his eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Garrett—”

“Here’s the thing, Wellsy,” he interrupts. “I’ve had seven whole days to think about this breakup. The first night? I got wasted. Seriously fucking trashed.”

A jolt of panic hits me, because it suddenly occurs to me that he might have hooked up with someone else when he was drunk, and the thought of Garrett with another girl kills me.

But then he keeps talking and my anxiety eases. “After that, I sobered up and wised up and decided to make better use of my time. So…I’ve had seven whole days to analyze and reanalyze what happened between us, to dissect what went wrong, to reexamine every word you said that night…” He slants his head. “Do you want to know the conclusion I reached?”

God, I’m terrified to hear it.

When I don’t answer, he smiles. “My conclusion is that you lied to me. I don’t know why you did it, but trust me, I intend to find out.”

“I didn’t lie,” I lie. “We really were moving too fast for me. And I really do want to see other people.

“Uh-huh. Really?”

I put on my most insistent tone. “Really.”

Garrett goes quiet for a moment. Then he reaches out and lightly strokes my cheek before pulling back and saying, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

42

Hannah

Christmas break doesn’t come soon enough. I am literally a mess as I board the plane to Philly—dressed in sweats, sporting bedhead, and covered with stress zits. Since the showcase, I’ve run into Garrett three times. Once at the Coffee Hut, once in the quad, and once outside the Ethics lecture hall when I came to pick up my graded paper. All three times, he asked me how many guys I’ve dated since our breakup.

All three times, I panicked, blurted out some excuse about being late, and ran off like a coward.

Here’s the thing about breaking up with someone under false pretenses. They don’t buy your bullshit unless you actually turn around and do the thing you said you wanted to do. In my case, I need to be dating a whole bunch of randoms and getting my exploration on, because that’s what I told Garrett I wanted, and if I don’t put my money where my mouth is, he’ll know something’s up.

I suppose I could ask someone out. Go on a very public date that Garrett will no doubt hear about and convince the guy I love that I’ve moved on. But the thought of being with anyone other than Garrett makes me want to throw up.