So why did I keep getting this weird sensation in my hand, like I was missing an appendage or something? Like he’d held my hand every day for a year? It had been once. And I hadn’t talked to him since.

I stared at the truck on my lawn now as I waited for Amelia to pick me up for school. It was so unassuming. No one looking at it would think it could be the bane of my existence.

Amelia pulled up and waved. “Hey,” she said. “Why’d you want me to come early?”

“Can we run by this café about ten minutes out of our way?”

“There’s a coffee shop on the way to school if you need a fix. I thought you didn’t drink coffee. It messes with your swimming.”

“I don’t. I’m getting something for someone else.”

“Okay, Ms. Cryptic. Who?”

“Drive, we’ll talk.”

“So I’m confused,” Amelia said after I explained to her what I was doing and why I was doing it. We’d pulled into the parking lot of Norman’s, but she hadn’t let me get out of the car. “Do you like Jackson?”

“No, I’m just grateful he saved me the other day.” I had downplayed just how much, leaving out the tears and the drama.

“Did you end up talking to your parents about the award?”

“No. I shoved it under my bed and am waiting for the right time.”

She turned off the ignition, finally taking in the little shop in front of us. It was a tiny place with peeling paint and dirty windows. “Are we going to die here?”

I got out of the car. “We’ll be fine.”

After placing my order with the woman behind the counter, I picked up a Sharpie she had in a jar next to the register. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure, honey.” She filled a cup with the amber liquid, put a lid on, and handed it to me. “You know we’re the only place around here that carries cider outside of the Christmas season.”

“Believe me, I know.” On the side of the cup, with the blue Sharpie, I wrote, Now we’re even.

I figured Jackson was on my mind so much because I was grateful for what he’d done for me. If I sort of paid him back with a kindness, maybe it would help me stop dwelling on it.

Amelia stood in the doorway as if ready to make a quick exit if necessary. She eyed a bearded man at the far table.

“Do you want anything?” I asked.

“No, I’m good.”

I replaced the Sharpie in the jar and we returned to the car.

“What does Jackson have first period?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Here, I’ll find out.” She typed something into her phone, then started the engine and backed out of the parking lot.

“Who did you ask?”

“Social media. It knows all.”

“You asked the internet world what Jackson has first period?”

“Yes. If he doesn’t answer, someone else will.”

She was right. By the time we got to school, several people had answered her post. “Peer Counseling, C building.”

“Peer Counseling?”

“That’s what they said. Four different people.”

“And he claimed he was horrible at advice.”

“Do you know anyone who actually goes and gets counseled by their peers? I think they just sit around watching movies and stuff.”

I honestly didn’t know. “Thanks for driving me.”

“You’re welcome.” She headed toward her first class and I headed for Jackson’s.

It was still prebell, so I didn’t expect him to be in class, but I looked anyway. He sat at a long table in the back, gaze on his phone. There were only a few other people in the room and no teacher yet. I opened the door and went to his table.

“Hey,” I said, setting the drink in front of him.

He looked up and surprise lit his face. “Hey. Are you lost?”

“That’s for you.” I pushed the drink closer. “See you later.”

“Moore,” he called after me.

I turned around and walked backward a few steps.

“What’s it for?”

“Don’t ask questions, Holt. Just drink it.”

He smiled. He had a nice smile, even though it always looked like it knew a secret.

I happened to catch another guy’s eyes as I walked out of the classroom, and he looked just as surprised as Jackson. I glared at him until he looked away. What was the big deal? It was just a drink.

At lunch, as I headed to find Amelia, Jackson fell in step beside me and plucked out one of my earbuds. “We are definitely not even.”

I took out the other one and turned off my music. “Why not?”

“Because I just bought you hot chocolate in a line I was already standing in. And you didn’t even drink it. You bought me cider. Where did you even find cider around here?”

“It wasn’t payback for the hot chocolate. It was payback for the whole me-ruining-your-sweater-with-my-mascara thing.”

“Oh, that. Then we’re still not even. This beyond pays off the hot chocolate, but as far as the other thing goes, you have to comfort me through an emotional breakdown if you want to be out of debt for that.”

“You think you comforted me?”

“Yes. I was very good at it too, so don’t try to deny it.”

I laughed a little. “You were.” Too good.

He lightly punched my shoulder again. I wished he’d stop doing that. “So it’s a deal, Moore. I’ll find you when I feel the tears coming.”

“I’ll make sure I’m wearing an absorbent sweater.”

He left without another word. I thought about asking him where he was going but stopped myself. Why was it that, when I didn’t want him around, he overstayed his welcome and now he was under-staying it?

Twenty-Three

I couldn’t believe how long it had been since I swam. Eleven days. When had I ever let a busy schedule keep me from swimming before? My entire body sighed a breath of relief as I dived into the water. Muscles that I didn’t know were tight relaxed as I began my strokes.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed—it felt like minutes but it could’ve been hours—before I stopped to rest against the wall. I watched as the water dripped off my arms and pooled onto the cement. A shadow falling over that puddle of water made me look up. I reached to the clip on my swimsuit strap and turned off my music.

“Is this from you?” DJ asked, holding up a dollar bill I had penned the words thank you on. This was a week of paying back debts.

“Yes. I said I’d give you a dollar if you told Coach I couldn’t make the awards ceremony and you did. So there’s your dollar.”

He shook his head as he laughed. “You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t really tell Coach anything except that you wanted to talk to him. Your mom had called that same day too, so I passed on both messages.” He sat on the ground and set the dollar bill on a dry patch of cement in front of me.

“My mom called him? I thought he called her.” So much for letting me make my own choice there. She seemed to have made it for me. I couldn’t complain. I’d let her.

“Yes, I talked to her. She seems nice.”