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He rubs the back of his neck. “No surprise there. She goes to school in Boston now.”
My stomach plummets, a wide cavern opening inside me. I cuff my neck and rub at my throat. “What?”
“You’re her best friend. How did you not know she was moving to Boston? Do you not talk to Isla at all?”
“I knew that was the plan,” I rasp, my lungs burning. “I just didn’t think it would happen before the school year ended.”
“She’s mostly settled in and practicing twice a day. Where have you been?” Ian eyes me as if I have two heads. “I’ll go find Meg.”
He hops up and scurries out of the room while I stand rooted to the spot. A shudder runs through me, my body growing cold.
This is a joke, right?
But no, it’s the truth.
She’s gone, and she left without saying a single damn word to me.
My stomach twists hard enough that I almost double over, and the floor tilts beneath me.
In a trancelike state, I climb the stairs and shuffle to my room. I drop my backpack on the floor and plop down on my bed. Leaning to one side, I yank my phone out of my pocket. I find her contact, my finger hovering over the Phone icon. Instead, I quit the app, tap the Messenger icon, and our text thread opens.
The last message is from her, and it’s from several weeks ago. She apologized and begged me to talk to her after I broke my hand. To no one’s surprise, I ignored it. Before that are the texts I sent her after she called me out for not telling her about kissing Sienna. A little farther up is a message from her wishing me a happy birthday. As I take in the line of emojis she used, adrenaline rushes through my veins, spreading through my whole body.
Muscles quivering, I fall back on the bed. I forgot about her birthday. Her sixteenth birthday. I didn’t even send a stupid happy birthday gif.
I force myself to breathe, but every inhale burns.
Did she have a birthday dinner? Some kind of celebration? She’d been planning her sweet sixteen since we were eleven. She had lists, mood boards, color schemes. She talked about it nonstop every fall.
When we made that pact a couple of years ago, I planned to kiss her on her birthday for the first time. I thought about it for months and months. Yet, when the time came, I was angry and hurt and caught up in my own shit. I forgot all about her.
I snap up straight, and my fingers tremble as I type out a message.
Me:
Why didn’t you
Delete.
Me:
When were you
Delete.
Me:
Did you
I stop typing and lock my phone. What am I even doing? This is fucking bullshit.
She left.
She left, and she didn’t say goodbye.
She left, and she didn’t tell me.
She could’ve easily sent me a text. I’m not the only one to blame here.
