"I'm going to separate you into groups."

Nora sank deeper into her chair. Dread burst through her skull.

She'd never been a spokesperson for group projects or anything, but she'd never hated them the way other did. She'd always had too much fun talking and laughing with her group mates. Of course, there was always the student or two who insisted on doing nothing but sit there and let everyone else do the work for them so they could get an easy A, but it was whatever. Now?

Mrs. Truly grabbed a sheet of paper from her desk. "I did all the work and made the groups for you," she said with a wink. "You're welcome."

Some of her classmates groaned.

"Hey, I could be placing you next to your next best friend," Mrs. Truly said. "You don't know."

Or an ex-best-friend.

She'd done her best not to look at the back of the room, but it didn't matter. Nolan's presence had rammed itself onto her shoulders since that first class over a month ago.

She imagined him sitting there, sullen and broken-hearted, and her heart ached. But it also burned with a rage she couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard she tried.

"I'll never forgive her." Her dad.

She closed her eyes.

"Try to forgive him, okay?" Willow.

"Okay."

"Okay, group one!" Mrs. Truly cleared her throat and wielded the paper like it was the Declaration of Independence. "Nora"—Nora tensed—"Ben, and Nolan."

Her eyes burned. She might actually throw up.

Mrs. Truly listed the rest of the groups, but Nora didn't hear. No, no, no, no, no danced around her head to the beat of her thrashing heart and quickening breath.

All around her, her classmates stood and formed their groups. It took every ounce of strength she had to lift herself to her feet and drift to where Nolan sat, frozen, wide eyes on his desktop. She forced back a scowl and dropped into the seat next to his. Silent.

"I'm just gonna sit here."

She looked up. Ben, a guy she'd had sporadic classes with over the past few years, dragged a chair in front of "her" desk. He was so relaxed. A spark of jealousy pierced her. She wanted to be relaxed, too. But she'd forgotten how. Thanks to someone.

She closed her eyes. He was just trying to help.

Yeah? Well, he failed.

"What do you think she's going to have us do?" Ben asked.

"I don't know," Nora said softly.

He grinned, clearly not detecting her—or Nolan's, for that matter—apprehension. "Watch it be a boring worksheet," he said.

She hoped it was a boring worksheet. Something quick, that would get her back to the relative safety of her seat as quickly as possible.

Despite their quietness, Ben continued to chatter on. She listened and forced on smiles, but her chest was too tight for her to manage much else.

"Okay, guys!" Everyone looked to Mrs. Truly, who was holding up a batch of mini poster boards. Maybe the boring worksheet was hidden underneath? "What I'm going to have you do is choose a character or scene from The Great Gatsby, and you're going to represent it on this poster board. You can draw, print pictures, do a mixture. It's up to you. I want you to really capture the essence of your choice. Okay?"

They nodded.

"You'll have twenty minutes today and forty minutes tomorrow to get it done. Sound good?"

They nodded again.

"Okay! Someone from each group come get your poster!"

Nora jumped from her seat. As she started toward the front of the room, Ben laughed and said, "Guess she's excited, huh?"

She walked slowly, letting the rest of her classmates get their boards first. Anything to prolong going back to her group. But, too soon, it was her turn.

"You doing alright, Nora?" Mrs. Truly asked, handing Nora the last poster board.

"Yeah," Nora said.

Mrs. Truly frowned. "You sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mrs. Truly released her, and she slowly made her way back to her seat. In the end, her speed didn't really matter, because her feet still brought her back to that desk.

"Do we want to do a scene or a character?"

She needed to say something. She couldn't make Ben do this by himself. "Character?" she suggested.

Nolan nodded. She smothered another inexplicable scowl.

"Okay. Who we thinking?"

She locked her jaw. "Maybe Daisy," she said.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. We could center on how she feels after Tom betrays her. The words flew to her mouth, but she shoved them back, appalled. Saying them would be so cruel, a punch to Nolan's face.

Her dad's hand across her cheek.

She flinched. Ben had been too busy flipping through his copy of A Great Gatsby to notice, but a glance Nolan's way, at his concerned frown, told her he had. Of course, he had. He noticed everything.

She scowled and looked away.

"Yeah," she muttered.

"Okay, Daisy it is." Ben looked up. "We should probably brainstorm what her essence is, huh?"

The rest of the class went by in a blur. Nolan said maybe two words, and Nora spoke when necessary. The longer she was trapped there, the more she just wanted to collapse into herself and cry. Even when their twenty minutes were up and she returned to her seat, she was still trapped at that desk in the back row with Nolan's sad eyes, with her boiling anger, with her growing exhaustion.

✝

Nora propped her head up with her fist as Andy pulled out of the school's parking lot.

Since the beginning of the school year, she'd avoided the carpool. Rachel drove her to school, and Nathan brought her home. But, today, neither could get her home at a reasonable hour, so she'd had no choice but to ask Andy for a ride. She'd lucked out—Max had track and Erin had drama, so neither had been able to join. Less chances of accidentally sparking suspicion.

"Fancy meeting you here," Andy said with a grin.

She smiled. "I know, right? It's been ages."

"Hell yeah it has."

"Swear jar," she murmured half-heartedly.

He rolled his eyes.

Their conversation fell away as he got caught up in "slow" people on the road and songs on the radio, so she was free to send her sullen gaze out the window. She hated B days. A days were hard, too, but at least on A days she didn't have to sit through English on top of seeing Nolan at his picnic table, alone again...

She missed him. Every day, she scrolled through her contacts, searching for his name so she could message him—about anything and everything, really. But then she found the only "N" was Nathan, and she remembered. And just like that, the urge to reach out shriveled into nothing.

"What's wrong with your face?"

She blinked. "Nothing," she said. "I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She wriggled her eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes, but didn't press. She was glad.

Their drive was quiet. She made no move to turn up the radio, even on the songs she adored. Andy's questioning eyes weighed on her, but the day had been too much. She just didn't have the energy to pretend her mind wasn't elsewhere.

That, too, was disintegrating: her ability to pretend. To fake smiles, to act more energetic, happier, than she was. Nowadays, it wasn't uncommon for questions like "What's wrong with your face?" Rachel tiptoed around her half the time, as though afraid if she said the wrong thing, Nora would break. But, the thing was? She was already broken.

Over the past couple of weeks, the chips, cracks, and holes inside her had grown so gaping she was certain there wasn't much left of her to lose. The wear was accelerating—every day, nearly every moment, she inexplicably had to resist the urge to cry. Simple tasks and everyday items and words triggered memories she didn't want to remember. Her mom died in her dreams over and over again—her dad, too, beaten and bruised in a prison cell. Every English class, and every time she saw Nolan around school, she was overwhelmed by the simultaneous urge to collapse in his arms and scream at him until she lost her voice.

He did this to her.

But Willow was right. He was only looking out for her.

But she was fine before he told Nathan. Now look at her.

The warring thoughts slammed around her head, reverberating, growing harsher with each loop.

"Have you heard from Nolan lately?"

She jolted. "No," she said quickly. Too quickly.

Andy's eyebrows shot upward. "You two get in a fight or something?"

"No," she said. "Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Seriously. He didn't go to Willow's going away party. He didn't go to the airport. He doesn't sit with us at lunch anymore. I've messaged and he hasn't responded. Is everything okay?"

"Why would I know?"

"You guys did get in a fight, didn't you?" he said. "Does it have to do with the crushes you have on each other?"

Her mouth dropped. "What?"

"Literally everyone knows."

She sighed, struggling to ignore the pang that came with the mention of her feelings for Nolan. When he'd kissed her...

"We're not fighting," she said. We're not anything.

"Okay then."

They fell silent. Nora watched the passing business and houses without interest. Andy sang off-key to the songs playing on the radio. The route was so natural, and she was so enraptured by the clutter in her head that she didn't even notice where they were going until Andy turned into her driveway.

She jerked upright. Her house—it looked the same. Why had she been expecting it to look different?

Except...the atmosphere around it had changed. It was the same farmhouse it had always been, but the life had been sucked out of it, replaced by a deep sense of abandonment. This is wrong.

"I..." She swallowed. She couldn't take her eyes off the doorway. Nolan on her doorstep. Her dad's hand across her cheek. "Don't you dare cry."

"Nora?"

"I'm..."

Breathe. But she'd forgotten how.

"What's wrong?" His hand was on her shoulder. She forced a breath. Another.

"Sorry." She shook her head and tried to smile. "I'm actually hanging out at Rachel's today. Remember, I told you last night?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry." His eyebrows creased. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." The word—it shook.

"Nora. What's going on?"

She coughed. "Nothing," she said. "Scratchy throat. Sorry. But yeah, can you drop me off at Rachel's?"

He glanced between her and the house. Skeptical. "Yeah," he said.

He pulled out of the driveway and started back the way he came.

Nora turned to the window, battling tears. Only one escaped.

✝

Nora slid her key into the front lock and dragged her feet into the kitchen. She let her backpack droop from her shoulders and fall to the floor. Make it stop. She closed the door with her back and looked to the ceiling with tear-filled eyes. Please.

Did God hear her? But, of course He did. Maybe He, like her dad, wanted her to suffer. To punish her.

She swiped at her eyes, grabbed her backpack, and settled at the circular table. She yanked out her bursting homework folder and dumped it in front of her. Sheets of paper spilled onto the table.

English. Math. History. Science. Which to tackle first?

She swiftly shoved English away for later. She was already frustrated, so math and science definitely wouldn't help with that. I guess that leaves history.

She reached for the history book she'd haphazardly tossed into her bag before leaving school. It was a battered hardback, with peeling edges, and bent and discolored pages. At least ten names were jotted on the back of the front cover. She scanned them all, killing time, before tugging the assigned packet from the homework folder.

What year did the...

She blinked, started again. What year...

She closed her eyes, squishing them tight, and reopened them. But it was no use. She couldn't concentrate. Not surprising. Her ability to concentrate had been dwindling over the past few weeks. Now, her grades were showing it, too.

She pressed a hand over her eyes, battling tears again.

A sob sucked the air out of her lungs. Tears dotted her packet, and she shoved it away. Too hard. Her homework flew off the table, scattering on the floor. That only made her cry harder, because now her work would be bent and wrinkled, and what would her teachers think?

She missed her mom.

She wanted her dad home. And yet, the prospect terrified her.

She wanted her friends to stop needing a reason to be concerned.

She wanted this constant ache to go away. To be able to see her friends playfully slap each other without feeling her dad's hand across her cheek.

She wanted to breathe again.

She missed Willow.

She hated Nolan.

She missed Nolan. But the anger was sitting on her chest, suffocating her.

Was this how her dad felt?

She slammed her fist onto the table. Pain shot up her arm, and she screamed. Not from the hurt, but from the sudden fear that her outburst, her rage, meant that what was in her dad was in her too. Would she disappear, too? Would she become a monster?

Where are You?

The front door opened, and her head lurched upward. Rachel sashayed into the room, her work bag over her shoulder. "I'm home!" she sang. She saw Nora, and her bright smile fell. "Oh, honey."

Nora dropped her head in her hands. The wooden legs of a kitchen chair scraped against the floor, and the warmth of Rachel's hand seeped into Nora's shirt. "What's going on, hon?" Rachel asked.

Nora shook her head and wiped her eyes. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Rachel said. She rubbed Nora's back. "I really think it's time we get you in to talk to someone."

"No," Nora said, just as she had every single time Rachel suggested seeing a counselor.

"I understand if you don't want to talk to me or your friends. But you have to talk to someone."

She shook her head.

"Yes. I'm going to get you in with a counselor, okay?"

"No." She wiped her eyes again. "I'll be fine."

Rachel rested her head against Nora's. "You are incredibly strong," she said. "Stronger than anyone I know. But it's okay to accept help, honey. We all need it sometimes."

Nora's lips trembled. She'd already accepted help once. And look where it had gotten her.

"Just one appointment, and then we'll go from there. Deal?"

She looked down at her hands. Toyed helplessly with her fingers.

"Okay," she whispered.