Clay broke his promise to never disappear on me again. Did he even remember making it? I was getting worried about him. He looked pale and bleak the night of Whitley's party. I called and texted, but he never responded. A few times when I kept the message app open, the dancing dots appeared, but no message ever came from them.

Alfie, on the other hand, had not stopped texting since the party. The messages ranged from sweet boyfriend-y things—such as, I miss you, or, You're so cute—to sexy soliloquies that belonged in an erotic novel. I didn't recall him being so amorous the last time we dated. When he drove me home after the party, he grabbed my arm as I reached for the door. He pulled me into a fierce kiss before releasing me, telling me to call if I wanted a repeat of what happened in the bathroom.

I had not called him yet. My mind was too preoccupied with thoughts of Clay, and worrying about his wellbeing, to make room for Alfie.

My friend Dan cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner to get my attention. He sat across the room in my desk chair, his laptop balanced on his bony knees. An inordinate amount of stickers, chaotically overlapping each other, covered the laptop. As always, he looked unkempt, wearing clothes two sizes too large (currently, his school uniform) to conceal his skeletal frame.

"I thought I was supposed to be the flaky one in this partnership," Dan said. We were partnering on a project for sociology. I couldn't even recall what we were meant to be doing. "What's going on, Emmett?"

"Nothing," I lied. I was doing a lot of that lately. It was getting to the point I wondered if it was worth it anymore.

That's when a perfectly logical explanation occurred to me. It wasn't false, per se, but it also wasn't the truth. "You remember all that shit with Patrick Montgomery in ninth grade?"

Dan closed his laptop and turned to lay it on the desk next to mine. "Of course." He flicked his head to get his shaggy dark hair out of his face.

"It's just been kind of on my mind. Going to their house the other night brought it all back in a big way."

"Shit, dude." Dan dug his heels into the carpet to drag the chair over next to my bed where I laid. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I will be. Don't worry."

"Look, if you don't want to do this project. I can do it myself. I mean, I can't guarantee anything higher than a C, but I'll totally do it."

I shook my head. "I just need a couple minutes to clear my head. Then, we can get to it. Because, no offense, I like my GPA where it is."

Dan raised his hands in the air. "Fair, dude. Totally get it."

When I glanced out the window, I spotted Jackson leaving Carrie's house. "Hold that thought, actually." I jumped up and slipped my feet into my flip-flops. "I'll be right back."

"Take your time," Dan called out as I sprinted down our stairs—nearly tripping down them.

I raced across the street as fast as possible in flip-flops (a terrible sartorial choice for someone in a hurry) and asked about Clay.

"He's been sick since that party," Jackson said. "He wasn't even in school yesterday or today."

I nodded, accepting this. Having a legitimate reason for this sudden lack of Clay made me feel a little better. He probably caught something from that girl he drank after.

"Summer said he's been asleep both times she went over there."

"Summer. As in his ex-girlfriend?" That sent a pang of jealousy through my chest. Was Clay getting back together with Summer? He seemed pretty adamant that he didn't have feelings for her.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "They're in most of the same classes, so she collects his assignments from the teachers and takes it to him. She's always been real sweet like that."

The jealousy receded slightly with this new information. I couldn't be mad at someone for looking out for Clay.

A question popped into my mind. But I wasn't certain if I really wanted the answer. "Have you talked to him?"

"Just some texts."

Clay could text Jackson, but not me. That stung.

This radio silence irked me. Clay and I had gotten into the habit of texting every night before bed. Usually stupid jokes to make each other laugh. We once had an entire conversation using only gifs. I'd read over that exchange since, and I couldn't for the life of me recall what the hell we were talking about. It was just a bunch of random junk: all the intense stares from Twilight, the most iconic lines from Star Wars, baby goats, Little Mix being chaotic, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Taylor Swift's cat Olivia Benson, back-and-forth Moira Rose quotes, a man chasing a pig, and the Riverdale "I'm a weirdo" speech. I once asked Clay, and he didn't remember the context either.

I missed talking to him.

I cleared my throat to make sure my voice didn't betray my feelings. "When you talk to him, will you ask him to call me?"

Jackson raised one shoulder in a noncommittal gesture. I wondered if I'd have to beg. Then he said, "Sure."

Jackson opened his door and climbed into his car, pausing with the door half-open. He looked back at me. "Is something happening between you and Duke?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Carrie's concerned about you."

Anger bubbled up, temporarily distracting from my jealousy and melancholy. "Carrie never should have blabbed to you about us."

"Don't blame her," Jackson said quickly. I appreciated him being defensive of Carrie, even if I wanted to strangle her for telling Jackson my business. "I made it seem like I knew more than I did. She just said you had a situation with a guy, it ended badly, and it seemed like you were gonna fall back into it. I brought up Duke and her expression confirmed it."

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"Because I love Carrie. And Carrie loves you. Probably more than she loves me." He snickered. "In fact, definitely more."

"I love her, too."

"Listen, Emmett, I've known Duke a really long time, and he's one of my best friends, but I wouldn't want to date him."

"You're straight. I get it." I was trying for jokey, but my frustration seeped into my voice, and it sounded more bitchy.

Jackson seemed annoyed by the comment. "No. It's not about that. Duke is a great friend. But he's a shitty boyfriend. I've seen the way he treats girls. Like they're disposable. 'There's always another around the corner.' That's something he's actually said to me."

"So?"

"So, I can't imagine he's a better boyfriend just because you're a guy."

I crossed my arms, feeling attacked. "Are you telling me not to see him anymore?"

"I'm telling you to be careful, dude. Don't wreck yourself over him, just to be another person he throws away. Also, it would kill Carrie to watch you suffer through that."

I nodded. "Thanks for the advice." The words came out sharper than I intended. I really appreciated the warning. But I understood exactly who Alfie was when I followed him into that bathroom. I didn't plan on getting sucked back into that he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not drama. But that didn't mean I couldn't use Alfie as a surrogate to express my feelings for Clay.