Chapter 77

"Jace?" Mrs. Curtley asks, squatting down on the other side of my desk. "Have you heard from Harlow?"

My instant reaction is to look over at the cult cousins, because she should be asking them. Not me. We broke up, I want to scream, but that would be weird.

"I just asked them," the teacher says, as if reading my thoughts. "They don't know."

I shrug, then stare down at my desk. After a moment, Mrs. Curtley takes the hint and leaves me the hell alone. I'm tired. Beyond it. And I shouldn't have come to school today, but I thought… I thought maybe Harlow would be here. Not that I'd actually speak to her, but at least I'd see her. In person. And not behind my closed lids during my multiple failed attempts to sleep. I kept picturing her in the arms of that Christian guy, and I was so damn close to calling her dad, but…

If Harlow really wanted to run away, then who was I to stop her? I understand what it feels like to want to just pack up and leave everything behind. I couldn't fault her for it.

Still, I spent all night wondering if I would ever see her again. And then I got to thinking about my parents. I tried to remember what it was like for me right after they died. I was eight. Old enough to know what death was, but maybe not old enough to fully understand it. Could I even comprehend how permanent death was at that age? I wondered how long it took me to realize that. To come to terms with the fact that I'd never again wake up to my mom running her finger along my palm or my dad standing under the basket, throwing the ball back to me. I wondered when it all became real for me… that I'd never see them again, never hear their voices, their laughter, their declarations of love for me and each other.

Now, I'm wondering how long it will take for me to come to terms with losing Harlow. Because I don't think I have yet. Far too much has happened in between the breakup and now, and I don't think I've had time to grasp the severity of it all.

I've lost someone I loved.

And I don't know if I'll ever see her again.

"Okay," Mrs. Curtley says, standing in front of the class. "Well, if anyone can get a hold of Harlow within the next few hours, can you tell her assignment is due by the end of the day? It makes up a large percentage of her final score, so it's imperative that she submit something."

After the letter I read last night and the fact she's been gone for days, I have a feeling school's the absolute last thing on Harlow's mind.

"Oh!" the teacher exclaims, tapping on her computer. "Looks like she just emailed her project." She looks up at the class, as if we all care about Harlow. The only ones who do are me and the cousins. "I think we'll wait until she comes back so she can present it herself."

Sure.

If she comes back at all.