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doesn’t he? But I guess you don’t know him that well.”
    I gnaw on my thumbnail. I thought Max was starting to warm up to me. Like Devon. So much for that.
    “You should stay away from him. Becca and I used to be roommates; now you’re my roommate, and you’d just remind him of her. You know what I mean?”
    I don’t answer. This conversation makes me want to cry.
    “Tess? Are you listening to me?”
    “Y-yes. I heard you.”
    Devon smiles and kisses the top of my head. “Good girl. How’s your cheek? Does it still hurt? You should take a couple of Advil or Tylenol before you go to sleep. And if that doesn’t do the trick, I’ve got some stuff that’ll really take the pain away.”
    I think about Max, about how quickly our non-relationship bloomed and then died. Is this what a broken heart feels like? I doubt there are any pills for that. Besides, I have no right to a broken heart. I never had a chance to get that far with Max.

    I can’t sleep.
    For a while I lie staring at the ceiling, counting Mondays. Around two a.m. I switch to Tuesdays, then to Wednesdays, but that doesn’t work either. I eventually give up and drink warm Coke and read some American History chapters with my penlight.
    Around four a.m., I decide to get up and go for a walk. I can’t stand being in the room anymore. I put on a hoodie over my pajamas and pull on my fake Uggs over my SpongeBob socks. I grab my keys and slip out the door, being careful not to wake Devon, who is crazy-talking in her sleep again. Something about a dress.
    The halls of Kerrith are deathly quiet. I’m extra careful going down the stairs, holding the railing the whole way. In the lobby, the security guard isn’t at his post. It’s too late, or early, even for him.
    Outside, I breathe in the chilly, foggy air. It’s only September, but it’s super-cold. The grass under my feet is soft with dew. The sky is dark, moonless, and overcast. There is no Big Dipper, no Orion’s Belt—no constellations or asterisms or stars whatsoever.
    And then, for some reason I can’t quite explain, I begin walking toward the beach. Whitwater Beach. I quickly cross the deserted quad, passing the fountain with the stone pillar. At theedge of the woods, I find the trailhead that Devon pointed out when she was showing me around on Sunday.
    I hurry along the narrow dirt path, crossing my arms over my chest to try to get warm, and it occurs to me that maybe this isn’t the smartest idea: hiking down to the beach, alone, in the dark. In my pajamas. I didn’t even leave a note telling Devon where I was going or think to bring a flashlight or my phone.
    Still, I don’t stop and go back. Something drives me onward. It’s where she died , I tell myself. It’s the last place where she was alive. But why do I care about Becca Winters? Is it because I have a stupid, hopeless crush on her ex-boyfriend?
    I feel so dumb, like I’m in eighth grade againpining over Will Weikart. When he didn’t return my texts, I went over to my friend Kayleigh’s house and we polished off an entire half-gallon of Philly Vanilla ice cream plus a bag of potato chips. The next day I had the worst stomachache along with a gigantic new zit on my forehead. And at lunch, Will was making out with that slutty Danielle Gump in the cafetorium.
    My love life definitely sucks. Then, now, forever.
    When I reach the crest of the path, I can make out a sliver of ocean. I have to figure out how to get down to the water. I haven’t been to the beach—any beach—in ages, not since my mom and I drove to Cape Cod when I was in third grade. We were visiting her friend Noreen, who worked at a motel thereand got us a room for cheap. I remember the massive waves on the Atlantic and the screaming, happy kids on their boogie boards . . . and the calmer waters of the bay with toddlers splashing in tide pools and couples reading the Sunday paper. I remember peachy sunsets and eating fried clams and soft serve with my mom