I told myself she was just putting on a front around classmates.
She changed my contact name from "Bert" to "Bertram Harding." Scrubbed every photo of us off her social media.
I told myself she was worried a teacher might see.
Now I know it was Neal she was worried about.
Worried Neal might not like it.
So she destroyed my early admission recommendation with her own hands.
In the one way I'd never think to question—her cooking, her gentle voice telling me to eat more.
The girl I grew up with, the one who said she'd marry me someday, pushed me into an emergency room for another guy.
My eyes burned dry and raw. I forced myself not to cry.
I looked at Ellie. Squeezed every word out of what was left of my voice:
"Is it true?"
She sat next to Neal. Her expression didn't change at all.
"Does it matter? It wouldn't change anything."
Her voice was flat, without a single ripple, and my words sank like a stone into deep water—didn't even break the surface.
Because she didn't care.
Didn't care about eighteen years of growing up together. Didn't care about the future we could have had.
My throat clamped shut, acid rising in waves.
I bit the inside of my lower lip, using that small pain to hold everything else down.
I stood and bolted out of the room. Behind me, muffled laughter and jeering.
"Bertram! Where are you going? Your childhood sweetheart's got a new man and you can't even say congrats?"
"Wait—is he actually crying?"
"So what if he is? Ellie never liked him anyway. Who's he doing this for?"
I stood on the curb for a long time.
The night wind dried the tears on my face.
My phone buzzed.
Ellie.
Where'd you go? Come back. Don't let people laugh at you.
I stared at those words, and suddenly I was seven again—bawling my eyes out at the kindergarten graduation ceremony while kids pointed and laughed, and she marched straight up to them. "He can cry if he wants to! Mind your own business!"
Back then, she was every bit of courage I had.
Now she was telling me not to let people laugh.
That was just a dare I lost. Come back, I'll explain everything.
A dare.
I gripped my phone. My palm was slick with sweat.
A taxi rolled past. The driver honked twice.
"Getting in or not?"
I didn't move.
All those years kept flooding back.
Ten years old—I had a fever, and she climbed the wall to bring me medicine. Our dog chased her three blocks.
Twelve—I bombed an exam, and she tore up her own ribbon and said, "These things are useless. Next time I'll help you get first place."
Fifteen—I was getting bullied, and she threw herself into the fight, got a chunk of her scalp ripped out, and still looked at me grinning. "Doesn't hurt."
Had she changed?
Or had she never changed, and I just never said what I needed to say?
Had I just been lying to myself the whole time?
"Getting in or not?" The driver called again.
I clenched my jaw, turned, and ran back.
I pushed open the door full of hope.
A basin of cold water came down over my head.
Ice water poured through my hair, blinding me, soaking through every layer of my clothes.
I stood there shaking.
The room exploded with piercing laughter.
"Oh my god, he actually came back!"
"Neal, how did you know that pathetic little puppy would come running back?"
"A bet's a bet! Ellie, hand over your jade luck pendant!"
Neal was leaning against Ellie's side, doubled over laughing.
"Told you he'd come back!"
He crooked a finger at Ellie.
"He's your loyal little dog—you couldn't chase him off if you tried!"
