“The first time I didn’t say anything, because she shot me in the mouth.”

“Say me aye," he whispered against her mouth. "Say me aye." How could she say anything else?”

“Well, everybody needs help feeling alive again every once in a while.” “No,” she says seriously, and my gaze falls back on hers, “I didn’t say again, Andrew; for making me feel alive for the first time.”

“You guys didn’t try to do anything to me,” I say honestly. “You brought me to a house because you wanted to freak me out. You didn’t know that your friend would wind up getting torn in half and disemboweled.”

“His hands slid around my head, pulling me back to his mouth. There was a cracking sound in the house. A fissure of electricity shot through the room. Something smoked. I didn’t care.”

“So why haven’t you called?” I ask her now.She looks uncomfortable. “I told you,” she says, twirling the end of her braid around her finger. “School stuff.”“Bullshit.” She looks at me and opens her mouth, probably to lie again. But then she changes her mind. “I didn’t know what to say.” Her voice catches, so I know she’s telling the truth. “And besides, you didn’t call me, either.” “Because you didn’t call me!” Doesn’t she know that the person who got kicked out of school (me) doesn’t have to call the one who didn’t(her)? She should have called to check up on me, to see how I was doing. She should have come over with lemonades and ice cream, keeping me company, helping me nurse my broken heart. That’s what best friends do. It’s so common it’s cliché.”