“Don’t push your luck,” I say.

She smiles, the traces of tears still silver on her cheeks.

28.

IT’S FUNNY HOW SOMETIMES YOU DON’T SEE the obvious things coming. You think you know what life has in store for you. You think you’re prepared. You think you can handle it. And then—boom, like a thunderclap—something comes at you out of nowhere and catches you off guard. Like on Wednesday, when Ashley Davenport ambushes me before first period.

She’s there on the other side of my locker door when I close it. I jump a mile.

“Hi,” she says.

She’s dyed her hair again, a deep, glossy brown this time. It suits her, makes her face all about her huge blue eyes, which are focused on me like laser beams. Concerned. Determined.

“I’ve been hoping to catch you.”

“Um—okay?”

“I saw you at Patrick’s wake,” she says, her voice hoarse like she has a cold.

She doesn’t offer me any other explanation. She simply takes off her backpack and puts it on the floor and pulls out a familiar, tattered envelope.

For Ashley, it reads.

“I think you should read this,” she says.

“Oh” is all I can think to say. I’m frozen. I don’t really understand what’s happening here. I thought that envelope was gone for good, that I’d never know what was in it, but here she is offering the letter, like what he had to tell her concerns me, somehow.

I swallow, hard. The text. The text.

“Do you want to go somewhere else? Like the library?” she asks.

“But don’t you have class?”

The bell rings. She shrugs and smiles faintly. “I can be late.”

We go to the library. No one bothers us as we make our way to the lonely corner behind the stack, where Ashley holds out the letter.

My hands tremble as I take it.

“I want it back. So I’ll be over there.” She tilts her head to indicate the study tables in the center of the library. “Take as much time as you want.”

Then it’s just me and the letter.

I slide it out of its envelope. The paper crackles as I unfold it.

It’s dated December 10. Ten days before Ty died.

I take a shaky breath and slide myself down against the corner, draw my knees up to my chest, and I read.

Dear Ashley,

I wanted to write you this letter to explain why I broke it off with you.

First, I have to say I’m sorry for how I did it. I didn’t know what to say to you or how to explain the truth about how I feel, so I went with the old cliché “this isn’t working for me,” which made it sound like the problem was you.

It’s not you.

You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever known. You are beautiful—but I think I should list smart first, because you are so crazy smart, and that’s what I first noticed about you—that for such a gorgeous girl you sure had your head on straight, you’re a girl who knows things, and you had all these ideas and these complex thoughts about life. You’re beautiful, too. You know that. People always tell you that. Sometimes when I would look at you it used to make my chest hurt, how beautiful you were. And you’re funny. Remember that time you made me laugh so hard I snorted chocolate milk up my nose? But you didn’t make a big deal over it, and that’s because you’re nice, you’re nice to everybody. You’re always considering how other people feel. I think that’s what I admire most about you, how sweet you are in this world that’s full of crap.

Sorry.

So it’s really not about you, Ash. Please believe me when I say write that. You are perfect.

This is my problem.

The other night when I kind of freaked out on you—sorry for that too btw—you were trying to get me to talk about my dad, and I said I hated my dad, and you got this surprised look, like you didn’t know I was the type of person who could hate someone. Who could hate my dad.

But I am.

That’s when I saw how messed up I am. And I saw myself so clearly right then, and it was like I could also see the future.

You’re so perfect and you’re so beautiful and you’re so kind and when I’m with you, I want to be those things, too, I want to be the best person but the truth is, I can’t.

I’m messed up.

I go through phases where I think everything’s going to be okay and the sky is blue and stuff and I can feel the sun and the air going in and out of my lungs and I think, life is good. But then every time, I also know deep down that the darkness is coming. And it’s going to keep coming. And when I’m in the darkness I’m going to screw up everything. And if you’re with me that’s when I’m going to screw you up, too.

You deserve better than that.

You’ve got good friends and awesome parents and this amazing life ahead of you. You need to have a boyfriend who will be part of that. Not me.

My sister has a boyfriend, and she’s so into him and she’s freaked out that she’s so into him, because that’s how she is, but when I see them together, I think, they work. Most couples in high school you know aren’t going to work out, and maybe that’s how it should be. But with them, it’s so obvious that they’re right for each other. They make each other better, somehow. They fit.

You and me, Ash, we don’t fit. You’re like the sun and I’m like a big black cloud.

I’d always be darkening your skies.

I’ve tried, but I can’t fix myself. I can’t change it. So I did the right thing, letting you go. You’ll see. It may take a little bit of time, but you’ll understand.