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Mom plops down beside me and stares at the side of my face.

Blowing out a breath, I pause the video I’m watching and turn to her.

“How’s your hand?” she asks.

Before I can answer, my sister comes into the room, her deep brown eyes narrowed on me, her lips pursed. “Can you please tell him not to be an ass to me?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m tired of being snapped at for no reason. He acts like he’s dying when all he did was break his hand.”

The fucking audacity.

Mom looks from her to me, eyebrows arched, looking absolutely unimpressed. “Have anything to say to that?”

I lift my head to glare at my sister, only to find she’s gone.

“She’s been watching her stupid cartoons at a diabolical volume. I told her to turn it down. Twice.”

“You could’ve gone to your room.”

I grunt. “I want to stay here.”

With a sigh, she shifts so she’s facing me. “I understand your hand hurts. I understand your mood is shit, and you’re angry. I’m here for you. Your dad and Meg too. For anything you need except outbursts. It’s a mild injury. You’re lucky, really. You’ll recover completely and be playing again by February.”

“I’ll miss most of the season. And the scouts. My whole life has been put on pause because of this stupid fucking hand.” I toss my phone aside, gritting my teeth.

“Language, Michael.”

“Boo-hoo,” I retort. “He dared to use a curse word.”

Jaw clenched, Mom pulls her shoulders back. “Go to your room. Now.”

“Whatever.” I stand from the couch with a groan.

As I walk away, her phone rings, and Aunt Bella’s name appears on the screen. The accompanying picture is one of her and Isla.

My feet get heavy, my body weighed down. I didn’t see her at school today, and honestly, I prefer to keep it that way. The sooner she leaves, the better.

She’s no one. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I climb the stairs.

If only I could believe it.

December

I had to suffer through a week of school, a week of questions about my hand, a week of stupid comments from everyone before Thanksgiving break. Blessedly, my family dropped the subject, so no one forced me to talk about what happened. No one forced me to go anywhere I didn’t want to go.

But the break is over, and even though I don’t want to be here, I don’t have a choice.

As we walk down the hallway, Asher talks nonstop about last night’s practice that I spent sitting in the stands. As desperate as I am for him to shut up, I search the hall, looking for something else to focus on.

That something else ends up being Isla as she hurries past me. My gaze flies to her of its own accord, cataloging the white shirt and black skirt paired with polka-dot tights and her favorite Uggs.

I purse my lips, inwardly cursing myself for still looking for her, for still paying attention.

She is no one.

With a shake of my head, I focus on Asher again. Listening to him yammer on about practice has to be better than thinking about Isla.

At the end of History class, as we’re packing up, my phone buzzes with a new message. So does everyone else’s. All around me, classmates are unlocking their phones and checking their notifications.

I do the same, finding a new video in the school chat.