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The floodgates open as I stand, frozen in the doorway.

Does he have friends?

Where does he spend Christmas?

Is he alone on his birthday again?

Why does no one else see him like I do?

Just before I talk myself into entering the boys’ locker room like a total freak, someone approaches Toren—Holden, eyes smiling and bright. Everyone claps him on the back or seems to greet him as he walks over to Toren.

He laughs animatedly and says something. Toren ignores it, before Holden’s hand lands on the back of Toren’s neck and squeezes.

That gets his attention, and they lock eyes for a long minute, before Toren’s lips finally move to respond.

A hand waves in front of my face, and I can’t stop the almost giddy smile that pulls at my lips.

“Sorry,” I say, before sidestepping and breaking into a run down the hall to make it to my art class.

Today will be a good day, I think to myself as I press out into the cold that makes my lungs burn. Because Toren has friends and I get to paint.

Maybe we’re not too broken.

Toren has friends.

And maybe that means I can have them too.

Chapter 17

Toren

“Is this the only one?”

Holden bites his lip, scratching the back of his neck. “I found five more on the side of the bars downtown. Tor . . .”

I’m already shaking my head. My mouth tastes metallic from where I’ve nearly bitten through my tongue.

We’re only a few steps onto campus, two inches of snow beneath my boots as I look at Holden. His hood is up, and his teeth might as well be chattering.

“Three years of these winters and you’re still not adjusted?”

Rolling his eyes, he hands me the other five half-crumpled sheets of paper, all with the same pixelated image of the town house with Lily’s thumb in the corner of the screen and plain black font saying “Roommate needed. Please contact Lillian LaBlanc” with the end of her name crossed out, a Y drawn sloppily over it. And attached at the bottom, her number and address.

They look insane. Part of me is relieved, considering no one in their right mind would respond to this ad.

Then I reconsider the sentence.

No one in their right mind.

“Fuck,” I groan. “I’ve got to go deal with this.”

Holden smiles. “Go get her, Prince Charming.”

“Not funny or accurate,” I snip back, turning on my boot toward my bike in the lot. Holden had caught me just before my class—thankfully I don’t have to go far to get to it. But before I sling my leg over, my shoulders hike and I look at him.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping the tone is sincere. I chew on my lip for a second, half avoiding his eyes. “For looking out for her. I . . . yeah.”

He’s still smiling brightly as he shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it.”