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“I’m sorry for your loss, too, Starlet.”
I nodded. “It’s been a few years now, so I’m okay.”
“I’m learning that time passing doesn’t make it easier. Sometimes it just makes the grief quieter.”
That was the truest thing I’d ever heard.
“I’ll update you on how everything is going,” I promised him.
“Please do. Day or night. Please.”
Principal Gallo truly cared about Milo. I could see it in his eyes. It pained him to see his nephew struggling so much.
I nodded and stood. “Thanks again for meeting with me.”
He stood, too. “Of course. Thank you, Starlet. Have a good afternoon.”
I started walking off but paused and looked back at Principal Gallo. “I do have a question. Milo mentioned a letter…is that something I should know about?”
Principal Gallo blew out a sharp breath. “His mother left him a letter. I’m supposed to give it to him on his graduation day. I told him he has to attend every tutoring session and graduate in order to receive the letter.”
“Thank you for explaining that,” I said.
“Of course. Have a good afternoon.”
After the meeting with Principal Gallo, I headed back to the janitor’s closet to check and make sure that Milo was all right. When I opened the door, a slight ting hit my stomach.
He was gone.
Starlet: Okay?
I shouldn’t have texted him that night, but for the past few hours, all I could think about was Milo. I could hardly focus on my studies because he kept popping up in my mind. Whitney was at her night class, which worked out well for me because if she had been in our room, she would’ve instantly known something was wrong.
I had no poker face. Every emotion, both good and bad, I ever felt was shown against my expressions. I got that trait from my mother. You always knew what she felt once you looked at her. Dad said it was the easiest guide to knowing when he’d messed up.
I stared at my phone for the longest time, seeing no reply.
My mind began to spiral. What if something bad happened to him?
What if he used more after leaving that closet?
What if he needed real help, and I made the bad decision of not reporting him to the principal?
I swam in a pool of guilt until I received a text message from him around eleven o’clock.
Milo: Okay.
I exhaled deeply for what felt like the first time that night.
Okay.
CHAPTER 11
Milo
I got home late after spending most of the day messed up. I felt sick to my stomach. That wasn’t shocking. What goes up must come down. The crash was always the hardest. Tom was good enough to find me as I wandered the hallways messed up. He got me into his car, drove me to his house, and hid me in his bathroom until I was sober enough to make it home. As he dropped me off, I muttered a thank you.
“Milo, you know we’re friends, right?” Tom said before I was able to climb out of the car.
“Yeah, sure.”
“No. I mean it. I know I’m new to this town, and I know we’re different in almost every way possible, but I do consider you a good friend of mine. So if you ever need someone to talk to or to just be quiet with, I got you. I might not be as quiet as Chris, but I can learn to shut up.”
I looked over at him and nodded. “Thanks, T.”
“T?” he gasped, slamming his hands to his chest. “Did you just nickname me? Are we on a nickname basis?”
“Don’t make this a thing,” I grumbled, opening the passenger door.
“It’s totally a thing.”
I climbed out of his car, and he rolled down the window and yelled, “See you later, Mi-Mi!”
Mi-Mi.
I hated that more than he’d ever know, but I was almost certain he’d call me it for the remainder of my life.
Dad’s car was in the driveway, which was a good sign. I figured he’d be passed out at some bar or locked up for indecent exposure for pissing on the side of a building or something. Instead, I walked into the house to hear him in his bedroom. The door was shut, but I could hear him clear as day.
He was sobbing.
Choking on his inhales. Slicing through his exhales.
I didn’t know his heartbreak could worsen my own.
We weren’t close anymore, but something was damn painful about hearing your father cry. He spent most of my life being a strong, tough man who never showed any weakness. Now, to hear him falling apart felt so bizarre.
Without thought, I tried to turn his doorknob to check on him, but it was locked.
I lowered myself to the floor outside his room, placed my back against the wall, and bent my knees. My arms rested crossed against my kneecaps as Dad wailed in his pain.
I fell apart with him, sitting against that wall with my face buried into the palms of my hands.
