“Beer margaritas,” she explains. “Want one?”

I make a face. “No, thanks.”

“Good call,” Milo says.

“Shut up, they taste awesome,” Jenna says.

I pass them and make my way into the living room.

“Where are you going?” Milo calls after me.

“Gotta pee,” I call back.

“That’s what the pool’s for,” he says.

Jenna and Missy break into a chorus of ewwws and giggles.

I walk up the stairs. My stomach is twisting and my palms are sweaty-nervous because I’m going to climb out that window and I am going to jump into the pool. I imagine this walk for my father. The way to Tarver’s. He probably wasn’t nervous. He was so ready. How do you get to a point where you’re that ready?

Will I reach it by the time I reach the window?

Jenna’s bedroom is all purple. It’s very Jenna. The window is wide open, and a feeble breeze is pushing the sheer white curtains my way. They’re hands, reaching out to me. I go to them. I have my foot on the sill. I’m halfway out. I can see the pool from here.

I can’t tell if I’m afraid I’ll jump or I’m afraid I won’t.

What if I’m that statistic that hits the concrete even though the water is so close?

“Don’t.” Milo’s voice is behind me, but I don’t turn around. “Eddie, if you do I’ll never speak to you again.”

“There’s water,” I say. “I’m not suicidal.”

“I mean it.”

“Aaron looked like he was having fun.” I stare out. It’s a longer drop than from my bedroom window. It’s the highest up I’ve ever been. “Do you think the answer is in the fall?”

“Eddie, shut up.”

I force myself through the window and stand straight up on the roof. It’s dizzying for a second. If I lost my footing, I would miss, maybe. Or not miss.

“Eddie.”

“I want to go up on the roof at Tarver’s,” I tell him, glancing back. He’s at the window and he looks mad. “But I’m too scared. I want you to go with me.”

“I won’t go there with you.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s nothing there,” he says impatiently. “Get back inside. You’ll get hurt.”

“Aaron jumped and he didn’t get hurt.”

“Aaron does it all the time and he’s just doing it for fun—”

I turn around. Too fast. I overbalance and grab on to the sill to steady myself. Milo grabs my arm. I’m bent over and our faces are close.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I ask.

“You play chicken with trucks and wander around condemnable buildings at night,” he says. “I have no idea what you’re trying to do.”

“Liar,” I say.

He stares at me for a long minute.

“None of this is going to tell you anything,” he finally says.

It’s like my heart dissolves into a million angry bubbles that find their way up my throat. He gets it, but he doesn’t, and that’s worse. I want to tell him I’ll know what it’s like to really fall and that’s something I wouldn’t have known yesterday. That’s important.

“I’m going to do it.”

His grip moves from my arm. He grabs my hand, wrapping his fingers around my fingers. He squeezes them.

“Your hand is cold,” he says.

I hesitate. “I told you.”

“Eddie, please come back inside.”

He looks at me in a way that breaks my heart, like I’m hurting him. He pulls me back into Jenna’s bedroom and I let him. He keeps his fingers around mine and we sit on the bed, holding hands.

“You were there, Milo,” I say. “Tell me.”

“Eddie, I don’t know why he killed himself.”

“You were still there,” I say, “and you won’t talk about it.”

“You were there too. I don’t need to.”

“You make me feel alone.”

I can’t believe I just say it like that. You make me feel alone. Maybe I confuse him. Maybe he doesn’t know when what happened stops being about my dad and starts being about us. It confuses me too.

“I’m sorry.” He says it so quietly. He squeezes my hand. “Feel that?”

“They’re not numb,” I mumble. “Just cold.”

He exhales slowly and then he stares at the ceiling.

“They’re not cold,” he says. “… They were cold.”

I look at him.

“I called your cell that night,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat. He looks at me and his eyes are completely defeated. “And you didn’t pick up. It felt different.”

Like the world changed. That’s what I want to say, but I don’t. The same thing that made him call me was the same thing that made me go to my father, when I’d never done that before.

It felt different.

“I called your house and your mom told me you were at Tarver’s.” He falls silent for a minute. “I don’t know why I went…”

Downstairs, I can hear Missy and Jenna laughing. Aaron’s voice. It’s all so out of place. They are. We are. I don’t know anymore. Nothing is right in this moment, even though I think I’m finally getting what I want.

“I don’t remember hearing my phone,” I say suddenly. I can’t remember hearing my phone but I know it was with me. “At all…”

“I wish you had,” he says. “When I—”

He breaks off. Stops. I wait. Maybe he needs a minute and I’ll let him have the minute, but then the minute passes and he shakes his head and says, “I can’t,” and gets up from the bed, his hand free of my hand. It feels so empty.

“Just get it over with,” I tell him.

“No—”

“Milo—”

“Just fucking stop, Eddie!” he pleads. I close my eyes and then he says, “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “Look, I’m going back downstairs, so if you—”

“Whatever.”

“Eddie—”

“Forget it.”

I open my eyes.

He pauses. “You’re not going to—”

“Just go.” Asshole.

He goes. I stay in Jenna’s room for a really long time. No one bothers me, which is weird. I wonder what Milo told them. If Jenna was hanging out in my room while everyone else was having a great time downstairs, I wouldn’t be okay with that, even if you threw a recently deceased father into the mix. I wonder if that makes me a bad person.

And then I hear footsteps making their way down the hall.

I hope it’s Milo, but it’s not.

It’s that other person whose name starts with M.

“Hey,” Missy says. Her hair doesn’t look that great post-pool. Stringy and dried out. It makes her face seem too round. This is one of those rare instances I look better than her.

“Hi,” I say.

She sits down beside me. I bet Jenna sent her.

“Where’s Milo?”

“Drinking in the garage with the guys,” she says. “Deacon and Jeff are here.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?” Missy asks. I roll my eyes and then I feel like a jerk for doing it. Luckily, she laughs and says, “Stupid question.”

“Yeah,” I say.

Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m being unfair. A cool breeze is coming in through the open window. I stare outside, past the sloping roof. From the bed, you can only see the edge of the pool, and my towel, where I left it. The lighter part of this afternoon already feels far away.

I make things so awkward.

“I’m not jealous of you,” I blurt out. She stares at me. “I mean, I’m not trying to make things really weird between all three of us. I don’t hate you guys together or anything—”

“What?”

I feel my face turn red. I don’t know how I can put it any more simply. Trust Marilyn Monroe to be stupid enough not to get it. Okay, that is unfair because I think I read somewhere Marilyn Monroe was smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for.

“Just…” I shrug. “That.”

“Eddie,” she says slowly, really uncomfortable now. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Why did I have to say that. “Eddie, Milo and I are totally not together like that.”

My mind goes blank. “Yes, you are.”

“No,” she says. “Did he tell you that?”

“I—”

I try to remember every conversation I’ve had with Milo that’s centered around Missy, but I can’t. Not word for word. But I also can’t remember him saying he was with her now.

But I also can’t remember him denying it.

“I thought…”

My stomach sinks.

He made me think.

“I have a boyfriend,” Missy says. “Milo and I are friends now. We just talk.”

I don’t know what to say. I feel so stupid and angry and worse, still jealous. Milo and I are just friends. What does he need Missy to be his friend for? They just talk—but he won’t talk to me. This is worse than when I thought they were together. At least then I could understand why Missy was between us, if they were getting each other off, but now it isn’t even that.

He goes to her. Not me.

“I’m his best friend,” I say, before I can stop myself.

She looks so sad for me, I want to die.

“I know. Of course you are.” Her voice is patronizing but her eyes are painfully sincere. “You mean, like, everything to him.” I snort, because I don’t believe that anymore. “No, I mean … when he told me about your dad and how he found you, it was like—”

Stop.

“He told you about that?”