Swear on everything, I wasn’t even supposed to be in the city today.

Michael dragged me out here ‘cause Damon said some guy at the pier owed him money and Kai thought we could get it faster if I smiled nicely and pretended to be someone’s attorney. Which is laughable, ‘cause I’m wearing a cutoff tee and basketball shorts and still have sidewalk chalk under my nails from drawing dicks on the back of the prep school. So yeah. I’m not exactly exuding professionalism right now.

Anyway. I’m walking down King Street, texting Michael some half-assed update about how the guy wasn’t home and also might be in rehab—unclear, kind of a vibe—when I see her.

And when I say see, I mean the world straight-up buffers.

Like, if my brain was a DVD, it just scratched. Skipped. Froze on her like some divine glitch.

Because it’s her.

And I mean her. Capital H, full stop, roll credits, all of it.

The girl I’ve been half in love with since I was thirteen and had a center part and thought Monster energy drinks were a personality trait. The one who rode past me on her beat-up bike that summer while I was trying to land a kickflip in front of St. Mary’s. The one who side-eyed me like I was a little shit (which I was) and popped a wheelie before flipping me off for laughing at her scraped knee.

Miss MIA for two damn years.

You don’t forget when someone just… disappears.

She was fourteen. I was sixteen. One week she was around, tearing through parking lots and calling our friend group “the preppy Aryan skateboard cult.” The next week? Gone.

Just vanished.

Her house was still there. Her family was still there, pretending her world wasn’t short one daughter. But she—was gone.

And now she’s here.

I don’t think. I just move.

I cross the street without looking. Some guy honks and calls me a dickhead and honestly, fair, but I’ve got tunnel vision now. One target. One locked-on set of sneakers dragging themselves down the sidewalk like they’ve seen better days.

I catch up just as she’s about to turn down 17th. She doesn’t look at me.

“Hey.” Nothing.

“Hey—hey, wait.”

She freezes.

Then, slow, she turns around. And her eyes hit mine like a punch to the sternum. Same eyes.

Her mouth opens like she’s gonna say something, but nothing comes out. Which is fine, ‘cause I’ve got enough to say for both of us.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Yeah. Real smooth. Real emotionally regulated of me.

She blinks. Rubbing the sleeve of her hoodie over her mouth. Doesn’t answer.

My stomach twists.

“You okay?”

She exhales. Shakes her head no. Then nods. Then shrugs like she doesn’t even know what okay is anymore.

Jesus Christ.

I haven’t seen her in two years, and the first thing I want to do is call my brother, my lawyer, and maybe Damon with a crowbar. And then hug her. And then maybe scream into a trashcan because what the fuck.

“C’mon,” I say, stepping aside, hand half-raised like I might touch her if she flinches any less. “Let’s get outta here. You look like you haven’t eaten since Obama got elected.”

That gets a twitch of her lip. Score!

We end up at the back booth in Leo’s Deli, the only place in Meridian that hasn’t updated its menu since 1992 prime time for greasy, fatty food. She doesn’t talk much. Just eats half a grilled cheese and stares at the table while I sit there trying not to stare at her too hard.

Eventually I go, “You ran away, didn’t you?”

She nods but doesn’t elaborate. She just picks at the crust of her sandwich.

And I get it. I don’t know, but I get it.

Whatever happened? It must’ve been big. Bigger than anyone knew. Big enough to make a fourteen-year-old girl pack a bag and disappear for two years like a damn ghost.

“You staying?”

She shrugs.

“Can I see you again?”

This time she looks up. Really looks.

And says, “I guess.”

Which is a yes. It’s not enthusiastic but it’s a start.

“What’s your name by the way?” I ask, just realising that I was in love with a girl whose name I didn’t even know and judge me all you want but I never got the chance to ask her it. She ran away from Thunder Bay before I could.