Lena lets it go, and the conversation drifts to other topics. Mainly school. At this point, it’s still our only common ground. Then, Noah says: “By the way, I’m busy after school on Wednesday.”

Lena looks at him like he tried to stab her. “Why? What can be more important?”

“Stuff,” he replies evasively.

She rolls her eyes before asking me, “You’re coming right?”

“Absolutely! What am I coming to?”

Noah laughs.

Lena smiles before answering. “Wednesday is when the baseball team holds their tryouts. We usually go to support Austin.”

I think about Austin and his ridiculously happy smile when he talks about baseball. I’d like to see him play. “Yes, I’ll come to that,” I say.

“Fair warning, it’s boring,” Noah cautions, splitting the last cookie in half and giving the bigger piece to Lena.

“It’s a bit boring,” she agrees. “But that’s what friends are for.”

“I’ll be there,” I promise. I only have a lukewarm interest in sports, but she is right. That’s what friends are for, and I do want to be friends with them. Besides, Austin has been nothing but welcoming and supportive. Spending an hour in the cold is an easy way to give back. Even just a little bit.

They stayed for a while before Noah had to take Lena home. It leaves me with a happy feeling. I had people over, and it went well. We made plans for next week – okay, sure, not with Noah, but I already get the sense that Noah is like a cat. He comes and goes as he pleases, and people just have to deal with that.

I don’t really know why it amazes me so much that I can make friends. While I am not a social butterfly, I am not particularly shy either. I had a lot of friends before we had to move. Actually, that might be part of the reason why. I had friends before we moved.

The move isn’t the reason why we’re not in contact anymore. In the age of technology, instant messaging and Facetiming, that would be sad. No, I lost most of them before that. In all the mess that happened, they picked Matt. He was always the most popular, the most lovable one. I was just me, and I was also the one at fault.

So, yeah. I guess that’s why it feels like a relief to have been able to make friends so quickly. That’s also probably why I feel so desperate to belong.

I’m still ruminating when I get to my room, so it’s difficult to ignore the box. It’s too big for the closet, at least the way I hastily put it there, so I can see it peeking out through the door left ajar.

It was easier to ignore it when it was just lost in the middle of quite similar boxes. Now it stands out.

After an hour of regular glances in its direction, I decide to muster my courage to do something. I postponed unpacking my room for 10 days so I wouldn’t have to open that box. It’s ridiculous. I could just move it, make it fit in the closet, and let it get lost into oblivion. It’s not what I want, though. If it was, I would have done that immediately.

I drag myself to the closet, pull over the box, and open it. It feels formal. Not everything in there is bad.

I have a lot of memories with my friends that don’t really trigger anything unpleasant, such as the time we won the state championship for our design project. My mom framed the certificate even if it wasn’t that fancy.

The flyers from the art show I was invited to join, which was sort of a big deal. Tiana had signed me up to that.

Polaroid pictures taken from the road trip we took during spring break.

An old picture of me and Matt when his dad took us fishing when we were eight…

These are cherished memories of my friends, but I can’t bear to have them in plain sight.

I can’t tell if I’m more angry or bitter. I could forget the entire thing, every single friend who turned their back on me, if Matt hadn’t been one of them. Yes, what happened was unfortunate but I really thought that our 12 years of friendship would have been stronger than that. I get that he might have needed time. So I gave him some.

He never reached out to me.

Even when I left, it would have been the perfect time to bury the hatchet. After all, it’s not likely that we will ever be in the same room again. We could have parted on friendly terms, if not friends. But he wasn’t interested. He didn’t even say goodbye.

It leaves me with a very bitter aftertaste.

I place the picture back in the box and take another one out. It’s Peter, smiling – probably even laughing – just before blowing the candles on his birthday cake. Or just after. I’m not sure.

They were trick birthday candles that relighted every time he blew them. It made him burst out laughing every single time a flame would reignite. It was the happiest and cutest thing I had ever seen. He was six.

My mouth spreads into a smile and, for a second, I am happy.

Then I remember that Peter isn’t here anymore, and he won’t ever be again. My smile fades and turns into a grimace. I only realize that I’m crying when the first tear hits the picture. I let it fall back in the box. I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep looking at the pictures. They seem too real. Not like the staged one that my mom was allowed to display because it’s empty of meaning.

I’m an idiot. After I shove the box in the cupboard, I will stack a pile of junk on top of it. I don't plan to face it until I absolutely have to.

I can deal with the anger, but I can’t cope with this raw, harrowing pain.

Maybe I’ll take my pills tonight…