chapter seven
At Taylor’s house, the front door was almost never locked. Her staircase, with its long banister and shiny wooden steps, was as familiar to me as my own.
After I let myself into the house, I went straight up to her room.
Taylor was lying on her stomach, flipping through gossip magazines. As soon as she saw me, she sat up and said, “Are you a masochist, or what?”
I threw my duffel bag on the floor and sat down next to her. I’d called her on the way over; I’d told her everything. I hadn’t wanted to, but I’d done it.
“Why are you going off looking for him?” she demanded. “He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”
I sighed. “Like he ever really was.”
“My point exactly.” She thumbed through a magazine and handed it to me. “Check it out. I could see you in this bikini. The white ban
