Marcie
I open the email with shaking fingers. The body is nearly empty, just one line of inscription in the middle: All I could find. Sorry. But I don’t care about that. Every molecule of my body narrows in on the attachment at the bottom. I click, and the picture fills my screen.
She obviously took this from under a table. No, a desk. I recognize the speckled, tan plastic that covers the bottom third of the image. Ryan leans close to the phone she was probably using during class with a goofy smile, his blue eyes crossed. It’s a strange, slightly blurry picture.
And I don’t care about that either because I was f*****g right.
I don’t need to open the picture I took of Ben after the night I spent with him. I’m not crazy. The two of them look identical. Same sandy blond hair with a few da
