The following day, I eat lunch in the cafeteria for the first time since the incident in the auditorium. Taking our seats at our usual table, Lana draws on about how proud of me she is for finally facing my fears, though I have to admit that I don't really listen to her rambling. It's hard to pay much attention to anything when I know that Jack, Lacey, and Lucas are all in this room somewhere, meaning I could run into them at any given moment.

Absentmindedly, I notice that our table is rather empty today, only occupied by myself and Lana. The last time I ate lunch here, this very table was filled with Jack's friends, and Jack himself would take the seat by my side. I tell myself that it's better off this way with just Lana, yet when I notice Jack's absence a flash of pain flows through me anyway.

Slowly, I ease back into reality, reminding myself that this is the way things are now, so I might as well deal with it. I'm only just starting to feel a little more comfortable when suddenly Kyler falls into the seat next to Lana, wrapping an arm around her shoulders casually. At the sight of Kyler, I bristle, wondering if the rest of his friends are going to follow. I become less tense when I don't see anyone joining him, meaning I shouldn't have anything to worry about.

"Hey," Kyler says to me in greeting, flashing a wide, easy-going smile my way.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt before I can think better of the question, only realizing how rude I sound after I've already spoken.

Kyler merely laughs at my prying, brushing me off as he says, "I came to eat lunch with my girlfriend, Morgan." Kyler's eyes gleam as he glances at Lana, whose cheeks tinge pink at the title he seems to have given her. "Don't worry, I didn't bring Jack with me. I won't even mention him."

Considering we both know Kyler and Jack are still good friends, it's nice enough for Kyler to acknowledge that I have mixed feelings when it comes to Jack, and to agree not to bring him up. I thank him with a small smile, turning to my tray as Lana and Kyler strike up conversation. I'm not in much of a talking mood, so I just listen to my friends' chatter, tuning in and out every so often.

I end up making the mistake of allowing my gaze to roam the cafeteria, even though I know I shouldn't. I easily spot Lucas standing in the lunch line, not far off from my table. Just looking at him is hard after what he did to me, especially when I put trust in him only for him to betray in the end. I know the two of us have had a pretty rocky history with each other, but I would never stab Lucas in the back the way he did to me. I'm still unsure of how he was able to find out about my mother, though I realize I don't really want to know. I'm sure going down that road will only lead to pain and misery, and I have more than enough of both on my plate at the moment.

I find Lacey shortly after my gaze drifts from Lucas, animatedly chatting with her cheerleader friends at a table across the cafeteria. If she feels guilty or apologetic for what happened in the auditorium, she hides it well. I don't know why it hurts to see Lacey going about her day as if nothing happened at all, though I'd be lying if I said it didn't. You'd think she would show some remorse for her actions, but I can't say I'm surprised that she doesn't.

My gaze lands on Jack seconds after studying Lacey, finding him by accident. He's sitting with his football friends at the table behind Lacey's, exactly where he used to sit before moving to my table once we started dating. I'm taken off guard when I find his eyes already on me, his gaze searing through to my soul. When I catch him staring, Jack doesn't bother to look away. I notice that his appearance is oddly disheveled, his golden-brown hair sticking up in odd places, dark bags under his dull green eyes able to be seen from where I sit tables away. I find myself wondering what's happened to him, trying my best not to let the concern I'm feeling get the best of me. I don't need to go down that path again; I need to stop caring for people who have no intentions but to hurt me.

I don't realize how long the two of us have been holding each others stares until I notice Jack abruptly rise from his table. He walks toward the exit without a word to anyone, pushing past the cafeteria doors and disappearing from sight, taking a small piece of my heart with him. It's easy for me to see that he's hurting, though as to why I have no idea. He can't really be that upset over our relationship ending, because if our relationship had been nothing but a game to him why would its coming to an end effect him?

Is it possible that maybe Jack fell for me somewhere along the way? That would explain why he seems almost as pained as I am about the two of us ending. It would also help to explain why everything about the two of us together always felt natural and never forced, which is what it what have been like if one of us was pretending to care about the other. I have to admit that my heart leaps at this thought, as I suppose I want to believe Jack loved me, if even a little. I don't want the truth of the matter to be that he was using me, that I was a foolish girl too blinded to see the facts.

However, even if Jack did fall for me in the process of fooling me, that isn't enough to make me want to take him back. I don't know that the two of us will ever end up together again; I'm not even sure if that's something I would want. Not after finding out the truth. It would be too painful. And though I don't like to think that Jack is hurting just as much as I am, I can't stop myself from thinking that maybe he deserves to feel that pain.

Maybe we both do.

• • •

Thursday night proves to be a dull one, as I end up spending the night home alone. Lana has a date planned with Kyler, which means the two of us can't hang out. Even my dad has plans, he and Elena are going to a football game together. He mentioned cancelling with Elena to stay home with me, though I insisted he go and have fun. Dad invited me to go with him and Elena, though I had to decline his offer. It'd be much too weird for me to third-wheel on my dad's date with Elena, even if he refuses to call their night out a "date".

Being alone isn't too terrible, as it gives me some much needed time to think. I end up making myself a cup of warm tea and curl up on the couch, trying to relax and enjoy the stillness around me. Sipping my tea, I remember the scrapbooks hidden beneath the coffee table, leaning forward to reach for them. It's been what feels like forever since I looked through the photos inside these books, and it's always been an almost painful thing to subject myself to, considering most of the photos are of Mom.

After Mom first passed away, I would look over these photos at least ten times a day, obsessing over what I'd lost. Then, after the first few months of living without Mom, I just couldn't force myself to look at the pictures anymore. It was simply too painful. But now feels like the right time to see my mother again, to reminisce on the good times I was lucky enough to share with her.

I open the first scrapbook as I inhale a deep breath, pulling a blanket over myself. The first photograph is one of my favorites, as it's my parent's wedding picture. I study the image for a long moment, taking in how beautiful my mother looks. Her dirty blond hair has been skillfully arranged in an intricate braided up-do, a few strands of hair elegantly framing her face. Her hazel eyes shine with pride and love as they glance into my father's, and my own gaze drops to the bouquet of colorful flowers in my mother's hand. The dress my mother wears is breathtaking, all white lace with a long white train. My father is handsome in his dark suit, and it's easy to see the love my parents felt for each other as they gaze at one another adoringly, smiling widely, the image of pure happiness. My mother chose for this photo to be the first in the scrapbook because, as she used to say, it signified the beginning of their journey together, which is a thought that never fails to make me smile.

I flip the page slowly, running my fingertip delicately over the photograph of my mother holding me as a newborn baby in the hospital. Mom's face is bent as she gazes down at me, only her smile visible to the eye. I am the center of this picture, a tiny bundle wrapped in pink. Glancing at myself, it's hard to believe I was ever that little. Small enough to fit in my mother's arms. I can see that she's holding me to her tightly, as if she never wants to let go. I wish she never did, that moments could last forever, or that I could go back in time. I'd give anything to be wrapped in my mother's arms again, if just once more.

I go through the rest of the scrapbook, studying each photo in silence. I smile and tear up, though mostly I remain at ease. It's nice to be able to remember the moments these photos were able to capture, even if it's a little bittersweet to do so.

The abrupt sound of the doorbell ringing startles me so badly, I jump. I shake off my daze as I check the time, rising from the couch, surprised to find it's already past ten P.M. I know that whoever is at the door can't be my dad; he never rings the doorbell because he knows the sound has a tendency to frighten me. Curiously, I pad across the house to the front door, wondering who could be stopping by at this hour. Opening the door, I'm more than shocked to find Lacey standing at my doorstep.

"Hi," Lacey says in a shaky voice. "Could I . . . could I come in?" Studying Lacey, I notice that her normally clear blue eyes are rimmed with red, bloodshot. Her bottom lip trembles as she glances at me, awaiting my answer as her hands shake nervously at her sides. I find myself wondering if she's okay, as it's easy to see that she's been crying about something from how red and splotchy her cheeks are. My first instinct is to comfort her, despite how terrible Lacey has been to me. Past our history, Lacey is still a person, and it pains me to see another person hurting.

"Uh . . . sure." It dawns on me after a moment that this could be another one of Lacey's cruel tricks, though I find that hard to believe. I'm sure that Lacey Hanson has much better things going on at ten on a Thursday night than to go out of her way to mess with me. So I open the door a little wider and allow Lacey into my home, raising my eyebrows as she brushes past me and wordlessly enters through the doorway.

With that, Lacey leads herself into my living room, falling back onto my couch and bursting into tears. I watch with drawn eyebrows, too shocked to do much of anything. Hiding her face in her hands, Lacey's shoulders shake as she sobs to herself. It's a hard thing to witness, as I don't want to feel bad for Lacey, don't want to care that she sought me out in tears. Yet I'm not an evil person and I'm not heartless, which means that I do care, despite everything else.

I take a few tentative steps toward Lacey, almost afraid to enter my own living room. Once I'm within a foot of her, it's easy to smell the alcohol on her breath. I don't doubt that Lacey is drunk, though that doesn't change the fact that she's upset about something, and she came to me.

"Lacey?" I ask in a soft tone, gently taking a seat next to her. "What's wrong?"

Lacey merely shakes her head in response as she continues to sob, dropping her hands from her face to glance up at me. She looks so miserable, it's disheartening. I almost want to reach out and give her a hug, though I'm not sure how Lacey would feel about that, so I refrain.

"You s-shouldn't be n-nice to me," Lacey stutters through her tears, bottom lip quivering violently. "I w-was so a-awful to y-you."

"Are you okay, Lacey?" I question instead of responding to her last comment, brushing her words off as I rest a hand on her knee. "Is something going on? Did something happen to you?" I don't want to think about how mean she's been to me in the past. I just want to know why Lacey Hanson is sobbing on my couch, and if there is anything I can do to help her.

"I shouldn't be here." Lacey sniffs, wiping at her eyes. Her makeup is now smeared, inky pools of mascara running down her cheeks. For the first time since I've known her, Lacey doesn't seem to care about her appearance. "I think I had too much to drink," she mumbles to herself, which might be funny, if not for the circumstances.

"Is someone bothering you?" I persist, wanting to know what's happened to bring Lacey here to me, of all people. "Did someone do something to you?"

"No," Lacey admits, shaking her head. Sighing, her blue eyes lift to meet mine. Looking into her eyes, I see oceans of despair, as if she's been struggling with pain for a long time now. It's hard to imagine someone as seemingly perfect as Lacey Hanson having problems, but she's only human. It doesn't matter how "perfect" a person appears on the outside. Sometimes, it's the people we think are perfect that are really struggling the most. They just know how to hide it better than others.

"I . . . I came here because I need to tell you something," Lacey whispers, almost as if she doesn't want me to hear the words.

"Okay," I assure her, tone gentle. "You can tell me anything, Lacey. I want to help you."

A bitter laugh escapes Lacey's lips. "I wish you would just yell at me or something," she admits, a lone tear tracing her cheek. "Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Anything besides be nice to me. That only makes this harder to say."

I suck in a deep breath, feeling a little rattled. It isn't every day girls who make a point to be mean to me appear crying at my doorstep, needing to talk to me. I'm not exactly prepared to deal with this sort of situation.

"We both know what I did during the assembly," Lacey starts in a regretful tone, refusing to look at me as she speaks. "I know what I did to you was unforgivable. I don't expect you to like me in the least. But you should know that I hate myself for what I did. I never thought—I never wanted to be that kind of girl. So I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm so, so so sorry."

When Lacey finally risks glancing into my eyes, it's easy for me to tell that she's being honest. Maybe this is because she's wasted, but she can't mask her emotions in this moment. Her gaze is heavy with remorse, almost begging to be forgiven.

"You don't have to say anything," Lacey says, taking note of my silence. "Because I didn't come here to apologize. I did something awful, Morgan. What happened during the assembly was only part of it. I came here to tell you the truth. I'm tired of keeping it inside. I feel so . . . so . . . guilty."

I purse my lips as I wonder what Lacey could possibly have to say next. I sit in silence, waiting for her to gather the courage to finally tell me the truth.

"After Jack broke up with me and started dating you, I felt worthless," Lacey admits in a whisper, staring at her hands. "I couldn't stop thinking: Who am I without Jack Crawford? Some stupid girl in a cheer uniform? I know my worth runs deeper than who I'm dating at the moment, but I've always . . . I've always struggled with depression and anxiety. I've been on prescription pills since middle school, and they help, but anxiety and depression are both mental blocks, and it's hard to fully get over something when it's your own mind fighting against you. After Jack dumped me, I was in such a dark place, and I just wanted the girl he really loved to feel half of the pain I was left feeling." An increasing amount of tears stream down Lacey's cheeks, proving that she's being genuine and this is hard for her to talk about.

"So I came up with this awful revenge idea. But I couldn't do it alone. And I knew Lucas would be willing to help me, because everyone knows he hates his cousin. I knew he would want to get back at Jack, too. So we got together and started planning. After a while, we lied and said we'd started dating. Partly so people wouldn't be suspicious of the two of us constantly being together, but also to get back at you and Jack in a way. You know, both of your exes hooking up. Anyway, Lucas and I wanted to come up with the perfect plan. One that would cause you and Jack to break up, that we were sure would keep the two of you away from each other for good. We spent weeks conspiring, but we finally came up with something we thought was suitable." Lacey pauses for a moment to catch her breath, still refusing to look my way.

"I didn't mean to find out what happened to your mom, Morgan. I heard about it on accident. I was walking past your dad's office on my way to cheer practice and I overheard him to talking to the receptionist, Elena, or whatever her name is. It sounded like your dad was crying, so I stopped for a moment to hear what they were talking about. And that's how I heard about what . . . happened. If you told Jack, he didn't sell you out or anything. I just thought you should know that." Lacey hesitates for a moment before continuing, beginning to cry again. "I never should have shared that story with the entire school. It's personal and an awful thing for anyone to have to go through, and I took your pain and made it seem like it was no big deal. Again, I'm so sorry, Morgan. I know I'll never stop apologizing for what I did, but I need you to know that I'm serious. I hate myself for what I did to you. I haven't been able to look at myself in the mirror for days."

I can tell that Lacey is pleading now, and I recognize this stage of desperation. She needs me to forgive her for her actions so that she can release the pain she's feeling before it can consume her, and I know the feeling all too well.

"That's not the end. I planned everything at the assembly. I'm the reason the receptionist left with the principal. I paid this guy to pretend to faint in the hallway so I knew none of the teachers would see when Lucas and I took over. Lucas hacked into the computer to broadcast everything to the smart board. I told the most traumatic experience of your life to the whole school as if it was some sort of joke. And then I made up the story about Jack only dating you to win a bet."

Inhaling a shaky breath, Lacey continues before I have a chance to wrap my head around her words.

"There was a bet about you. I heard one of the football players talking about it during cheer practice one day. But the bet didn't start until after you and Jack had started talking, or whatever. And as soon as Jack heard about it, he put an end to the whole thing. He told Brett—the guy who started the bet—that you were a person and not an object and you can't just play with people the way he was trying to play with you, and then he punched Brett in the face. Jack never went along with the bet idea. He would never do something like that. Because he's a good guy, Morgan. I know that better than anyone. He gave me so many chances, even though I was unbearable to put up with. He fell for you, and I tried to blame you for the fact that his feelings aren't directed toward me. I made the whole thing up because I was jealous. He really . . . Jack really likes