When I wake up the next day, my mind has gone blank. I almost can't remember anything about the day before and all the odd things that happened. Wait, who's this Kal dude again? Apparently, he's a big deal, or I wouldn't have told him about my parents last night. It's my fault. I opened up and he took this as a sign of trust, that we're starting to bond. I know about his family and he knows about mine, so naturally, the only step to take from here is to kiss.

I like to think that I'm not this naive girl who doesn't know when she's being flirted with and blindly leads guys on, not realizing that someone is attracted to her or trying to send signals. But here I am, in this situation, trying to fathom the moment where we started becoming friends. I mean it is Kal. He's done odd things, so I can't blame him for seeing things with a different perspective. I just thought me mentioning my dead boyfriend every few minutes would send the message across (not that it was done on purpose to repel men—I do that subconsciously).

And what's the thing he said last night, that the entire purpose of our search is for me to find closure? I never thought there was a particular reason for his death, just that it happened suddenly, so why would I suddenly need to go on a mission to get over him?

He sent me nine texts by noon, letting me know how his progress is going.

At 8:15

So, I have to confess that I've never hacked an email before. However, I looked it up, and it is a thing that can be done. Pretty simple too.

At 8:17

Okay. This is harder than I anticipated. (Really, Kal? Giving up after two minutes?).

At 9:28

I have messaged an old friend of mine on Facebook. He knows all about this stuff. He works at IT in this big company, so I think he's got us covered.

At 10:30

He messaged me back and said he could hack it and change the password so that I can look through the emails.

At 11:00

He's gonna do it later tonight, so I'll give you more updates tomorrow night. Hopefully, I'll find something good by then.

At 11:01

Should I come over when I find something? Or just text you?

At 11:15

I guess it depends on how important my findings are.

At 11:20

You've got to be awake by now, Loon. (What is that nickname? No! No! No!)

At 11:30

If you don't message me back by the end of the day, I'll assume you're upset that I kissed you. Don't make it into a big deal. It's whatever. I take it back. (Take it back? What does that mean??? You can't revoke a kiss!)

He doesn't call me after this, which I think is a good sign, but I'm pretty sure he knows by now that I'm not planning on answering his calls either way. I do admire him for sending all these texts. Most people over-think it and try to keep their texts short, waiting for a response before diving into the conversation. Kal makes his own normals. He doesn't dwell on his decisions. It makes sense because of the way he is.

When I finally manage to push him out of my mind, I call Olive who ignores me several times. It's Sunday, so she can't be at work right now. She's ignoring me just like I'm ignoring Kal.

Olive works at a school for kids who have autism. The kids love her and she knows what to do and say to keep them at ease. She's short and thin, with a young look to her. This helps her blend in with the kids. Her younger brother, Micheal, has had autism his whole life. He's only eleven now, and he was her inspiration. Her parents split it up over their arguments about how to handle him. Their dad (Micheal senior) has a hard time dealing with him. Olive gets to see him at school every day, which helps out a lot.

She's probably the nicest person on earth, so if she's ignoring me, then I must really be horrible. All I need is a few moments, and I know she'll understand. I'll tell her about the letter, and she'll forgive me. She might even be helpful.

Olive moved back in with her mom after college so that she can help out since she got divorced so recently and now has to be a single mother. She's saving up to get a nice apartment later on when she's ready to leave her mom.

Her house is a thirty-minute drive away. The traffic is heavy at this time of the day, but I manage to get there at twelve-thirty. I just hope she doesn't have any plans. When I walk in using my spare key, Micheal is reading in the corner. His mom is nowhere in sight.

"Olive is in her room," he says softly, pointing up the stairs.

I nod, giving him the warmest smile I can muster.

It's like high school all over again. It's been ages since I last walked in this house. Olive is lying on her bed, watching something on her phone. The door is left ajar, probably in case Micheal needs anything. She's wearing a jumper, her lips biting the tips. She looks up when she hears me knock.

"Hey." She sits up on the bed, turning off her phone. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you watching?"

She leans against the wall, her legs pulled up close to her chest. "The Gilmore Girls. Every time you call, my phone literally sighs."

"Wow! Your phone can do that?"

She rolls her eyes. "There's nothing you can say that'll make this better, Luna. You just stopped talking to me. I know you're going through a shitty time. With your parents and Atlas and everything being so sudden and then losing your job like this . . . I get that you're exhausted and that you just wanna sit and sulk and that every time you think about him all you wanna do is curl up in bed, and that everything you look at reminds you of him. But we're still friends. You still have a responsibility. You lock yourself in your apartment all day and you shut us all out of your house." She rubs her face, trying to form the right words. "You won't let me help you. I want to be here, but you won't let me."

I fight back the tears. There's so much I want to say, but none of it matters right now. I'm wrong and I'm a terrible person. This has all been established. She knows how guilty I feel. What I need now is for someone level-headed to tell me what to do, because I can't think straight.

So I stand up and hand her the letter, the one that came in the mail with the return address as Atlas's house.

She's shocked, of course.

They're three words, so there's not much for her to read. Her eyes are scanning the letter, looking for some other clues that provide a hint for who sent this. Despite how short the letter is, it takes her a long time before she looks up and actually says something. The whole time, I fight not to start biting my nails in anxiousness.

"What does this mean?" she asks, her face stricken with horror.

I start at the beginning.