The Fisherman's Wife is exactly how I imagined; a dimly-lit cafe nestled between ocean-themed gift shops, with a lighthouse painted on the front window and an aquarium filled with lobsters as soon as we walk in. Nautical decorations adorn the walls, with fishnets draped in every corner, and a Great White Shark sculpture that's so realistic it looks like it jumped right out of the water and onto the plaque. There's not many customers, and the ones that are here are probably retired.

"This place is nice," I say as I open the menu. "I like the maritime accents—very authentic."

"If the decor impresses you, you should try the Cajun swordfish."

I let out a small laugh. "I don't think I'm that adventurous."

After looking over the selection, I settle on coconut shrimp and fries. "Do you come here often?" I ask after the waitress brings our drinks and takes our orders.

"Every chance I get. No one from school would be caught dead in a dive like this—too many blue hairs," he says, referring to older clientele. "But I like it. The food is good and cheap, and it feels less suffocating here."

It's funny, because I get what he means. "Noone watching our every move?"

"Or whispering behind our backs." He smiles. "I used to come here with Ava. It was sort of our hangout. We'd do our homework over there in the back corner." He gestures behind him.

I look over his shoulder. The back corner is dark. Secluded. Hidden by a partial wall covered with the velvety green limbs of cascading plants. It's the perfect solution if you're looking for privacy.

"Would Theo come with you?" I ask, trying to eke out more information.

He shakes his head. "Not usually." He pauses, his eyes searching my face. "Do you want to talk about your fight?"

"No." I squeeze a wedge of lemon into my water and take a sip.

"What about why you look like hell?"

I fix him with a look. "Definitely not."

"So what do you want to talk about?" he asks. "Because I'm thinking you asked me to hang out for a reason."

His honesty is unnerving. I square my shoulders and hold his gaze. "You said before that Ava told you about our father," I begin. "What exactly did she say?"

Xander pushes a hand through his dark hair. As soon as the silky strands weave around his fingers, they fall back over his eye. "Just that he passed away from a heart attack when she was fourteen."

I nod, my eyes dropping to the table. So, Ava was dishonest with everyone, including her best friends. I don't get it. What did she gain by not telling the truth?

"Except I knew she was lying."

I look up, surprise flooding my chest. "You did?"

He shrugs. "There was something off about her story. So, I did some digging and found his cause of death." He hesitates. "I'm sorry, by the way. That's an awful way to lose a parent."

Emotion thickens in my throat. I swallow past it and disregard his condolences. "It's not the only thing she lied about. She told Nadia I was offered a volleyball scholarship, but I've never even played the sport."

"She also said your mother was a surgeon, which I suspect isn't true."

I nearly choke on my water. "Are you serious? Mom couldn't even bandage our knees when we were little. Dad always had to do it." And then I turn away, embarrassed. "Why do you think Ava lied? Was she really that ashamed of us?"

"Honestly? I don't think it had anything to do with you. I think it was a coping mechanism. Ava created a new backstory as a way to protect herself from the truth. What your father did really fucked her up—no offense."

How can I be offended when it fucked me up, too?

I prop my elbows on the table and drop my chin in my hand. "If you knew she was full of shit, why were you still friends with her?"

Xander takes a deep breath and lets it seep through his lips. "Everyone has issues. Just because Ava made choices some might disagree with, it doesn't mean she was a bad person."

"Did you ever call her out?"

He shakes his head. "It's not like she lied about everything. To my knowledge, her family life was as far as it went. That's why I knew it wasn't out of malice. I assumed she had her reasons and I left it at that. It was none of my business."

As the waitress delivers our meals, I let what Xander said sink in. It makes sense, reinventing your past to escape something painful. Ava's strategy was to pretend like it never happened. Mine was to drink it all away.

But I'm not the only person here who knows pain.

I sit back and sandwich my hands between my legs, my appetite lost. "Can I ask you something personal?"

He nods.

"How old were you when your mom died?"

Xander scratches the corner of his mouth and looks away. "I was nine."

When his eyes reconnect with mine, his expression is so sad, I almost wish I'd never brought it up.

"She had something called glioblastoma. It's a fast-growing tumor in the brain," he says quietly. "It began with headaches, then blurred vision. But she insisted she was fine, and didn't see the doctor until after her first seizure. By the time she was diagnosed, it'd already spread through her brain tissue. The neurosurgeon removed what he could, and chemotherapy and radiation treated what was left. But it wasn't enough. She died seven months later."

My breathing goes shallow. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what's worse, watching your loved one die, or having them taken from you without warning."

"I'll always be grateful for those last few months before she passed. When you know your time with someone is limited, you take advantage of it."

"I guess." And then I let out a sigh. "I wish I'd had that with my dad. After he died, I felt so alone. Like people were afraid to talk to me because they didn't know what to say."

"No one gets what it's like to lose a parent unless they've lost one, too. It's like we're part of an exclusive club with a secret handshake to get in."

I laugh and pick up a piece of shrimp, the coconut bread crumbs crispy between my fingers. "That's a membership I'd like to revoke."

He shoots me an amused look. "Too cool for us, huh?"

"Something like that." Xander takes a bite of his swordfish and I try my shrimp. "You said your mom wanted you to have an education?"

He swallows his bite and nods. "My parents weren't much older than us when they moved from China to California. They opened their grocery store in San Francisco a few years before I was born, but my mom always wanted more for me. They made an okay living, but had to work night and day to make ends meet. We even live in the apartment above the business. When we were little, Mom would always take me and my younger brothers downtown to the financial district and point out the skyscrapers and say: 'one day, you're going to work in one of those,'" he says with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Is that where you want to work—in the financial district?"

Xander shrugs. "All I know is that Mom dreamed of me having a college education, so that's what I'm going to do. But I don't want my father to pay for it. He can't afford it, and he's still responsible for my little brothers. I want to earn it myself. And the best way to do that is to keep working for scholarships."

"But what if we wants to help you? I think a lot of parents feel obligated—like it's their job."

"I mean, yeah—he definitely wants to help. But no way am I taking his money. I need to do this on my own. It was hard enough accepting the art bag he bought for me last Christmas. I'm sure it cost him a fortune, but he was so proud. You should have seen his face when I opened it."

From out of nowhere, a wave of guilt crashes into me. My parents never had to work for what we have. Everything we've ever wanted has been right there at our fingertips. When that's all you've ever known, it's easy to take for granted.

Knowing now why Xander keeps to himself has given me a new appreciation of his efforts. "I think wherever your mom is, she's really proud of you."

He turns away, the tips of his ears red. "I hope so."

This feels good, sitting here talking like a normal person. Xander makes it easy. There's something calming about him. The way he takes everything in stride. How he doesn't dwell on the crap he should let go.

But I didn't come here to feel comfortable. "How did you and my sister meet?"

Xander sits back and stretches his legs out in front of him, his boot bumping mine in the process. "We met freshman year in Latin. She's the one who convinced me to join the visual arts club."

"Were you into art before that?"

He shrugs. "I liked sketching and taking pictures on my phone, but I'd never done it in a serious environment. The counselors like us to get involved so we have plenty to put on college applications. And, you know—bragging rights. It looks good when you can say every student at Maliseet Bay Classical Academy is involved in at least one extracurricular activity. It's all about appearances and which Ivy League schools you're applying to." He rolls his eyes.

I sit on the edge of my chair, my chest tightening. "Tell me about the last time you saw Ava."

"What do you mean?"

My eyes narrow. Is he stalling? "The last time you spoke with her before she died."

He hesitates. "I saw her the afternoon before they found her."

"How did she seem?"

Xander's nostrils flare as he looks away. "Like she was upset about something."

"Did she say what?"

He swallows, then shakes his head.

"Do you think she killed herself?"

Xander lets out a breath. "What else am I supposed to think? She was obviously upset, and then she—" He stops. "Wait. You don't think she jumped?"

I can feel my cheeks flush. "I didn't say that. I'm just trying to figure out her headspace."

"No offense," he says quietly, "but it's kind of obvious, isn't it?"

I stare at him, unsure if I can trust him. I don't even know if it was him or someone else who was sleeping with Ava before she died. Keeping certain details to myself is probably a wise decision. "I guess it's just hard to believe she'd do that after everything we went through with our father."

Xander's quiet, then reaches across the table for my hand. "I've read that suicidal behavior can run in families. Maybe it's not as hard to believe as you'd think?"

My shoulders sink, and my voice comes out a whisper. "Maybe."

What if Ava did jump?

I don't want to go there. I don't want to find out I've wasted all this time and energy believing something that wasn't true.

After an awkward beat, Xander pulls his hand away and takes another bite of his dinner.

I'm about to do the same, when two people passing our table catch my attention. They're walking fast and wearing dark sweatshirts, the hoods pulled over their heads. My eyes follow them all the way to the secluded table in the back corner of the restaurant. Once they're seated, I'm able to get a better look at their faces.

It's Eli Torres with some blonde guy I've never seen, and they're obviously trying to be discreet.

I scoot my chair over so I'm hidden behind Xander.

"What is it?" he asks between bites of swordfish.

I lower my voice to a whisper. "Don't look now, but Eli is sitting with some guy in the back corner. They look like they're incognito or something."

The color drains from his face. "We need to go."

"What—why?" I ask as he waves over the waitress.

When she lays the bill on our table, Xander reaches for it first, but I swipe it away.

His brows furrow. "What are you doing?"

"I invited you to dinner, so I'm paying."

"No you're not," he says, trying to snatch the receipt from my grip.

"Xander, I don't expect you to pay. This isn't a date."

"Then, I'll pay for mine."

He reaches for his back pocket, but I hold up my hand. "If it makes you feel any better, you can get it the next time."

He hesitates, and then his eyes shoot nervously to the side. "Fine. But we have to go. Now. Let's take it to the register, okay?"

"Ok-ay." He's already standing. "I hope you know you're telling me what this is all about as soon as we get outside," I say, popping one last fry into my mouth.

His fingers wrap around my forearm and he pulls me out of my chair. "Whatever. Come on, let's go."

As soon as I pay, Xander's dragging me out the door. "What the hell?"

"Just start walking," he says, linking his arm through mine.

But I stand my ground and cross my arms in front of my chest. "Not until you tell me why we had to leave half our meals."

"I'm sorry, I'll pay you back."

"I don't want your money."

His lips pull back in a sneer. "Why not? My money spends the same as yours. Or what, you don't want to take cash from the poor scholarship kid?"

"Oh, get over yourself!" And all the frustration I feel when I'm with him bubbles to the surface. "What is it with you, anyway? How is it that one minute I'm more comfortable with you than I've been with anyone in a long time, and the next minute I want to strangle you?"

Xander's face softens. "You feel comfortable with me?"

"Just tell me why we're running away."

His jaw clenches, and he glances back at the restaurant door. "You have to promise not to say anything."

"Cross my heart."

He pauses. "That was Eli Torres."

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. "I know," I tell him, agitation growing in my voice.

Xander's lips press together and he refuses to look at me.

"Xander..."

Finally, he blows a breath through his lips. "He's with Stone Carter."

My stomach drops out from underneath me. "That was Stone?" I grab his arm. "We have to go back, I need to talk to him!"

His face scrunches in horror. "Why?"

I brush the hair from my face and turn toward The Fisherman's Wife. "I need to ask him some questions."

Xander grabs my arm. "You can't."

"Why not?"

His expression falls flat. "Don't make me say it."

I shake my head, not understanding. And then I remember how Eli brushed off Natalie's advances. "Wait a minute. You mean—" My question dies off.

He holds my gaze. "They want to be alone."