Students passed around us, several glancing toward the two people arguing beside the desks. The last thing I wanted was another public conversation about everything Brett and I were not.
“You need to move.”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Anger stirred beneath the hurt. For years, he had accepted every favor, answered text, and rearranged plan without questioning what it cost me. Now that I had stopped explaining myself, he suddenly believed he deserved answers.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide you need to know everything because I didn’t spend one Sunday night studying with you.”
“That isn’t why.”
“Then why?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was answer enough.
I stepped around him and walked into the hallway. He called my name, but I kept movi
