Sophia
Mark called four times over the weekend.
I know because I watched his name light up my phone screen four separate times, sitting on Mia's couch in yesterday's sweatshirt, and let every single one of them go to voicemail. I didn't listen to any of them either. I just watched the little notification appear, felt my stomach twist into something complicated, and set the phone face down on the cushion beside me like that would somehow make the problem smaller.
"You're doing the thing again," Mia said Sunday afternoon, dropping onto the couch beside me with a bowl of popcorn she had no intention of sharing. "The thing where you stare at your phone like it personally wronged you."
"It's fine."
"You've said 'it's fine' about four different things this weekend, and none of them have act
