"If you don't talk to me, I'm just going to walk away. And when I go, I’m not coming back."

The final semester vanished in a heartbeat, and suddenly, grade school graduation was upon us. My classmates were buzzing with activity, scribbling in memory books and trading going-away gifts.

I sat at my desk, obsessing over what kind of gift I should get for Lucas Powell. I remembered him complaining once that his mother refused to pay for his membership at the local basketball club. The look on his face had been so desperate—he clearly wanted that card more than anything. I decided right then: I’d be the one to get it for him. Who cared if his mom said no? I’d make it happen.

I scavenged every cent of my allowance, stashing the cash away until I had enough. The day before graduation, I dragged Bryce along to the basketball club to show me how to register the card.

"Why are you getting a gym membership? You don't even play," Bryce asked, looking completely baffled.

"It's a gift," I snapped.

"For who?"

"Mind your own business!" I barked back.

Bryce just sighed, rolling his eyes. It was like I was constantly on edge with him, always finding a reason to snap.

"And you," I hissed, pointing a finger at him, "you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Don't you dare tell anyone I bought this."

"Fine, fine," he muttered, pulling a face.

Once the card was in my pocket, I sealed it inside a bright pink envelope, along with a note I’d spent hours drafting. I’d made a deal with Lucas: he was supposed to wait for me in the classroom after the ceremony ended.

But when the auditorium cleared out and I rushed back to the room, the seats were empty. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled out into the hallway, frantic, until I saw him.

He was standing at the door of the next classroom, leaning in way too close to Juliet Clark. He had his head bowed, chatting casually while he filled out the memory book she was holding for him.

"You better treasure my gift! See you in September, don't forget!" Juliet chirped, grinning as she snatched the book back and hugged it to her chest before skipping off to find other friends.

My jaw tightened. I turned on my heel, cold fury rising in my throat, and stomped back to my own classroom. I was shoving my things into my backpack, ready to bolt, when Lucas sauntered through the door.

"Where's my gift? Come on, hand it over," he said, walking toward me with a smug, expectant look on his face.

"Give you what?" I replied, my voice sharp.

"My graduation gift. Obviously."

"I don't have one."

He pouted, clearly not buying it for a second. "Even the girl in the next class got me something. You’re really not getting me anything?"

"Exactly," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder and marching toward the exit. "If everyone else is already falling over themselves to get you something, you don't need mine."

I left him standing there, stunned. It was the first time I’d ever actually managed to get under his skin.

I quickened my pace, tearing out of the school building and heading for the main gate. The evening air was heavy with the stagnant, humid heat of mid-summer, the kind that stuck to your skin no matter how hard the wind blew.

"What is your problem today?" Lucas called out, sprinting to catch up with me.

I kept my head down, staring at the pavement, ignoring him entirely.

"If you don't want me taking gifts from them, fine! I'll give them back!"

I just walked faster.

"Where did you even put my gift?" he shouted, his voice laced with frustration.

"I threw it away," I said coldly.

He froze for a second. "Then what about my gift to you? Where did you put that?"

I paused, turning just enough to catch the hurt on his face before I hit him with a lie. "I threw that out, too."

He was furious. I could tell by the way he stopped dead in his tracks, his silence echoing behind me. My pulse spiked, a mixture of guilt and defiance making my steps feel heavy, but I didn't look back. I just kept walking.

"If you don't turn around right now, I'm leaving!" he yelled after me.

I didn't stop.

"I’m leaving, and I'm not coming back!" he shrieked, his voice raw.

His shout carried on the breeze, ringing in my ears. A sudden, sharp ache blossomed in my chest, and my eyes stung. He used to say he’d never leave, that he’d always stick to my side, always find ways to be with me.

I realized then that he was actually, truly angry.

But so was I. I’d worked so hard to get him that membership—the one thing he’d been dying for—and he’d completely forgotten our plans. He’d ignored me, gone off to flirt with Juliet, and expected me to just wait for him like some obedient shadow.

He was so, so annoying.

I decided then and there: we were through. I wouldn't speak to him until he crawled back and apologized. I wasn't going to be the one to break first.

All summer, I haunted "The Hideaway," the cafe near school, clutching that pink envelope in my bag, waiting for a chance encounter that never happened.

"Ma'am," I asked the owner one day, "that boy who used to come in with me—has he been by at all this summer?"

She shook her head, frowning as she tried to recall. "I don't think I've seen him."

Whatever. I’d just have to shove the gift into his hands when seventh grade started.

The summer dragged on. That knot in my chest, that suffocating feeling of unfinished business, never went away. But I refused to go to his house. I refused to be the one to apologize when he was clearly the one who had messed up.

As I sat at home, blasting the air conditioning and staring at the calendar, I felt like I was drowning in the heat. I ticked off the days one by one, crossing them out with a sharp, aggressive stroke of my pen. I was counting the seconds until school started, waiting for the moment I could corner him and force him to admit he was wrong.