I ran in and sobbed that I missed him and that I still loved him. Then I pathetically added, “You can’t say that you still don’t love me. I know you do.”

He looked around at the people gawking at us and his cheeks reddened. “Lexi, we had fun and everything, but that was it. You’re cool and all, but you’re kind of a walking disaster.”

Okay, I was kind of a disaster—still am—but cool? That word is the bane of my existence and something snapped inside me.

I threw his coffee in his face then ran back to my place, locked myself in the bathroom with a bottle of vodka, blaring, “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance over and over again. I stayed that way for two whole days, which wouldn’t have been that bad except I had roommates. Finally, Sophie had Flynn pick the lock so she could get inside and drag me out of my funk.

“But I’m not okay,” I drunkenly whined as she dragged me to my feet. “Listen to the song. It knows what I’m talking about.”

“I know you’re not okay,” she said. “You’ve been lying on a bathroom floor that I’m pretty sure no one has ever cleaned, you smell like vomit, and you look like shit.”

Her bluntness was like a slap across the face, but it did the job. I sucked it up, took a shower, sobered up, and mopped the floor for the first time since I moved in.

“What am I going to do without you?” I say to Sophie with a heavyhearted sigh.

“Lexi, you’re only moving a few hours away.” She picks up a garbage bag from off the kitchen floor. “And it’s only temporary. Besides, I think it might be good for you to get a little restart. Your life is so scattered all the time.”

“It’s not that scattered,” I argue, a little offended. “I’m just going through some stuff. That’s all.”

“I didn’t say it to upset you, but sometimes”—she pauses, wavering—“you don’t make the best choices, and I don’t think sugar-coating it is going to help you clean up your life.”

“Hey, sometimes it’s not my fault,” I protest. “Sometimes, stuff just happens, like the rent thing. Not my fault.”

“You could’ve checked your bank account more,” she says, setting the garbage bag by the front door. “And that thing with the guy and the birds; I told you not to give him money.”

“But his birds were starving. I felt so bad for him. And he had that glass eye that wouldn’t focus on anything. It was so sad and confused the birds. They kept flying away from him.”

“Honey, I don’t know what the eye thing has to do with this, but those birds were stray pigeons. He didn’t need the money to feed them. He played you.”

“Okay … but that was one time. It’s not like I do stuff like that all the time.”

Her brows elevate. “What about the woman you gave money to who was making the largest quilt with toilet paper?”

I let my head fall back, grunting in frustration. “She seemed like a go-getter, and it sounded like a cool project. Plus, she was nice and picked up that candy bar I dropped.”

She sighs. “You trust people too much, like Max. I knew that guy was using you, but you only saw what you wanted to.”

“Okay, I’ll admit I knew Max was a douchebag, but the rest of the stuff…” I shrug. “I like helping people out, okay? I’ve been that weirdo with dreams before. Only, instead of a toilet paper quilt, mine was getting out of Hellville.” I sink down onto a barstool. “What if I move back there, and my soul is sucked lifeless, and I never leave? Because that’s what Hellville does to you. People who live there will always live there, and nothing exciting ever happens. I’ll probably die of boredom.”

“That’s not true.” Amusement glimmers in her eyes. “What about all those contests they have? I mean, come on. The annual Making a Dress out of Ribbons contest? That sounds like potential excitement. And the Shining Unicorn Collecting Cult? You could always join that. Didn’t you say they had their meetings at your mom’s house?”

“It’s the Shimmering Unicorn Collection Cult,” I correct her, biting back a grin. “And you know I’m too flaky to make a commitment to a cult.”

“Well, I’m sure they’re not really a cult,” she says. “Just a bunch of women who like unicorns.”

“I don’t know about that. They had these super exclusive meetings in my mom’s basement. They’d lock themselves down there for hours and come out with glitter all over their faces, smelling like frosting and looking high.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“True story.” I pull my behind off the barstool. “You can’t make this shit up, Soph. Weird stuff goes on in Fairville. And not weird, fun stuff, but unnaturally weird, what-the-hell-is-going-on, did-the-whole-town-get-high kind of stuff.”

“Okay, but still  … Look at the bright side: you’ll only be there for a month, two months tops. That’s all.” She drapes her free arm around me. “And if you don’t come back, I’ll personally drive out there and save you from the glitter snorting rainbow cult.”

“Promise?”

“Of course. And besides, we have to get together soon so we can start planning my wedding. As my Maid of Honor, I demand you be present.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I grab my purse and suitcase from off the couch, give it another pat good-bye, and then head for the door. “Good-bye, all,” I whisper as I close the door.

“Ready?” Sophie asks me as I join her in the hallway.

I shrug, sliding the bag over my shoulder. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As we’re passing by Miss Finikey’s place, the door to her apartment opens.

“Finally giving up, huh?” Her tone is mocking and her grin is snide, but at least she’s got clothes on. “About damn time.”

“Oh, come on, Miss F., you know you’re going to miss your favorite neighbor.” I shoot her a smirk.

She rolls her eyes, but I swear I detect the faintest bit of sadness in her eyes. “As soon as you leave, I’m pulling out my party hat and kazoo.”

“Well, I’m going to miss you,” I tell her. “You were, like, the only person in this apartment who ever talked to me except for Mr. Maybether, but he just made crude remarks about my ass being as jiggley as Jell-O and to put a little bit more wiggle in it.”

When she says nothing, I sigh and turn to leave.

“Oh, my hell, wait a damn minute,” she says then ducks back into her apartment. When she returns, she’s carrying a record player and a small stack of records. She nearly drops both into my arms and steps back, dusting off her hands. “You were eyeballing it once when you stopped by. I was going to give them to you for Christmas. Figured I’d give them to you before you ended up stealing them. But since you won’t be here for Christmas, there you go.”

A few tears pool in my eyes. “Thanks, Miss F. This means a lot.”

She brushes me off. “Take care of yourself, Lexi,” she says then steps into her apartment and slams the door.

“Wow, she’s quite the character, isn’t she?” Sophie states as we make our way to the exit doors.

“Yeah, but in a good way.” A faint, sad smile touches my lips as we push through the doors and step outside. “I’m really going to miss her.”

Sophie looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind, but I simply shrug. While Miss F. was mean as hell most of the time, deep down, she was a nice person and helped me out a lot.

After we cram the rest of my stuff into the back of the car, I give Flynn and Sophie a hug and climb into the car. As I’m pulling out onto the road, I roll down my window and stick my hand out to wave at her, pretending I’m a wannabe actress driving away to Hollywood.

“I’ll call you when I’m famous,” I shout out the window, “unless I forget all about you.”

Sophie just shakes her head. “Drive safely!” she shouts. “And keep two hands on the wheel!”

I roll up the window and do what she says. Then I steer the car toward the freeway, watching the city—my dream life—slip away from me.