Things fall back into their normal routine. I go back to walking myself to class, doing my work on my own, paying attention to Merinda, and taking notes for myself only. It hurts. It hurts for a week, and then it hurts for two. It hurts that he doesn't want to know me, talk to me, be seen with me. He'd rather be alone than have one single solitary person in this whole school who is on his team.

Serena notices my pain, and she becomes more sensitive; she doesn't once try to tell me like it is, but instead allows me to complain and agrees with me. I don't pretend that I'm unaffected. I work through the pain — feelings of betrayal, damaged pride, and low self worth — and I get past it.

I've never really had a boy in my life of any significance. I know that this wasn't that, not really, but it's the closest I've ever come to a typical teenage break-up. It takes several days to train myself not to check my phone for texts from him, several weeks to train my eyes not to land on him during class, several long nights not to relay our final conversation in my head and try to dissect all possible meanings.

This wasn't Edward Cullen vanishing along with all traces of his existence in New Moon, but it's not nothing.

I feel my classmates' eyes linger on me. They want to know what happened, why we're no longer speaking. They create their own version. People think you and Cannon hooked up and that you dumped him, Serena relays to me during week three.

I suppose that's better than the alternative.

After the initial heartache, I'm back to being my usual, focused self in class. Merinda notices my consistent string of As and congratulates me. Whoop-tee-freaking-doo. I never ask her how Cannon is doing. It is no longer my problem.

One Saturday in late March, Serena and I wake up early to go to the local farmer's market that pops up on the fourth Saturday of every month throughout the spring. She loves all things organic and spends too much money on jams, teas, and lip balms. I stop in my tracks when we reach the end of the lot, and I'm too late to pretend I haven't seen him. In the second to last booth sits the tall, olive-tinted white man with perfectly dark, coiffed hair who'd answered the door that day when I'd begged Cannon to come back to school. He recognizes me immediately and waves me over. Seated next to him is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen. She wears a gray knit sweater, and her strawberry blonde hair is in a long braid. She beams at me. I leave Serena at the stand with the woman selling her niece's beaded jewelry.

"You're Daisy!" the beautiful woman says as I approach. She stands and comes around the booth, pulling me in for a hug before I can protest. I have no idea who she is and I look to the man I'm familiar with for help.

"This is my wife, Sarah," he stands and tells me.

"Cannon lives with you," I sign and mouth to them.

The man holds out a hand to me. "I'm Casey Kane."

I give Casey's hand a shake. "Uncle?" I ask.

"Older brother," he responds with an easy grin. "By fourteen years."

Sarah is still standing near me. She takes both of my hands in hers so that she has my full attention. "We are so grateful for everything you've been doing for Cannon." I can tell that she is over-enunciating her words. "He is so incredibly blessed to have a friend as generous as you."

I take my hands back awkwardly so that I can answer. "Thanks," I tell her. "But we're not really friends."

Sarah furrows her brows and pouts her lips. I'm worried how I'll go about answering her next questions, but Serena saves me. "Hi!" she says sweetly as she bounces up to us, newly purchased beaded bracelet on her arm.

"This is Serena," I sign and touch my friend on the arm. This is Casey and Sarah Kane, I sign privately to Serena. I watch as the realization crosses her features.

"Hey, I'm Serena. I go to school with Cannon," she introduces herself to the couple. They exchange pleasantries while I stand uncomfortably. I pray silently that Sarah won't question me further. I feel her watching me, and I try to come up with a reasonable-sounding lie in my head. Maybe I'll tell her we hooked up and I dumped him. He had a seedy reputation, I'll say. My grades were dropping. I needed to focus.

Serena grabs my elbow and I'm snapped out of it. Sarah wants to know how Cannon is doing at lessons. She looks at me apologetically and squeezes my elbow lightly to offer her silent support.

I look at Sarah, and I can see it in her eyes — she knows what has happened. She knows, and she wants desperately for me to tell her it's not true, that he's doing really well, because she believes in him and she was so relieved when he'd turned his situation around and started doing better. But I won't lie for him.

"We haven't had lessons in a while," I tell her slowly.

She nods, frowning. "I guess that's not because he learned how to sign every word in the English language."

I shake my head. "Sorry."

"Did he hurt you?" Casey pipes up. The troubled look on his face sets my nerves on edge.

Sarah is shocked, too. "Casey!" she warns.

"No, it wasn't anything like that." I can say a lot of things about Cannon, but I can confidently say he was always a gentleman around me.

"I guess you wouldn't know where he's been going on Sundays, then," comes from
Sarah.

I lock eyes with Serena, then back to Sarah. "No, sorry."

Sarah frowns and nods again. She looks behind her at Casey and communicates something to him silently. Serena breaks the tension by bringing our attention back to the market itself. "So, what are you guys selling?"

"Oh, it's Challah!" Sarah walks back around the booth and excitedly shows us a golden braided loaf of bread. "Have you ever had it?"

"Challah... is that Jewish?" Serena asks.

Sarah and Serena launch into a hearty conversation about the ingredients and baking process of Challah. I look at my hands. Serena elbows me and hands me a pinch of a loaf. I shake my head no, thanks. I catch Casey watching me, and I feel my face redden. Serena purchases a loaf, and I hope she doesn't do it simply because she feels bad. She's had to have spent no less than a hundred dollars by now. We wave goodbye to the Kanes. I feel like I'm going to vomit.

On the ride home, Serena talks about Challah to try to distract me. "What makes it Challah is that a portion of the dough is set aside as an offering. It's made with eggs, flour, water, yeast, sugar, salt, and a little bit of honey. Sometimes they add poppy seeds, sesame seeds, or raisins. I just got the plain one. It was really good. She said it's eaten on the Sabbath or on Jewish holidays, but also, like, every day, too. I asked her if it was, like, okay for me to eat it, since I'm not Jewish, and she said basically they sell it at Trader Joe's, so, like."

I don't care about the damn bread. Where has he been going the past three Sundays?

Serena doesn't answer me. She doesn't know.

He's just been lying to them. Letting them think he's with me when really he's off somewhere getting high or something. I mean, like... It's one thing to not want me around, but it's a whole other thing to pretend that I'm still around and use me to lie to your brother who's housing you since your dad kicked you out. It's bullshit.

"It's bullshit," Serena agrees.

I flip my phone over and over in my hands. This is one of the very rare times when I wish I could make a simple phone call. You know what Sarah said to me? She said that Cannon was so fortunate to have a friend as generous as me. She thanked me for everything I've done for him.

"Maybe his intentions weren't quite as sinister as you think," Serena offers. "Maybe your recent history is just painting this in a bad light." I guess she's back to being regular, level-headed, daughter-of-a-therapist Serena.

What did I do for him, really? I ask her, but it's rhetorical. I got him back to school; I got him better grades; I got him better seats in class. But he's still alone; he's still closed off; he's still lying; he's still suffering. Is he really any better off? Did I do everything for him that I could?

It doesn't matter. He doesn't want my help any more.

I want to know where he's going on Sundays.

She shrugs like it's nothing. "People go places. We're not meant to know every where."

I feel a twist of guilt in my stomach. What if the thing Cannon has been sneaking off to do on Sunday afternoons is the one thing keeping him sane amidst all this mess? What if he's seeing his dad or visiting his mom's grave, or something? Maybe it isn't so sinister. Maybe I ruined it.

How generous of me.