To Hannah's credit, she doesn't tell our parents about me being out all night. She covers for me when I don't come out of my room for most of the day and why my sleep schedule is completely messed up. I don't know what she says, but everyone leaves me alone, and with no one to bother me, I have a lot of time to catch up on sleep and make up theories about whether Hannah will ever let me out of the house again.

By Christmas morning, I have my sleep schedule mostly under control, but it still takes effort to get out of bed when Kate flings my door open, demanding I come downstairs with a huff.

"Presents aren't gonna open themselves," she yells, already running out of the room.

By the time I get downstairs, Kate has all her gifts gathered around her in a circle. She opens them like Morgan would have: frantically and desperately. When she gets to my gift, she laughs.

"Being Nice is overrated," she smiles.

She's about to crumple up the poem—not that I mind—but she notices writing on it at the last minute and straightens it out. She reads through it. Her eyebrows furrow the more she reads, and when her eyes stop scanning the page, her expression goes blank. She blinks a few times, and I see her read over it again. Kate glances at me when she's done, her expression unreadable.

Just as quickly, her face contorts into a scowl. "What do you mean my 'brightness dimmed over time?' I'm the brightest thing in your world!"

I snort into my hand, laughter bubbling up my throat. Kate's frown dissolves as she laughs with me, but when she skims over the poem again, her smile dims. The moment she sees me watching, she clears her throat and shrugs. "It was okay. Not the best poem I've read."

She says that, but I catch her staring at the poem and even rereading it a few times like it's all she can think about right now. I don't know how to feel about it. All I know is I hope she doesn't think about it too hard.

Everyone else gets to their own poems shortly after Kate finishes hers. There's a chorus of "Did you write this?", "This is great," "What did you mean by this?", and "I didn't know you could write."

I smile and nod, clasping my hands tightly in my lap. I don't know if I want to study their expressions too much. Especially after watching Kate read her poem. It doesn't matter if they think about their poems or not. I'll probably be thinking about them for the rest of the month.

When everyone is done reading their poems and moves on, I exhale and pull my gifts towards me. I get new ice skates from Mom, Dad, and Kate. From Hannah, I get two silver bracelets. Each one has half of a broken heart that connects to the other. There's no inscription on them. Not even the typical "best friends." I clasp them both on my right wrist.

I'm not sure if I'm in Hannah's good graces just yet, so I help her clean the living room. The entire time, the two bracelets clink against each other. Every time I hear the quiet ping, I glance at my wrist, trying to think of what could be on them besides "best friends." "Siblings" goes through my head. And, of course, that leads to "twin." Would Morgan even want one of these bracelets? Maybe to make fun of it, but he would still appreciate it. Or at least he would've months before he died. But the weeks before his death...

"Mona."

I blink, whirling around with wrapping paper clutched to my chest. "Yeah?"

Hannah furrows her eyebrows. "You okay?"

I nod, stuffing the wrapping paper in a trash bag. "Yeah. I'm okay." Hannah opens her mouth to press for more information, but the doorbell rings. "I got it."

I drop the trash and dart around Hannah. I grab the doorknob and take a breath to calm my nerves—why do I even have nerves right now?—and open the door. I blink when I see Clara. Her hands are behind her back, and she smiles, looking me up and down.

"Cute." She gestures at me. "I wish I could've stayed in my pajamas all day, too, but Nathan wanted me to give you this." She holds a journal out to me. One of the ones I lingered on a few nights ago when Nathan and I were waiting for Nick to find ice skates. On the cover is a shower of shooting stars against a dark blue night sky and among them is a single stationary star. "Oh, and before you take it..." She pulls out her phone, shaking her head. "He sent me like an entire script..."

Clearing her throat, she starts to read in an upbeat tone. "'Hey, Mona. I would've come myself, but then the other day happened, and I didn't want you to get in trouble any more than you probably already have. Anyway, I got you this journal from Varies.'" Clara's voice catches, and her eyebrows furrow for a second. She clears her throat and continues, smoothing her expression. "'I remember you spent a lot of time looking at this one. On top of that, I know you say that writing poems isn't your thing, but I can read: you're a great writer. And you clearly have a lot to say. Even if you don't want to say it all aloud, you can write it out. So if you feel like writing poems, here's a journal. If you don't want to use it for poems, I still can't wait to see what you come up with. XOXO. Nathan.'" Clara looks at me expectantly. When I don't say anything—what can I say?—she sighs. "Fine. I added the Xs and Os. It seemed fitting."

I laugh, shaking my head. "No. It's not that." I take the journal from her, staring at the cover. I run my hand over the single star before hugging the journal to my chest. "I just didn't expect Nathan to buy me anything for Christmas." Least of all buy me something he remembered me admiring. "I feel bad."

Clara sighs, lifting her phone again. "Part two of the script... 'Don't feel bad. It's just another trailing star I managed to grasp.'" She furrows her eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

Nathan hasn't told her? It doesn't seem like something he would keep from Clara, but at the same time, it seems... fitting... Like this is something that's just ours. So maybe I shouldn't tell Clara either.

I shake my head. "It's nothing. Just something related to his poems that we talked about a few times."

For what feels like the first time, I say the truth without making it sound like a lie. Clara nods without a second thought. "That makes sense. So do you have anything else to say?" She waves her phone. "I have like five more parts to read if you do."

Of course, Nathan somehow knows me well enough to be that prepared. "Just tell him thanks for me."

Clara nods, tucking her phone away. "I will." She holds her arms out. "Christmas hug?"

I laugh, stepping into her. I wrap my arms around her and let her do the same to me. She gives me a tight hug, filling me with warmth. Not like I'm forcefully taking it from her like a black hole would but like she's willingly giving it to me as a star would to something in its orbit. And I really am in her orbit like I'm in Nathan's orbit. I don't think there are any other stars I'd rather be circling right now.

Clara pulls away first, holding me at arm's length, a broad smile on her face. "I'll see you around."

I nod, clutching the journal to my chest. "I'll see you around."

I close the door when Clara starts to walk down the steps. I take a moment to look down at the journal again, running my hand along the finished gloss. Another trailing star for Nathan. And he made it sound like I'm one... I'm not sure why or how many things he feels like he needs to do until I'm not a trailing star anymore. I just hope I do stop being one for him because if I'm his trailing star, that would make him mine, too. I think I want to grasp that star as much as he does no matter how much I enjoy circling him. I have a feeling it's better to collide with him and see if we could become a brighter star together.

"That's nice of Nathan."

My head snaps up, the stars blinking out in my head. I whirl around. Was Hannah standing there that entire time? Whether she was or not, she's here now, staring at the journal in my hands. It makes me hug it close to my chest.

"Yeah." I clutch the journal a little tighter. "It was really nice of him."

Hannah nods. "Right... I guess he's nice in general..."

I look Hannah right in the eyes as I say, "He really is. He's a good friend and a good person all around. Great to hang out with."

She presses her lips into a thin line. "Right."

"Right," I echo.

I walk around her and up the stairs. I collapse on the edge of my bed and hold the journal in my lap. All the energy I had talking to Clara leaves me. It feels... not good... but also familiar. Like how every other argument I used to have with Hannah made me feel this way. I don't know if it's a good thing that I'm having these familiar feelings again. All I really know is I don't want to do anything right now. Especially write. I'm not sure what will end up on the page if I do, so I place the journal on the bedside table, ignoring the star on the cover as it winks at me.