I’D THOUGHT WHEN I FINALLY learned who Anna had been going to see that I’d confront them about it, right then and there. But instead, I staggered home, dazed. It was hard to believe I’d finally gotten what I’d been waiting for—real confirmation. I’d begun to think it might not happen, that I’d never know. That maybe Mr. Matthews had simply been her coach, her English teacher, and nothing more.

I barely knew what to do with what I had now.

Which was basically a full confession. More than enough to make him talk to me, to convince him that I knew. The only thing I didn’t know was who he’d called. Which hardly mattered. Nothing mattered except that he had been the one. Anna’s one.

I’d thought there’d be a measure of relief when I learned the truth. To finally know who to talk to, to finally know that all this skulking around had served a purpose. I’d thought I’d come to terms with the possibility of it being Mr. Matthews, that I’d gotten to a place where I could handle it. Instead, I felt ill, unable to rid myself of the thought of them together, touching. Of him touching someone who looked almost exactly like me.

Images of skin on skin, with pressure and heat.

Not like butterflies.

Not like butterflies at all.