“Keep looking,” I say, resisting the urge to yank the yearbook out of his hands and do it myself.

“That’s the plan,” he mutters. “Make the phone call.”

“Yeah,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” When I pick up the phone, though, I dial Roland’s number, not Lance’s. I was supposed to let him know I got moved in safely and everything, and I never did.

I debate for a second before turning the phone on speaker. Roland might say something embarrassing, but I don’t want to have to relay everything Lance says to Aiden, and I don’t feel like I have the current presence of mind to sort through a bunch of information on my own—especially since I probably won’t be able to look at my mother’s past with a completely unbiased lens.

Aiden scoots across the floor until he’s next to the couch, sitting at my feet like this is some weird kindergarten classroom and I’m about to read everyone a story. We both stare at my phone as we wait for Roland to pick up. And for a second it seems like he won’t; he waits until the last possible moment to answer.

“You did that on purpose,” I accuse when he picks up.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that I specifically made you wait a super long time,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice, the little punk. “You got moved in okay?”

“Yes,” I say, giving him a nasty look through the phone. He can’t see it, of course, but I like to think he can feel it.

“Good. When I didn’t hear from you, I figured your roommate had turned out to be a weirdo who murdered you in your sleep or something.”

“Ha ha,” I say weakly, my eyes jumping to Aiden. I think murder jokes have forever been ruined for me. Judging by the disconcerted expression on his face, he feels the same way. “No. Still alive, still kicking.”

“How’s the house?”

“It’s great,” I say. The tension eases out of me a bit as I start talking about something other than death. “My room is in the loft. It’s small, but it has great natural light. I met the landlady too, and she’s nice.”

“Good,” Roland says. “What about your job? You got that all set up?”

“Yep. I’ll work at the yoga studio.”

“You get good hours?”

I shrug. “Good enough.”

“And how about the new roommate?” Roland says. “You like him?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I say, glaring at Aiden, who has the audacity to smirk distractedly as he continues flipping pages. “He’s a pretentious pain in the—”

“Ha,” Roland cuts me off, which is probably for the best. “Told you you would never find a roommate as good as me.”

“At least he puts the toilet seat down after he pees,” I say.

Actually, I don’t know if this is true. Aiden has his own bathroom connected to his bedroom, and I’ve never been in there. But he seems like the kind of guy who puts the toilet seat down, based on how clean he wants things all the time.

“That was one time, Juniper,” Roland says now.

“It was not. But one time falling into the toilet in the middle of the night is all it takes,” I say with a shudder.

It feels weird to be talking so lightly to Roland when I feel so heavy inside, but I force myself to continue. “And truthfully,” I go on, my nose wrinkling as I remember the Blind Date Incident, “I don’t think I can ever room with you again. Like, ever.”

“Agreed,” he says immediately. “No way. Not after—”

“Don’t say it,” I say. “Just—don’t say it. I’m trying to forget.”

“What happened?” Aiden says, speaking for the first time since this phone call started. His smirk turns into something more sympathetic. “Did you see him naked?”

“Ew,” I say, and on the other end, Roland says the same thing.

“No way, man,” he says. I’m a little offended that he’s addressing Aiden in such a friendly manner—doesn’t he know that his loyalty is to me, his loving older sister? But he just goes on, “Some stupid friend of Juniper’s set us up on a blind date, not knowing we were brother and—”

“That’s enough of that,” I say loudly.