Not for the first time, it strikes me just how awful a life Carson's had. I'd gotten a taste of it that day in the library, listening to those voicemails. I get a little bit more every time we talk, I think, a little more of an understanding into why Carson is the way that he is. Because he's not easy to like sometimes; he's abrasive and cutting and sometimes cruel. But I've come to learn it's all a defense mechanism, all built up from years of having only himself to rely upon when, if absolutely nothing else, he should've had a mother.

So it doesn't really surprise me at all that he sees nothing special about his own birthday. It doesn't surprise me that he feels like time is ticking, like he has some limited amount of time to prove himself.

"It might've," I reply but even as I say it I'm not sure it's true. After all, Carson's birthday wouldn't have changed the fact that Jack spent a week with his deepest secret etched across his back. And I'm not sure it would've helped Jack feel any better about me going with Carson to prom or not.

"And it is a big deal," I protest, nearly suffocating under the mounting guilt. "Everyone's birthday is a big deal. Or at least it should be. It's the one day of the year everyone get to celebrate you. I know you like lemon blueberry pie so I made one of those," I continue, nodding down at my arms. "And a lemon crumble and some cookies just in case you're not feeling very lemon-y today. And something else, too. I know you're... well, I understand if you're upset with me. I'm really really sorry, Carson."