“Friends,” I repeat slowly.

“Yes.” She holds out her hand, and it takes me a second to realize that I’m supposed to give her a tomato I’ve been holding. “Friends.”

I pass her the tomato. She slices it quickly, without looking at me. I remind myself that she’s a grown-up, and besides, we’re going to head back to the States in a few weeks and I’m sure there will be all kinds of smart, hot boys for her to keep it casual with at Stanford. Boys who have souls with colors.

I open my mouth to tell her that.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t ruin this for me, C. Leave us alone. It will work itself out.”

And so I don’t talk about what I saw in Phen that day on the top of St. Peter’s. I tell myself that it’s her life, and I stay out of it.

It’s a decision that I will always regret.