The next day

"You haven’t eaten. Aren’t you hungry?" Kalet’s grandmother asks from across the small table, her eyes fixed on me.

"I-I can’t eat... it feels like sandpaper going down," I mumble, pushing my French toast from one side of the plate to the other.

"You need to eat something or you’ll get sick," she insists, reaching across to gently squeeze my hand.

"Has Nathan said anything?" I ask, looking between her and Kalet.

"No," they murmur in unison.

"Don’t worry about him, ...