Chapter 1

My boyfriend Ethan Whitmore can't remember faces.

He has a diagnosis for it, but the practical version is this: if I'm not standing in front of him, I turn into a description.

Dark hair. Small face. That girl he'd been with since freshman year.

He'd say it right in front of me, like it was a small thing and not the whole of me.

There's a promise ring on my right hand.

He gave it to me in August, on the library steps, with the whole club watching and somebody filming.

"A placeholder", he called it. "Until I can afford the real one." I wore it anyway.

Four months now, and it spins loose every time I turn my hand over — he guessed the size, swore he'd get it fixed after finals, and finals had come and gone.

Saturday, there'd be a wedding. Everybody at that table knew it.

So when the send-off dinner started and everyone had two drinks in them, somebody decided it would be funny to blindfold him.

"Okay, Whitmore," my roommate Maya said, pulling a scarf out of her bag.

"Three things about your girlfriend. Three good ones, and I'll admit I was wrong about you two."

The whole table laughed.

Senior week does that to people — it makes everything feel like it's the last thing that will ever happen.

He was laughing too. He loves being looked at.

"Three things," he repeated.

I watched him tilt his head back like he was reaching for it, and I caught myself hoping.

Four years. There had to be something in there.

Something only he would think to say, the kind of thing you only know if you've actually been paying attention.

"Big eyes," he said. "Small face."

Something warm went through my chest.

He still got me. Even blindfolded, he could get to me.

Then he smiled wider and added, "And there's a little mark behind her right ear. Cute."

People were still clapping. Someone whistled. I didn't hear any of it.

Because there's no mark behind my ear.

The one with the mark is Vivian Blake.

Sophomore, new to his club this spring, looks like she's never been told no. Eight months in his orbit, most of it recent.

Ethan pulled the scarf off. He was still smiling, still savoring his own performance.

"What?" he said, catching my face. "What'd I say?"

Somebody's phone went off — a flash, bright, right across the table, and everyone turned.

Maya reached over and tucked my hair back behind my ear without thinking, the way she does, and the flash caught it.

Clean skin. Nothing there.

Ethan's smile dropped.

"Jo, come on, you know how I am with faces. I told you. I can't — I can't see people if I can't see them." He said it the way you'd cite a diagnosis.

Funny.

The mark came out fast. No hesitation, no reaching for it. When it's Vivian's name, it's right there.

I didn't correct him. He'd only have used it.

"Joanna."

It came from behind him.

Vivian had come up without my hearing her. She stood at his shoulder with her hands around a glass of water, like she'd been brought here on purpose.

I'd said it twice — family, close friends, nobody from the club.

He'd said okay. And then he'd brought her anyway.

"Ethan's a little embarrassed," Vivian said lightly. "You know he can't help it. It's a brain thing."

I looked at her. Eight months. I'd had four years.

The words didn't get out. My throat was full of something that wouldn't move.

"Say something," Ethan said under his breath. "Everybody's watching. Don't turn this into a scene."

I looked down. The ring had slid around again, the tiny cartoon cat stamped into the band facing my palm.

I finally moved.

He reached for me. "There she is."

I took half a step back and let his hands close on nothing.

"Ethan," I said. "The wedding's off."