... That's Miguel. [It's quiet, but not quite a whisper.] I... I think I loved him, once.
[Or is it that he still does? He can't tell. All he knows is that his dream handed him the agonizing information that Miguel had chosen him and he... ruined it, like everything else in his life. He burned the sketchbook, deleted all their text messages, trashed half the photos Miguel had taken, and edited Miguel out of the other half. There was so much anger, a kind of furious hopelessness that makes him think he understands what Peregrine meant about "three months without hope" now, but he doesn't... He doesn't have any of the context for it. What the hell happened between sophomore and junior year?]
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[Or is it that he still does? He can't tell. All he knows is that his dream handed him the agonizing information that Miguel had chosen him and he... ruined it, like everything else in his life. He burned the sketchbook, deleted all their text messages, trashed half the photos Miguel had taken, and edited Miguel out of the other half. There was so much anger, a kind of furious hopelessness that makes him think he understands what Peregrine meant about "three months without hope" now, but he doesn't... He doesn't have any of the context for it. What the hell happened between sophomore and junior year?]