“A broken heart is really painful, Angelo,” I said. “But it won’t kill you.”

“No? That’s too bad.” He rested his chin on the edge of the bowl. “Without Rosaline, there’s no point. The world is…blank.”

“You feel that way now,” I said. “Feelings can change, though.”

“I doubt that,” said Angelo. “But no matter. It’s time for bed.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” I said.

“So?” Angelo abandoned his uneaten cereal and untouched tea, and slid down the table leg. His long toes slapped the kitchen tiles on his way to the pantry. He scaled pop bottles and sacks of flour, then disappeared through his red door in the cereal box.

With my cornflakes and tea and talk, I was hoping to help Angelo. But when I checked on him later, I saw that I hadn’t helped at all.

I would need to do something more drastic. But what?