“It seems like a lot of work to avoid looking at your own walls,” I said. “If you don’t look at the paintings anyway, why not take them down?”

“Take down gifts from Rosaline? Never.” Angelo stomped over the crumpled sheet music and lay down in his bed. He shut his eyes. “Excuse me, Stephanie, but I need to dream up a tragic song for Rosaline now. My last gift to her before I die.”

He faked a snore and waited for me to leave. With regret, I did.