“James,” I snap to get his attention once more. “Did you want to talk, or did you just want me to sit here and watch you text?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Instead of talking to me, he stares distantly off in disappointment as I talk at him.

Eventually, I give up and send him home with a plate stacked with pizza, telling him that I’ll be here for him if he needs to talk anything out or come over when he tells his parents.

As I watch him cross the space between our two houses, I realize that he didn’t even congratulate me.

“Some kind of best friend,” I say.

We Reeds easily slide right back into celebratory mode. Audrey being home for an entire week only sweetens everything, and even though James is acting like a royal jerk, I’m the happiest and most content I’ve been in a long time.

When I head up for bed, I trip over Audrey’s borrowed boots. Brandon retrieved them for me after the party and dropped them on my desk in the yearbook office with a smug look on his face.

Since that night, Dylan and I have had many subtle changes as well. We still challenge each other and work together in English, but it’s almost...friendly. Like we’re actual friends or something.

Friendly friends would definitely be happy for the other’s accomplishments—hopefully more so than my actual best friend—so before I can stop myself, I grab my phone and fire off a text to Dylan.

I got in. To Columbia.

His response comes back almost immediately. Do they have good chicken wings in New York?

I laugh, pull up an article titled “The 17 Best Chicken Wing Eateries in New York City,” and send it to him.

I don’t know, Reed. The ambiance, stale peanuts, lack of cutlery, and allure of Western Pennsylvania will be tough to beat...but you’ll make it work.

That’s his form of “congratulations.”

I doubt the smile on my face fades away even after I fall asleep.

15

Audrey and I spend the first few slow and lazy days of spring break almost completely horizontal.

Normally, if I sit still in one place for too long, I get itchy, like I’m allergic to downtime.

But this week, I make a point to not even take my planner out of my school bag because I want to slow down and enjoy the precious time with my sister, and it’s the easiest thing in the world.

She claims the entirety of the couch for herself while I curl up in a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor.

In my next life, I’m coming back rich as hell, and I’m going to get the same exact oversized leather couch that Dylan has in his room. And whoever Audrey comes back as will have to lay on the floor in front of it.

The only bonus of this setup is that she doesn’t notice the black hoodie I’m wearing is not mine or that I’m hoarding the best candy—the leftovers from the latest round I put in Dylan’s locker—in the front pocket.

She’s distracted by the television, sucked into some show about vampires that I do enjoy. It’s the perfect blend of action, tension, and fluff, and it’s one of many things she put on her “perfectly curated watch queue” for us.

I roll my eyes each time she brags about it but silently give her credit. There seems to be no end to the shows and movies, and they’re all the perfect amount of drama, angst, and sweetness that I love.

When my parents arrive home from work on Tuesday night, they inform us that this behavior cannot continue. Audrey makes a huge fuss about how we’re relaxing, not doing drugs or robbing banks. She’s smug about her argument, but when my parents bang around in the kitchen and then wake us up before they leave for work on Wednesday, it’s clear that it didn’t work in our favor.

“You shouldn’t be cooped up all day,” my mom says. “It’s not healthy.”

“What’s not healthy is making us feel bad for living our lives the way our current financial means—”

My dad sighs. “What happened to the money we sent you for food this month?”

“That’s not important,” Audrey presses on as my mom throws her hands up. “What is important is that I would love to take my baby sister out on field trips so we can enjoy our lives while we’re still young and beautiful, but we’re unable—”

My dad fishes in his wallet. “Will sixty work?”

That shuts her up. “Should be suitable. Thank you, my good sir.”

Audrey holds out her hand expectantly, but he hands the cash over to me.

“I think we all know who to trust in this situation,” my dad says.

“The favorite child,” I say with a smile.

Audrey rolls her eyes. “Fine, but I get to pick where we eat lunch.”

Lunch, as it turns out, is just us spending the entirety of our budget on various items from the food court mall.

Not that I’m complaining as I stare down an enormous plate of my favorite egg rolls. But I did see at least one book that piqued my interest in our small local shop before Audrey dragged me over to watch her try on sunglasses that we definitely could never afford.

“What’s James up to?” Audrey asks me between obnoxiously loud sips of her milkshake remnants.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

We’ve texted a few times since the whole waitlist news came in, but I think he just wants to be alone—or with someone who didn’t get into three colleges at once.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she demands. “You two practically share the same set of lungs.”

I shrug in response. “Not lately.”

“Is he still being a moody brat about how he didn’t get into the one school he applied for? God, even my backups had backups. It’s not your fault he’s an idiot—”

“It’s not that. Or maybe it is.” I wipe my greasy fingers on a napkin and toss it onto the tray. “Things have just been different these past couple of months.”

This interests her more than her slurping noises. “Different...how?”

“Spending less time together, for one.”

I twist the end of my hair around my finger, marveling at how it somehow feels smooth. Audrey begged to give me another makeover for the day. I refused outright but eventually conceded to letting her braid my hair because she insisted it would be far more manageable if we ended up trying on any clothes while we shopped.

“Well, that’s just a little hiccup in your grand life plan, right?” Her tone is kind, but she’s mocking me.

“Plans change,” I say sharply.

“My sister? Changing plans? I don’t think so.” She laughs. “H, you started looking at different retirement account options at age ten. You’ve got this life all figured out and then some.”

“I don’t,” I tell her sternly. “And it’s perfectly fine.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t recognize the person sitting across from her.

I don’t falter under her scrutiny, silently challenging her to press me further.

Eventually, she composes herself and switches the subject. “So this place has changed since the last time I was here. It’s, like, all fancy now and stuff. Who do they expect to want to shop here at all these designer stores?”