My hands are shaking, but I reach out for him, silently begging him to come closer.

When he pulls me into his arms, I trace the little meteor scar below his eye. “Was it all worth it?” I ask.

“Redoing assignments and arguing about them isn’t my favorite type of foreplay, but it’ll do,” he says.

I kiss the classic Dylan Archer smirk right off his face.

Epilogue

Given how ridiculous everyone looks in a cap and gown, I can’t say I appreciate the historical significance or need to continue the tradition—but I do count it as a win that I got the school board to scrap the valedictorian speech and the alphabetization of the procession.

We’ve all spent so much time over the years in uniforms that it just feels like one final way to trap us before we can unzip the gigantic cloaks and reveal our true natures and personal styles.

Not that I really have one, but it’s the principle of it.

The dean of the school has been talking for the past forty minutes, and I don’t think anyone is paying attention to whatever he is saying.

From my vantage point on the stage, where I’m seated with honor as the valedictorian, I see a number of people, mostly grandparents and younger siblings, nodding off in the bleachers.

In the crowd of graduating seniors, most of them are flipping through the yearbooks that they collected in the morning and having others sign them.

Once the procession begins, I get to shake hands with each of my classmates before they're greeted by other school officials. Then the dean hands them their diplomas and announces which college they'll be attending.

Most students are going to an Ivy League school, but a handful are attending local colleges, joining the military, or going straight into the workforce.

It’s kind of boring, but I’m just glad I don’t have to make a speech.

James makes me laugh as I shake his hand and then he greets the others on the stage before he’s handed his diploma.

“James Lawson,” the dean says. “Is heading to…”

“Cornell,” James says proudly.

Although it’s picked up by the microphone, the dean repeats it for the crowd, and there are a number of claps and cheers for him.

A few other people from the track team follow behind James, and then Brandon, who I know is going to the University of Pittsburgh while he splits his time with his charity work, is announced.

Dylan is the last one on the team to step up to the stage, and he drops a kiss on my cheek while he shakes my hand.

I bite my lip to stop the gigantic grin that wants to take over my face as I wait for the announcement of his name and school.

He acknowledges his father at the end of the stage, who is standing with all the other school board members, and all he gets is a curt head nod in return.

Despite everything Dylan and I have been through, he’s been exceptionally coy about his plans after the summer, and I have given up on pushing the issue.

I’m more eager than anyone in the audience for the answer to the dean’s prompt.

Dylan gets a warm greeting from the dean. “Dylan Archer is going to...let me guess, Harvard? Dartmouth?”

Dylan glances at his father, who is stone faced, and then me before he says, “Pratt Institute.”

“Pratt Institute?” There’s a ripple of surprise that makes it through the group of students and a few parents in the stands. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of it before.”

Dylan brushes off his remarks and holds his hand out, waiting for his diploma. The dean remembers himself and awards it to him, then prepares to receive the next student.

Instead of the normal claps and cheers, the crowd murmurs.

Being an Archer comes with many expectations, and the ones they had for him just shattered.

If we were still in school, it would be all everyone could talk about for the next week, gossiping about how they can't believe he’s going to some private art school in Brooklyn when he could be rubbing elbows with future politicians and business game changers at a big school.

But thankfully, I’m completely oblivious to the drama now that I've collected my diploma and bid goodbye to a few of my classmates.

It’s funny to me how people make high school problems seem like an entire world, but the moment we throw our caps into the air, it’s all gone. The trivial worries about assignments and accidentally getting the same bag as someone else ceases to exist.

At least for now.

I’ve vowed to take the same advice Audrey gave me at the beginning of my senior year, only this time, I’m actually going to listen to it.

I’m going to enjoy what it means to be eighteen, and it’s the only thing I’m thinking about as James and I are presented with the lighted candles on our birthday cake a few weeks after graduation.

Dylan’s arms are around my waist. The feeling is blissful, but it’s not exactly easy to be with him. We bicker and challenge each other. Dylan can be an entitled jerk, and I can be a hard-headed know-it-all.

He’s constantly at odds with James, but they’ve managed to find a middle ground for this one night of our joint birthday party after we spent all day napping, swimming, and enjoying the sunshine on a rented boat with our families.

As the candles flicker and the birthday song ends, I look at Dylan and find that in this moment, I’m perfectly content.

I don’t need to get lost in planning every single possibility of my future, of our potential future. I have nothing to wish for or plot out because I’m excited to live in the present.

Dylan squeezes my waist as my parents and Audrey smile at the two of us, then James and I blow the candles out together.