“I’m serious,” Tansy insists. “I’m just going over there so we can talk about what happened last night.”

“Oh, you mean how the two of you screamed at each other like maniacs in front of the entire bar?”

Yeah. That was fun. Tansy and Lamar started arguing almost the instant we arrived at the Frog and Fox. It was one of the most impressive snowball progressions I’ve witnessed in a while.

They kissed hello, she teased him about getting the location wrong, he grumbled that she gave him the wrong bar name, she denied it, he insisted, she said it wasn’t her fault his dumb ass couldn’t read a text message, he said, “Why are you acting like such a bitch,” and there you have it—the Apocalypse.

Oh, Lamar. You never, ever tell your girlfriend she’s acting like a bitch. Even if she is.

Lamar’s friends and I decided to do a couple of tequila shots. We figured that Tansy and Lamar would eventually tire themselves and rejoin the group, except they never did, and Tansy dragged me out of the bar in tears and we went home before midnight.

I woke up this morning and didn’t even have a hangover. As far as I’m concerned, that constitutes a crappy night.

“Come on, Tans, tell him you’ll see him tomorrow. You already ruined Newbury Street by texting him the entire time.” We were supposed to be shopping and having a blast, and instead I spent the day watching her tapping on her phone. We barely spoke during lunch because he kept messaging her.

“I know, I’m so sorry. It’s just…” She peers at me with big, imploring eyes. “We’re talking about getting engaged after graduation. I can’t ignore him when we’re fighting. We need to work it out.”

I don’t even blink at the word “engaged.” Tansy and Lamar have been on and off and off and on so many times that I no longer take their relationship seriously. If you keep breaking up, there’s a reason for it. Fun fact: perpetual drama is not conducive to a long-lasting commitment.

I highly doubt an engagement between them is in the cards. And if by some chance it happens, no way does it lead to an actual wedding. I’d bet my meager life savings on that.

But I tamp down my skepticism and say, “Okay, you’re talking about getting engaged. That has nothing to do with the fact that your cousin, who you haven’t seen in months, came all this way to spend the weekend with you. Last night turned into a sob fest. Today’s shopping trip turned into a text fest. And lo and behold, now you’re blowing off dinner and the club.”

“I’m not blowing you off, I swear. I’ll miss dinner, but we’re still hitting the club. You can use my meal pass and eat here, won’t even cost you anything. Then take a nap or something, and I’ll be back in no time, and we’ll go to Bulldozer just like we planned.”

Bulldozer is the nightclub I’ve been dying to visit. Despite its crappy name, it’s been getting rave reviews, and apparently the music is off the charts.

I have a feeling I’ll never get to hear it.

“Please,” Tansy begs. “I won’t be gone long. Just a few hours.”

I love how it went from “an hour or two” to “a few hours.”

“And I promise I’ll never, ever do this to you again. The next time we plan a girls’ weekend I’ll come to Briar, and Lamar will stay home, and you and I will have the best time ever.”

I swallow a nasty retort. She’s already made up her mind, so what’s the use in arguing? “Do whatever you want, Tans.”

“Come on, Bee, please don’t be mad at me.”

“Then don’t ditch me.”

“Brenna—”

My phone goes off. Normally I wouldn’t be rude and check it in the middle of a conversation, but Tansy’s testing my last nerve, so I grab the phone just to be a bitch.

Except…how lovely. The notification on the screen is even more aggravating than my cousin’s bullshit.

“Harvard beat Princeton,” I growl.

She eyes me warily. “Is that good or bad?”

I take a calming breath. “If you’d listened to a word I said today, you’d already know the answer to that.”

TANSY: I’m heading back soon.

The message comes at nine o’clock, triggering a rush of relief. Finally. She’s been gone for three hours.

Earlier, I took full advantage of her dining hall privileges. Had a yummy dinner, chilled with some cool chicks, fended off the advances of a few lacrosse guys. But now the boredom is creeping in, and for the past forty minutes I’ve been lying on Aisha’s bed, mindlessly swiping through Tinder profiles.

I don’t use dating apps much, but what else do I have to do right now? I can’t call any of my friends—they’re all back at Briar, either attending the semifinals game against Yale, or playing in it. I can’t watch the game on the New England station because Tansy and Aisha don’t have a TV, and I was unable to find a live stream on my phone.

So, chatting with random dudes it is.

Within two minutes of opening the app, I matched with about fifteen guys. And fourteen out of fifteen have already messaged me, an assortment of heyyy and hey sexy, a handful of heart-eyes emojis, and a “holy shit are you real??”

The last one brings a laugh to my throat. I peek at the guy’s profile again. His name is Aaron, he has the lean, lanky build of a basketball player, and a great smile. Rolling onto my side, I message him back.

ME: Sometimes I wonder.

* * *

HIM: LOL

* * *

ME: I mean, what is real? Are any of us real? Is the sky real?

* * *

HIM: The sky’s not real. Sorry to break it to you…

* * *

ME: OMG. What is it then?

* * *

HIM: We’re in a dome. It’s like a Truman show scenario.

* * *

ME: Um. Spoiler alert, dude. I’ve never seen that movie!

* * *

HIM: You should. It’s so good. You’d be really into it. I’m a film major so we watch a lot of really cool shit in class.

* * *

ME: Sounds awesome. So what’s your specialty? Screenwriting? Directing?

* * *

HIM: Directing. I’m gonna win an Oscar one day :) Actually, I already make my own movies.

At first I’m intrigued. Until he follows it up with a winky face.

Uh-oh.

I decide to keep my response vague, because I sense where this is heading.

ME: That’s cool.

* * *

HIM: You’re not going to ask what kind of movies I make? ;)

* * *

ME: I have a fairly good idea.

Two more winky faces appear.