Right now, my high has plummeted.

His lips compress. “Pot impairs your judgment and kills brain cells.”

Actually, it doesn’t kill brain cells. Those studies have been debunked.

“Don’t patronize me,” I mutter. “This makes twice in my life.”

“You’re killing my buzz, Donny,” Lila grouses as she splays out on the floor.

My jaw tightens. “It’s a birthday party. You’d think my boyfriend would have taken me to dinner. Or somewhere. Oh, wait—you forgot I turned twenty-one today! All I got were texts about Harvard and apartments and how happy you are!”

Panic flashes on his face. “Ana! Calm down! That’s why I’m here! I just remembered at the library! And you’re getting high to get back at me.” His face scrunches.

“Wanna play Fortnite, Donny?” Lila asks. “Oh, and you don’t really know her. Girl is lit. She is fire.”

“Lila, don’t…” I say. We’ve had plenty of conversations about how different Donovan and I are, but it works.

Or it did.

Donovan stiffens. “This is…” He looks at Lila, then me. “…not what I want for you.”

“This isn’t about you, Donovan,” I say, my eyes narrowing, anger rising higher at his holier-than-thou attitude. “My friends remembered.”

“Burn,” Lilah says smugly.

Several moments tick by, maybe not that many, but time feels stretched.

“You forgot,” I say softly. At least my parents called me earlier. They didn’t forget.

Donovan shuts his eyes, his face sliding into remorse. “Jesus. I’m sorry. You’re right. Totally. I should have said something this weekend or today…” He lets out a long sigh. “Life is crazy right now. That isn’t an excuse, okay, it’s just the truth. Things are happening with my parents…” He stops and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Nervous and antsy, my hands twist my long hair up in a messy topknot. I go through the checklist in my head. He’s distant, walls up, is always busy or on edge, and he hasn’t even confirmed our holiday plans. My parents won’t be around, and I need to know what I’m doing, only every time I bring it up, he changes the topic. I don’t want to spend the holidays alone.

Lila and Colette are doing the ski trip, and while the deadline has passed for me to sign up, they assured me I can still tag along, just not on Braxton’s reservation.

My resolve builds. “Lila and Colette, give us a moment, please. River, thank you for dropping off my book.”

“You sure?” Lila pinches off the joint she has in her hands and tucks it inside her little box. “This party was just getting good. I hadn’t even brought out Jenga yet. That’s always fun when I’m high.”

“Yes,” I say.

Colette takes her arm. “Come on. Let’s go drink some of the coffee Fake River made.”

“Is it real coffee?” Lila asks seriously.

“I don’t know,” is her reply. “I bought some shrimp cocktail today. Want some?”

“Question: is that black stuff on the shrimp poop?” Lila asks.

Colette frowns. “Let’s say no.”

“Hell yeah, then. Let’s eat ’em,” Lila shouts as they disappear into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay?” River says as he approaches me.

I bite my lip. No, it isn’t, but—

Donovan frowns at River. “Why did you drop by again?”

I grab my novel off the coffee table—I brought it with me from the kitchen—and wave it at him. “I left my novel in class. He brought it. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s a hard class.” I’m certain River doesn’t want Donovan to know he asked me for help.

Donovan fidgets, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the mylar balloons, the streamers on the floor. He studies my countenance, no doubt reading my hurt. His face crumples as he rushes toward me. “Okay, I’m an asshole. I swear I have a gift for you, a beautiful one at the house. All day, something’s been niggling at me, and I couldn’t…” His voice trails off as he grimaces. “No wonder you never replied to my texts.”

He takes my hands that are at my sides. He unlaces my fists and tangles our fingers together as he pulls me against him. “This is bad, I know, I know. I got derailed. You know how my head works. I get consumed. Just forgive me. Please.”

My throat tightens as prickles of unease wash over me. I want to let it go, I do, but it’s the other things…

“I love you, Ana, and you love me,” he says in my ear, but it’s loud enough for River to hear. “You feel me?”

He embraces me, one hand kneading the muscles in my back, the other on my ass. A long sigh slips from my lips as I inhale his cinnamon smell.

Donovan’s the guy I’ve been with the longest. He brought me flowers every week for the first six months we dated. He moved me into this apartment, even though he didn’t approve of the neighborhood. He laughs at my jokes. He tells me I’m beautiful, that he needs me with him at Harvard…

“I’m out of here.” River brushes past us, and my eyes follow him over Donovan’s shoulders. His right hand taps his leg over and over. ADHD.

Or emotion? I wish I could see his face—

“Later,” Donovan tells him as his arms tighten around me.

The door slams as I call out a goodbye.

Donovan tugs me to the couch and sets me in his lap. My back presses to his chest, and when I try to pull away, he buries his face in my hair. “Just listen to me, okay? Hear me out. You’re hurt and angry. I would be too. I came in and acted self-righteous. Of course you’re your own person. I don’t like seeing you high because it’s bad for you.” He groans under his breath. “Fuck. I-I can’t believe I forgot. It was a tough weekend, horrible. I kept wishing you were there. My parents drove me crazy—” He stops and exhales a long breath.

“Over me,” I state.

He grows silent, the air thickening. He moves my hair to the side and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Let’s not talk about them. Let’s talk about what a dick I am. Talking about getting into Harvard, asking for advice on neighborhoods—”

“I didn’t get in.”

He freezes, an incredulous sound in his tone. “What? When?”

I untangle his arms from around me, stand, and face him. “I knew last week. Columbia, Boston College, Boston University, Suffolk—they all rejected me. I don’t have a school next year.”

He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “All of them? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

I shrug.

“We can fix this. I’ll get my parents to talk to the dean of admissions…” He stops, frowning.

A wan smile crosses my face. “Your parents aren’t going to help me, and I don’t want them to. There are other universities. I haven’t heard from some of them, but I think Brooklyn Law will take me…” It’s the closest to Harvard, but still three hours away.

He grimaces. “Harvard is the best, Ana. It’s the volunteer stuff, the extracurriculars. If you could find some time to polish up your application—”