Begin Again(56)

The blood in my body pretty much stops moving as I scroll farther down, certain I read it wrong or the Scantron got bungled in the machine.

“Chocolate-covered pretzels,” I mutter. “Oof.”

My nose is deep enough in my phone that I walk right into a very tall human being’s arm. I smell coffee and faint citrus and know exactly who it is before his hand reaches out for my elbow to steady me.

“Sorry,” Milo and I both blurt at the same time.

He gestures at his phone. “I was . . .”

“Same,” I say, holding up my phone with an embarrassed laugh. But Milo doesn’t laugh back. In fact, he looks like he’s had a run-in with the ghost everyone claims haunts the arboretum’s lake.

Just like that, the exam score is completely out of my mind. “Are you okay?”

Milo blinks. “Yes. I mean.”

Instead of telling me, Milo hands me his phone, which is also open to an email.

“Congratulations, Milo Flynn,” I read out loud, “on your acceptance to . . . wait.” I keep waiting for the words to change, but they don’t. “Isn’t this school in California?”

“Yeah.”

So basically as far from Blue Ridge State as he can possibly get. I hand him back the phone, trying to smile, but my face feels all wobbly. He doesn’t notice, still staring at the screen like it’s going to start talking to him.

“They’ve, uh—they’ve got a good broadcast program there,” he says.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. So do we. But he knows that. He’s been so diligent about keeping his identity as the Knight under wraps that Shay and I just assumed he was applying to Blue Ridge State’s program. The broadcast program still resents the show for existing outside their jurisdiction, so it could only hurt his chances if they knew.

Maybe that’s why this feels like such a surprise. I knew he was trying to transfer. I’ve known since the literal day we met. But somehow over the past months of early mornings in the recording studio and afternoons at Bagelopolis and late nights at trivia, I let myself forget.

This is the part where a good friend would ask him how he feels about it, or what he thinks he’s going to do. But as soon as I think up the questions I know I don’t want to hear the answers. All I see is our little friend group falling apart before it even really had the chance to solidify.

“Well, good for you.” My voice is too tight, too chipper. I take a breath and ground myself. “I mean—I know how hard you worked for it.”

He nods. I nod back. A group of students spills out of the science building, and we both use the commotion as an excuse to wave and keep walking in opposite directions, the weight of those emails feeling heavier with every step.





Chapter Nineteen


That weekend a cold front comes in that has everyone burrowed indoors—everyone except Shay, who’s home for the weekend. After spending most of Saturday and Sunday sitting on my bed overthinking every thought I can possibly think and not getting a single thing done, I regret not going home, too.

The thing is, there is plenty to overthink. Namely the fear that’s rippled like an undercurrent ever since I got my acceptance letter—the fear that I don’t belong here. That I’m not cut out to match pace with these ultrasmart, supercompetitive kids in this top-tier school the way my parents were. That I’ll never have the same easy sense of belonging it seems like everyone around me has, that even Connor seems to have even though he doesn’t go here anymore.

Then there’s Shay and Valeria, a problem I’ve still managed to unpack from a hundred directions even though the most obvious one is stay out of it. And I have. But it doesn’t take it from the forefront of my mind, knowing Shay is out there angry with herself and Val is out there embarrassed to have people reading her words and I’m just sitting here unable to do anything to help.

In the periphery I keep trying to ignore is . . . everything else. The overdue call to my dad. Milo’s news. The ribbons I’m worried I’ll never have enough of. Those are the sharper thoughts, the ones I have to push down before the edges catch me by surprise. So I ignore them. I make lists that go nowhere. I draft an email to my professor about the exam I never send. I stare at my phone long enough to burn a hole in it.

And then the phone rings. There’s this instant, almost desperate kind of relief. I’ll tell Connor everything. Maybe he’ll know what to do, what to say.

“Hey.” My voice is so hoarse I realize I haven’t spoken to anyone all day. “How’s life?”

“It’s, uh . . .” I hear a door click shut and imagine him in his bedroom at his parents’ house. “Well. I guess it could be better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ll be so disappointed in me.”

I sit up straight in bed. “I could never be disappointed in you.”

Connor sighs, like that’s the last thing he wants to hear right now. “I’m, uh . . . I’m not doing so hot in my classes. It turns out.”

There’s an immediate sympathy chased by an overwhelming relief. “Oh. Well—me neither, really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, my spirits already lifting just hearing him on the other end of the line. “I just bombed an exam, actually. How about you?”