I Kissed Shara Wheeler(57)

She’s throwing back the last can from her emergency espresso stash when she hears the heralding clangs of Georgia’s water bottle against the nearby lockers.

“There you are,” Georgia says, slightly out of breath. “You weren’t in the parking lot. I was afraid I wouldn’t find you before first hour to put everything together.”

Chloe’s stomach does a horrible swoop as Georgia unzips her bag and holds out her hand.

The last three pages of the French essay. Twenty percent of their final grade. Due today.

“Georgia, I—”

“I know, you specifically said no fun colors,” Georgia says, holding up the file folder, which is magenta. “But it’s the last file folder of my high school career, okay?”

“No, Geo.” Chloe feels like she’s going to throw up or cry or cry so much she throws up. “I forgot.”

Georgia freezes. “What do you mean you forgot?”

“I mean I don’t have it,” Chloe says. “I didn’t do it.” She’s never not done an assignment in her life. She was going to stay up late and do it after the theater party. She had it in her planner and everything—but then Shara— “Please tell me you’re joking,” Georgia says.

“I’ll—I’ll skip first hour and go to the library and write it right now,” Chloe says, already switching into efficiency mode, half of her panicked thoughts diverting into French. Je suis absolutely screwed. “I’ll have it by fifth hour—”

“Forget it,” Georgia snaps, and she gathers her folder and water bottle and jangles angrily off.

“Geo!” Chloe jogs to catch up, shouldering an onlooking freshman out of her path. Up close, Georgia’s face is flushed, her thick eyebrows making an annoyed V. “Don’t be mad at me! I’m gonna fix it!”

“It doesn’t matter, Chloe.”

“Of course it matters,” Chloe says. “I’m not gonna mess up my GPA, or yours.”

Georgia groans and sidesteps her, pulling off into an empty classroom. Chloe follows.

“I don’t care about my stupid GPA, and nobody’s going to care about yours after we graduate,” Georgia points out. “You know that, right?”

“It’s important to me,” Chloe says.

“Well, it’d be nice if I was important to you,” Georgia spits out.

“What?” Chloe stares at her. “Of course you’re important to me! What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been begging you to help me with this project, and every time you blow me off for Smith and Rory and the rest of your new friends.”

Seriously? That’s what this is about?

“That’s been happening for like, four weeks.”

“Yeah, the four most important weeks of our life so far!” Georgia says hotly. “You think I don’t know you were at a party with Smith when you were supposed to be at our last movie night of senior year? You think I can’t figure out where you are when you skip lunch with us? We spent four years talking about our senior cast party, and you left before it was even over! We were supposed to do this together.”

A hundred things jump up Chloe’s throat. Arguments, defenses, the image of Georgia in a powder-blue tux. A memory of two fourteen-year-old girls on a living room rug reading Tolkien out loud with all the accents. She swallows all of them.

“You’re gonna leave for New York and forget about me,” Georgia says, quieter now.

“You’re gonna be right there next to me the whole time,” Chloe insists.

“No, I’m not.”

“Of course you are.”

“No,” Georgia says again. “I’m not.”

Above their heads, the bell rings. A terrible little voice in the back of Chloe’s mind says she should wrap this up soon if she wants to finish the essay.

“What are you saying?”

Georgia bites her lip. “I can’t go to NYU.”

“We talked about the financial aid thing—”

“I’m going to Auburn.”

No.

The plan has always been Chloe and Georgia and NYU. There’s never been another plan. There’s certainly never been a plan that involves— “Auburn? As in forty-minutes-from-here Auburn?”

“The store’s not doing great, and college is expensive, even with financial aid,” Georgia explains. She looks away, glaring at a splotch of ink on the desk next to her. “My parents can’t afford to keep anyone on staff anymore, but they can’t do it by themselves. So I’m gonna stay home and help with the store and go to Auburn.”

“Since when?”

“I decided last month.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks! But every time I try to talk to you, you’re busy or distracted or hanging out with other people, and I’m—”

“Georgia, you cannot spend your life in False Beach.”

“God, you’re still not even listening to me! Has it ever occurred to you that I might not completely hate this place?”

“We literally shit on this place every single day of our lives.”

“No, you do,” Georgia says. “Yeah, there’s a lot about this place that sucks, but it’s where I’m from. And honestly, sometimes I’m sick of you acting like you’re so much better than it, like your family’s not from here too.”