The night before our graduation trip, the boy who had once promised he would never leave me behind sent a message that did exactly that. “Maya, Olivia forgot to book your ticket,” Jake Morrison wrote in our group chat. “There’s nothing we can do now. You’ll have to sit this one out.”

Chapter 2

The boys traveling with them started laughing before I could answer. One called out that Jake and Olivia had ended up sharing a hotel room after a pipe burst in the girls’ room. Another told me I should “take the hint” because the two of them were obviously perfect together.

Jake said nothing. He simply watched me with that familiar expression, as if he expected me to become embarrassed, angry, jealous, or tearful. For years, my feelings had been so predictable that he seemed to believe he could summon them whenever he wanted.

I surprised both of us.

I looked at Olivia, then Jake, and smiled. “You know what? You two probably are perfect for each other.”

Jake’s expression changed instantly.

I lifted my boarding pass. “Chloe and I have a flight to catch. Have a good summer.”

One of the boys called after me, accusing me of playing hard to get. I kept walking.

That night, someone posted a video of Jake kissing Olivia in our old class chat. Several people tagged me, apparently eager to watch me fall apart. Unfortunately for them, I was thirty thousand feet in the air, laughing with Chloe over terrible airplane pretzels.

For the next two weeks, we toured colleges, wandered beaches, ate Cuban sandwiches in Miami, and talked about everything except Jake. By the time my exam scores arrived, I had nearly forgotten there was a conversation happening back home about where everyone planned to attend school.

Mom’s house stood on a quiet street outside Miami beneath two enormous magnolia trees. When Chloe and I finally arrived, a tall young man was sitting on the living-room couch with a college catalog open across his knees. He stood as soon as he saw me.

“Maya Bennett,” he said. “You probably don’t remember me.”

I did, vaguely. “Liam Brooks?”

He smiled. Liam was the son of Mom’s best friend, two years older than I was and already a junior at Brighton University. He had heard I was considering schools in Florida and had come over to help.

My grades were strong enough for Brighton, and its literature program was excellent. Even better, Chloe’s art school was less than forty minutes away. For the first time in years, choosing a college felt less like deciding whom I might lose and more like deciding who I wanted to become.

Then Olivia accidentally detonated the last piece of my old life.

She posted a screenshot in our class chat and deleted it seconds later. Chloe saved it before it disappeared.

In the screenshot, Olivia had written, “Shouldn’t we tell Maya we changed schools? What if she still applies to the college Jake promised her?”

Jake had answered, “No. If she wants to come with us, she can apologize to you first.”

Another friend had added, “You’re too nice, Olivia. Maya treats you like garbage and you still worry about her.”

Then came Olivia’s tearful voice message. She claimed she had sent the screenshot to the wrong chat and offered to tell me where Jake was applying so all of us could still attend together.

I listened once.

Then I left the class chat and blocked everyone involved.

Mom came in carrying a bowl of cold watermelon. “Trouble with that Morrison boy again?”

“Not anymore.”

She set the fruit beside me without asking questions.

Across the room, Liam flipped through my college catalog. “Brighton’s literature department still your first choice?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess we’ll be schoolmates.”

Mom laughed from the kitchen. “Liam, you’d better look after her. She forgets to eat when she’s reading.”

“I can do that,” he said.

Something in his quiet certainty made my face warm.

A few weeks later, Chloe’s graduation party was held in a downtown hotel. By absurd coincidence, Jake’s family had rented the ballroom next door for his celebration. I had no intention of seeing him, but Chloe and I crossed paths with Jake and several of his friends in the hallway.

One of them smirked. “Well, look who showed up. Couldn’t stay away after all?”

Another laughed. “Just apologize to Jake already.”

Jake stood behind them holding a glass of soda, wearing the faint smile of a man certain the ending had already been written.

I waited until everyone finished.

Then I opened the ballroom door behind me.

Inside, Chloe’s family and friends were cheering as she prepared to cut her cake. She waved me over, and I walked in without looking back.

Later, Chloe told me Jake had stood in the hallway for almost five minutes staring at the closed door.

I took another bite of barbecue. “These ribs are incredible. Can you grab me another?”

She studied me, then burst out laughing. “You really are over him.”

A few days later, I found an old blue notebook while packing. On the first page, in Jake’s clumsy freshman handwriting, were the words, “Maya, I’ve got your back. Always.”

I ran my thumb over the ink.

Then I closed the notebook and put it at the bottom of a storage box.

Some memories deserved to be kept.

That didn’t mean they deserved to be reopened.

That evening, an unknown number called.

“Maya, it’s me,” Jake said. “Don’t hang up.”

I stayed silent.

“Olivia isn’t mad anymore. I talked to her. You can still come to school with us.”

I almost laughed. “Which school?”

“Silverton University. Finance program. We promised we’d go together, remember?”

Of course I remembered. I also remembered that he had changed the plan without telling me.

“Got it,” I said.

He mistook those words for surrender. “Good. Cancel whatever ticket you bought. We’ll take the train together.”

The following night, he called again. Olivia had decided the train would be too crowded, he explained, so they were driving. Unfortunately, there would not be enough room for me.

“You can get there yourself,” Jake said. “Meet us after you settle in. We’ll buy you dinner.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn’t going to Silverton.

He hung up before I could speak.

A text arrived seconds later.

“Stop being dramatic. Get some sleep.”

I stared at it, smiled, and turned off my phone.

My one-way ticket to Miami was already booked.