When I pull away, it’s to rest my forehead against Emmitt’s and whisper, “And I love you.”

His eyes are bright enough to set cities aflame. “Even if I’m a dickhead?”

“Especially when you’re a dickhead,” I say, and my cheeks hurt from how wide my smile is. “Who else is going to keep you in line?”

There’s a lot we still need to talk about—a future we need to figure out, not to mention a short film we still need to submit. But in this moment, I’m content with the knowledge that it’s all going to be okay.

I think that might be all the reassurance I’m ever going to need.

55

There are three things that people waiting for the Golden Ivy student film competition to announce winners should know.

One: the background music for their livestream is absolutely atrocious.

Two: winners are never announced at a consistent time, so closing out even for half a moment is a risk.

Three: having friends by your side, crossing their fingers with you, is always a good idea.

The entire film club is watching the makeshift whiteboard screen with wide eyes. The projector doesn’t have the best quality, but it’s enough. I’m sitting on the floor, Rosie’s hand clutched tightly between mine, and Emmitt’s legs bracketing my shoulders.

“I’m going to start screaming any second,” Rosie says, biting her nails. “Why is this going on forever?”

“It should be considered a crime against humanity,” I say, tugging on a lock of hair. Emmitt reacts instantly, combing through my dark waves with gentle fingers from where he’s sitting in the seat above me.

I allow myself a brief smile, pressing a kiss to his knee, and ignoring Rosie when she mutters, “Heteros.”

When I turn back to her, though, she’s grinning. Sofia’s siting on Rosie’s other side, her eyes fond as she snacks on pink licorice.

Most of the film and drama club are stuffed into the room, and even Ms. Somal is watching attentively, her latest graphic novel set aside. None of us know what the outcome will be, but my heart is hoping, praying, manifesting.

The livestream starts buffering, and we all groan. Grant curses under his breath, tapping around on his computer, linked up to the projector. “I hate AAAS’s Wi-Fi so much. It should not be this hard for us to watch something without interruptions.”

“You’re asking too much of this hellhole,” Kaity says, banging her head against the desk behind Rosie.

“When do they usually announce winners?” Christina asks, scratching her head. Her foot is tapping anxiously, and I sympathize. Freshman year, Rosie and I were barely able to sit still in our seats.

“Only the Lord knows,” I say, shaking my head. “It could be five minutes from now or in another thirty minutes.”