Dr. Wilson sends final confirmation that all my applications have been filed. His email is short and to the point. In.

That’s all it says: In.

It’s official. I’ve applied to college.

My mother takes that as permission to treat my acceptance at SCC as inevitable, as if applying is synonymous with being admitted. The last thing she was this sure of was that Brad Pitt movie that fell through.

I refuse to get my hopes up, though I secretly share her dream. I loved SCC when we visited, I love LA, and though I’d never admit this out loud to my family, I love the idea of sticking close to home.

Maybe my life doesn’t have to change all that dramatically next year. Unlike Shola, who at night likes to text about all the things she’s looking forward to next year—no longer sharing a room with the Littles, taking an Intro to Philosophy class, no more Wood Valley jerks giving her looks about her clothes—I still can’t quite wrap my head around graduation and what comes next for me. I feel overwhelmed when I think about all the new responsibility that will be mine alone to bear—figuring out freshman requirements and dining hall cards and the social hierarchy. How do you know what books you need? What if I’m randomly assigned a roommate with questionable hygiene and a clashing color scheme?

Levi, like Shola, has already graduated in his mind. He’s taken to wearing a disturbing amount of Harvard gear, and on the increasingly rare occasion when we spend time together, all he can talk about is the fall. There’s no mention of us or of me visiting or even of the two of us keeping in touch when he monologues about the classes he’s going to take, the famous professors he’ll meet, where he’ll do his year abroad, all while he has one hand up my shirt.

I get the hint. We are temporary.

Admittedly, I understand this desire to fast-forward—when a big change is coming, it’s human nature to want to get there already—but lately, I find myself out of step with my friends. I want to slow down time and savor the months we have left together. Our lives up to now have been full of firsts, and suddenly, almost without warning, they seem packed with lasts.

I want to float in the pool with Shola and play beer pong at Xander’s and kick back at the Koffee Kart, because soon we won’t get to do any of that. These inexorable leaps forward give me whiplash. It’s winter break, which means I’ll blink and soon it’ll be my own acceptances and rejections, prom and graduation, and then, of course, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.