“It’s a quick one! How do we feel about our wardrobe choices for the big day?” He fidgets with his jacket lapel as if considering how much work it would be to petition FATE’s administration for a new, snazzier uniform before the weekend.

“The uniforms? The mandatory uniforms we have to wear? Mandated, Greg. I feel mandated,” I answer, defiantly making a point to turn my phone back on. He was adamant that we unplug for practices this week. (5) missed emails.

“I guess you’re right,” he says, though he does not seem satisfied with this outcome.

Three spammy emails.

One party invite from Evie: her cousin is launching a new app in Tribeca this weekend or something. We’ve been tentative around each other since our breakup, if you can even call it that. While I contemplate forwarding this would-be peace offering to Corinne, I open the last email, received fifty-three minutes ago.

It’s a link to the Columbia portal.

Dear Henri,

Congratulations! It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected for admission to Columbia University. As a member of the Class of 2024, you will be a participant in an academic community wealthy in intellectual and personal talents of every kind—

The entire world goes quiet for a second, and when it snaps back into place, I’m standing up and Greg and Yadira are both staring at me like I’m unhinged. I must have made a sound I wasn’t altogether conscious of. A loud one.

“Jesus Christ, Haltiwanger! What is your trauma?”

“I got in. . . . IgotintoColumbia. It’ssayingI’min.”

“Hey! Congratulations!” Yadira says. “When?”

“Fifty-threeminutesago. I got in! IfreakinggotintoColumbia.”

Yadira steps forward and gives me a tight hug before stepping back, aware of the number of boundaries crossed. Specifically, forty-three.

“Did you just hug me?” I look over to Greg. “Did she just hug me?”

“She did,” Greg says, stunned himself. “I saw. Can I just give you a high five or something? I’m not a hugger.”

I raise my arm over my shoulder and collect the misaligned high five.

“You can both shut up now,” Yadira snarls. “I just . . . I know how badly Halti wanted this. That’s all.”

I did. I do.

“Ihavetogo.”

“Yes, go get the celebration out of your system.” Greg nods, turning away to vigorously brush the whiteboard clean. “And before Saturday, please: your words-per-minute speed is out of control. And make sure to drink the shake. First thing in the morning!” Greg shouts behind me before I can skip out of the room.

And I’m physically skipping. I need to tell Dad and Ma. And Ming. And Lion. But they’re all secondary to the person that has to hear this first.