I didn’t get a thing done last night except make playlists of the songs I actually liked and have one quick catch-up phone call with my parents, during which we told each other approximately nothing and pretended we were looking forward to Parents’ Weekend next month. Once they confirmed grades, food, and room were good, I set them free to watch whatever show about international spies they were currently fixated on and treated myself to a luxuriously long shower.

But today … today is lab report and math homework and APUSH reading and story writing and studying for my Spanish quiz.

And it starts now.

I start with chem—my least favorite—and spread out my stuff, taking advantage of the library being nearly empty. But of course, I’m all of ten seconds into my lab report when someone else gets the same idea.

And I know without even looking up exactly who that someone else is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Listening to you hum ‘Heart-Shaped Box,’ apparently.” Salem’s voice drips with smugness as he slides his stuff onto the table next to mine. “I thought I heard some good stuff coming up through the floor last night. Glad to see you took my advice.”

He sounds uncharacteristically friendly and cheerful, and when I finally look up at him, I see it’s more than just his voice. He looks … happy. Together. Some might even say “good.” He’s wearing the jeans he wore to the movies the night he went as my “date,” and he’s managed to scrounge up a T-shirt that doesn’t have a shredded collar. He looks way cleaner and more clear-eyed than he did a week ago, and he smells like he just came out of the shower.

He looks like a well-adjusted basketball player with a hot girlfriend and a 5.0 GPA and in that moment I absolutely hate him.

Doesn’t he know that he wasn’t supposed to succeed so well while I failed so hard?

Which I can’t say, so I just grunt, hoping he’ll take the hint.

Of course, for the first time in his life, Salem doesn’t take advantage of an excuse to leave. Instead, he starts grilling me on what I listened to and what I liked as if we were two fangirls bonding over our favorite ship. Under other circumstances, it might’ve been fun, but right now I just want Salem to go the hell away—back into the arms of his perfect girlfriend, maybe.

“Okaaay, I see you’re not in a chitchat mood,” he finally observes. “Well then, do you wanna split up the history reading?”

“I’m working on chem.”