“Gene,” his mom calls, knocking on the door. I jump off him, and the bed creaks almost as loud as my heart is beating.

“Yeah,” he says, rushed, fixing his belt and grabbing his shirt off the floor.

“What are you doing up here? It’s so late.” She yawns. “Tell everyone it’s time to wind down. And keep this door open. No closed-door sleepovers.”

“Sorry, coming.” He throws me my shirt.

My stomach somersaults. “I don’t feel good,” I say, burping a little. When I look down, there’s a 76 percent chance I’m vomiting into a shoe. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured the night going,” I say, and wipe my mouth.

“That’s okay,” he says, handing me his trash can. “Next time.” He pats my back as I produce more orange vomit, and the red condom wilts in my pocket.

“Definitely next time,” I add, then retch again so he knows I mean business.

5

Days ’til prom: 89

FACT: EVERY TEACHER AT THE GILL SCHOOL WHO ISN’T EVELYN understands this one very important thing about the second half of senior year: It is a wad of watermelon gum that we are chewing to blow into a glorious pink bubble that will pop on our faces and christen us on the day we graduate. Among other delicious freedoms, we will finally be free to chew gum anywhere we please. Until then, school is a freaking breeze. In science we make ice cream and try to call it chemistry. In Spanish we start a soap opera with English subtitles, with enough seasons to last us well into our twenties. In math we play a computer game we literally played in middle school that involves tiny blue creatures called Zoombinis. When we do get an assignment, it’s pretty much an I-based answer you can’t get wrong.

Then there are the assemblies where they pause normal classes and pile the senior class into the auditorium with its layers of dust and torn maroon seats that expose bits of cushion. Abigail, Hilary, and I scrunch down in our seats and look at possible prom hairstyles while the guidance counselors tell us that the Gill School has a “special schedule for seniors” so that its graduates will do “special things in the world.” The point of all the PowerPoints and guest speakers from previous years who’ve already done special things in the world is to remind us that we’re let out of school almost two months before the other schools because we have service work to do. Instead of a weeklong spring break, we get a kind of monthlong “spring break” after graduation that goes from early May to mid-June. Though it’s not mandatory, it’s kind of a well-known fact that every senior has to pack a suitcase full of ugly hiking socks and partake in Gill’s six-week volunteer project abroad. This year we’re going to Nicaragua, which I hear has waterfalls. Forty-two days without parents or cell phones or electricity, all while having a “truly formative experience” with my best friends and boyfriend? Yes, please.