Her smile dims. “I didn’t.”

“What?” I say, my excitement faltering.

“I didn’t get into a licensing college.” She shrugs. “I got rejected from the last one a week ago.”

I stop dead in my tracks, alone in the center of the hallway. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Sorry. My parents were super upset. It was a whole thing.”

“Oh,” I say, staring at the little illusion of her. “That sucks.”

She looks down, not making eye contact with the phone, and starts twirling the end of her ponytail around her finger. “Yeah, they went off on this weird thing where they thought I should join the Magic Corps because I could get into one of the military colleges that give out licenses later.”

I cringe. Magic Corps recruiters come to the T. K. Anderson career fair every year, and one of their major selling points is that you can get a magical license afterward. But you have to serve for years before that. Lex obviously had no interest in taking that path. Her parents aren’t even very pro-military, so they must have really freaked out to start suggesting that. “That’s intense,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” she says, looking resigned. “I got in somewhere, and I’m going to accept it, and they can be disappointed with me from across the country.”

My heart sinks. “Across the country?”

“Yeah. I got into Galpert. It’s in California.”

“That’s great,” I say, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for my best friend to leave me for a faraway college that doesn’t even give out magical licenses. “So what’s your plan? Are you going to try and transfer to a licensing college after your freshman year?”

She frowns. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” I start walking again, pushing myself out the nearest door and into the Florida humidity. My phone bobs along in front of me as I go. “I’ve heard that going to another school for a year can actually make your application stronger, so this will probably help you when you apply again.”

“You know what? Forget it. I shouldn’t have talked to you about this.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I thought you would be happy for me.”

My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. Why is she upset? “I am happy for you,” I say, but it doesn’t come out as convincingly as I want it to. Truth be told, I’m only sort of happy for her. She’s settling for something less than what I know she deserves.

“No, you’re not. You look like I just invited you to my funeral,” she says fiercely. “If everybody else judges me for my choices, whatever. But you’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“I am on your side!”

“But you’ve been making me feel like shit!”