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My brain was so occupied with all things Noelle that I barely paid attention in class, especially the ones I had had little interest in from the start. When I got called on twice in math and was unable to answer, I realized that I needed to do something to catch up.

The easy answer was to ask Noelle since she was brilliant (and somehow much more attentive than me) in class, but as she rendered me absolutely useless, I decided I needed to get help elsewhere. Seth also wasn’t an option; the drama club’s play would premiere in two days, so he spent most of his free time in the auditorium.

My last resort was Amelia. Surprisingly, she had eagerly agreed to meet me in my room on Friday afternoon and, a little less surprisingly, showed up five minutes earlier than we had arranged. Now we were both sitting cross-legged on my bed with our books and a flurry of notes on the mattress between us while we pored over polynomial functions together.

Amelia was good at explaining and more patient than I had expected, calmly going over everything again when I admitted that I hadn’t understood it the first time and smiling encouragingly when I tried to solve a problem myself.

“Well done!” she exclaimed when I got the solution. “See, it’s not as difficult as it seems, is it?”

I made a face. “Amy, this alone took me twenty minutes. I can’t spend that long on one question in an exam.”

Brushing a strand of copper hair behind her ear, she tapped her pen—a fancy fountain pen that had her name engraved on it—on my notepad. “All it takes is a little bit of practice. It gets easier after a few times.”

“I guess,” I said, “But there are much more fun things you could do in your free time, aren’t there?”

“Fun, maybe, but not as important in the long run. Business before pleasure is what my parents always say.”

Setting my notepad down on the bed, I asked, “Don’t you get tired of only ever doing what everyone expects from you?”

Amelia’s gray eyes, which were fixed on the page of notes in her lap, suddenly took on the tint of storm clouds. “Does it matter? Doing that has helped me get this far.”

“I think that’s how people get burnt out,” I tentatively said.

When she didn’t look at me, I put my hand on top of hers and gave it a light squeeze. “You know it’s okay for you to do what you want every once in a while, right? You deserve to enjoy yourself. You deserve to be happy.”

There were a few heartbeats during which all she did was stare at where my hand was resting on top of hers, her entire body rigid. Then, she shoved her notes to the side and abruptly got to her feet. “I need to use the bathroom.”

I didn’t get to respond before the door slammed shut behind her and the lock clicked. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Amelia was a seventeen-year-old like me. Especially in moments like this, where it was so clear that she was the main reason she was stuck in this cage of high expectations she had built for herself, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I felt like even if someone handed her the key on a silver platter, she would have still preferred to stay behind bars.