“Yeah, you really should’ve left me on the ground to rot. You’re the worst girlfriend I’ve ever had.” I smile reluctantly, and she presses her lips against the crook of my neck softly. Her hair tickles my skin. “And so what if they do tell us we can’t be together?” she asks. “Who says we have to listen to them? Just tell them you’ve ended things. They have no proof either way.”

I shift my head to rest my chin on her hair. “It’s not that easy,” I murmur. “If they want you gone, you’ll be gone. They can get your scholarship handed to someone else.” She stiffens in my arms. “Or perhaps your mum will conveniently get a job offer she can’t refuse back in the States. Or you’ll get a surprise call from, oh I don’t know, Julliard offering to have you start a year early.”

“Hey, that doesn’t sound so bad,” Danni jokes, and I dig my thumb into her armpit, causing her to squeal. “We’re going to be okay,” she says when she sobers back up. “We’re still learning. They can’t expect us to be perfect from the get-go, neither of us have ever had a secret relationship yet.” She pauses. “Well, I haven’t, anyway. And if you have, maybe you need to give me your tips from last time, because you kept that super secret.”

“Ahh, if I told you about my last girlfriend, I’d have to kill you.”

“That’s one way to shut these rumors down.”

I snort, and she throws an arm around my middle and squeezes. I wonder absently what I ever did to deserve someone so perfect. Certainly nothing in this lifetime.

Or perhaps that’s the point. She must be perfect, so when I lose her, it hurts as much as I deserve.

THIRTY-THREE DANNI

For Florence’s eighteenth birthday, she throws a house party at a rental only a fifteen-minute walk from Bramppath. We’re allowed to leave the grounds on weekends—as long as we’re back by curfew—if we have a permission slip. Only, everyone is going—from Bramppath anyway, a bunch of the Ashford guys have a history practice exam on Monday they’re studying for—and I’m kind of worried Mom won’t sign my slip. Especially given that it has a paragraph warning everybody about the school’s zero-tolerance policy, which seems exactly like the kind of threat that might spook Mom into making me be the only student who skips the party. The only invited one, anyway. So, feeling like the worst daughter in the world, I sign it for her. I’d rather apologize later than be the only one in the whole grade stuck at school while everyone else is at Florence’s party.