“However,” I continued, hating myself, but, as usual, totally unable to stop, “cheating in an AP class will most definitely keep you out of Hampden Sydney. Colleges take academic honesty very seriously.”

He snorted, but didn’t look up. “Can we not do this right now, Harper? I know you’re perfect, but—”

“I am not perfect,” I muttered, crossing my arms and settling back into my seat. I had hallucinated killing my teacher with a shoe. That would probably do a lot more to keep me out of a good college than Ryan’s stolen paper.

“Yeah,” Ryan said, raising his head, “you are. Or at least you try to be. I mean, I love you, but why do you have to be queen of everything? Why can’t you just . . . chill?”

Last year, my mom took me to see a therapist after she found me making decorations for the Spring Fling at three in the morning. Dr. Greenbaum said that my “obsessive need to overachieve” was due to a “fear of being out of control” and that, like Ryan said, I needed to chill. Only she used some fancy term for “chill” and also suggested I start taking Lexapro to help facilitate said chilling. I managed to get out of the meds by wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt to my next therapy session, where I drew pictures of myself crying in a tornado. That seemed to make Dr. Greenbaum happy and she decided I didn’t need the drugs after all. And the next time I did school stuff in the middle of the night, I just did it in my closet with the door locked. Honestly, what is wrong with this country when striving for excellence means you need antidepressants?

But then I remembered I actually was crazy now.

“Forget it,” I said to Ryan. “I don’t want to fight about this again. I’m just having a really rough night.”

“Are you bummed you missed the crowning ceremony?” he asked, leaning down to pick up my tiara.

Leave it to my Perfect Boyfriend to give me the perfect out. Of course Ryan would assume I was bummed about missing the crowning.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to look more wistful than freaked out. “I know it’s stupid, but . . .”

“Hey,” he said softly, “It’s okay to feel disappointed. Here.” He took the crown and gently placed it back on my head. “Harper Jane Price, I officially crown you Homecoming Queen.” Then he leaned forward and kissed me. It was a sweet, soft kiss, and one for its own sake, and not as a prelude to something else.