Pru’s out training with her crew team, so Ollie and I settle on my bed with a tablet and Sorcerer’s Stone. This is normal. This is nice. Like old times. We can easily get through Prisoner of Azkaban by dinnertime.

It’s easy, sitting here with Ollie, leaning on the wall that forms one side of my twin bed. I’ve got the tablet on my knees, and his own are crunched up between his elbows. I notice in that moment how small the bed seems, and how tall Ollie is. Things could not be more loaded and complicated between us. But this is how it should be. Us, as friends.

Only friends.

Then why do you feel a zing up and down your spine, sitting here so close to him?

I swat that thought away and try to focus on Harry and Hermione and Hogwarts.

But I’m distracted when I notice Ollie checking his plum. “You expecting a super-urgent message?”

“Nope, just seeing what time it is.”

“It’s 3:52 p.m., last time I checked,” I quip. He looks guiltily away from his wrist.

A minute passes, and now he’s pressing pause on the movie.

“That was fun.” He stretches his legs. “More tomorrow?” he asks, slipping on his sweater.

“More tomorrow?” I look at him like he’s lost it. “Are you kidding me? They’ve literally just gotten past Fluffy.”

“And then they’ll play wizard’s chess, and Ron will get knocked out, and don’t pretend you haven’t seen this forty-seven hundred times.” He laughs.

“I thought we were going to watch all of them,” I protest feebly. I know I’m trying to hold on to some normalcy. I cling to it because right now, it’s the only thing that feels stable and safe. “That’s what movie marathon means. It’s not a marathon if it’s two-thirds of a film!”

But Ollie’s already slipping on his sneakers. “Em, chill. It’s not a big deal.”

“I just don’t understand what’s so important you can’t watch the end with me,” I say, feeling myself getting riled.

“Stuff, Emma,” Ollie says, all of a sudden sounding testy and cryptic. I stare at him, surprised. I’d been teasing him before, giving him a hard time. But now he’s being downright standoffish.

He moves to the door. “Wait,” I say, leaping from the bed and nearly tripping in my socks. “I’m sorry. I was just messing with you.”

“Emma,” he says sternly. “I have. To go.” He yanks open the door and leaves.

I sigh, pressing play on the movie. At least I can lose myself in Hogwarts for thirty more minutes. But deep down, I’m worried. Have I ruined everything between us? Dug a chasm between us that’s so wide, we’ll never bridge it again?