Suddenly, she had a memory. Her Ezra. No wonder that sounded familiar: those very words resounded in the private room at Burton last night. There had been about forty of them there. The ceilings were high and the walls stacked with books, and portraits of the college’s founders in gold frames hung over the fireplace mantels. Fancy canapés that were meant to mimic their college fare—oversize spoonfuls of ramen, delicate wedge sandwiches of PB&J—were carted around by waitstaff, students who lingered behind for the holiday to earn catering tips. There was an open bar, but still, Frankie managed to sip Diet Coke, and then, just so no one asked, a Sprite, which she told everyone was a vodka soda. She’d seen Ezra across the expanse of the room. She’d tried to look everywhere but at him, but of course, that was physically humanly impossible, because when your brain tells you not to stare, the only thing you do is stare. Laila was already tipsy. Frankie remembered this now too. She’d done two shots at Lemonhead, just as a warm-up, and also because she had her eye on Alec Barstow, who she’d heard had recently moved to Asheville, which she noted was close enough to Charlotte that maybe they could become something more than friends.

“He’s officiating,” Laila had said. “Like off the internet.” She flopped her shoulders as if to say she didn’t really understand how such things worked—Frankie didn’t either—and then Laila wiggled her eyebrows like she thought it would be amazing to land the centerpiece of tomorrow night’s ceremony.

At some point, April and Connor gathered them around, and April had raised her champagne glass triumphantly and said, “Don’t think we were letting you get out of here without a trip down memory lane!” And someone—Frankie couldn’t see who through the crowd, and also she was trying very hard not to look in that direction because Ezra was in the vicinity—called out, “This whole thing is a trip down memory lane, and not necessarily a good one!” And someone else called out, “Look, Scotty, just because you got put on academic probation junior year doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have some fun!” And everyone laughed, and Frankie realized they were talking about Scotty Quinnlan, who she literally hadn’t given a single thought to since leaving campus. Like, she had completely forgotten that he existed. That he lived somewhere on planet Earth.

April and Connor were laughing at all of this, then Connor reached for the microphone and said: “We’re doing a scavenger hunt! All of your names are in the basket back there—we’ll break off into pairs—and there will be a grand prize for the winner!” And someone, Frankie thought it was Alec Barstow, yelled, “Let’s make it threesomes! I’m always up for a threesome!” And then they moved en masse to the back of the room to draw names. Frankie did the math and thought how unlucky she could be: she had a one in twenty or so chance to be with Ezra, and though those weren’t great odds—not something she would, say, bet her life on—she also had nineteen other chances not to be with him.