I don’t think you can get into Harvard with an assault charge.

Worth it—and you know I’m right.

Maybe.

Love you too. Now show me what you’re going to wear.

I groan loudly after rereading the exchange with Blake from a few days ago, tossing my phone onto the seat next to me on the small couch in my parents’ room. Mom glances at me in the reflection of the mirror, turning her body in a three-quarter view, examining the dress she’s picked.

“What’s up?” she asks, turning back to face herself. She’s been trying to decide what to wear to the gala for hours now. She left work early today, and I can tell that her hair is different; it smells slightly of hair spray—the same type they use in her sister’s hair salon on the other side of town.

This fundraiser for the college must be important if she (a) left work early, and (b) went to Aunt Sheryl’s place. They haven’t talked since last Christmas—the famous Saunders Christmas incident of 2020.

“Isobel trouble?” she asks, sauntering over to her nightstand and pulling out a pair of diamond earrings.

I shake my head.

“Boy trouble?”

I nod but don’t give her any more.

But Blake’s not my only trouble. It’s been over a month, and I can still feel Michael on my lips. It’s distant now, like when Clyde’s scent on my bed finally disappears, and I can only smell it by burying my face deeply in the fabric. That’s what Michael feels like right now.

The logical question that anyone would ask would be: If you miss him so much, why don’t you just go see him, Andre? He’s literally only a hop, skip, and a jump away.

But it’s not that simple. It’s like when you know you should call someone, but you don’t. Or when you know you have an email to read, but you don’t open it. Most of the time, that’s out of nervousness; you don’t want to get any bad news. And I guess, the feeling I have right now is the same, but different all at the same time.

That moment with Michael was amazing. Truly freakin’ amazing. And I don’t want to ruin it. I’m getting better at jumping, but what if this time I jump too far? What if I jump three months farther, and Michael has moved on, forgotten about me, and met someone new? Or worse, what if I jump three days from our kiss, and Michael has realized that he made a mistake?

Right now, if I stay here, in my year, I can imagine what I want to happen. There’s no reality barging in, forcing me to deal with the truth. I can make up my own future, my own happy ending.

And that’s worth it.