I’m doing a bad job of stating the case for Cornell. It makes sense, really. I get why my family is rooting for it, and it’s mostly because I’ve never told them what I just told Dylan so easily.

I’ll need to spend the drive home picking that realization apart.

“Harper!” James calls from across the cafeteria.

Kyle, my friend from yearbook, stands with him. His wary eyes and pursed lips silently tell me that he just told James about how friendly Dylan and I have been for the past five minutes.

I groan and try to end the conversation and move away from him.

We both swipe our cards to pay for our lunches, and I’ve just picked up my tray again when James approaches.

Damn him and his long runner’s legs.

James is all smiles for me, but it’s not genuine. This fakeness is almost as abrasive as Dylan’s everyday personality.

Worse, he puts an arm around me. It’s a gesture that he’s done thousands of times before, but it’s different at this moment, like he’s marking his territory.

“All good here?” James asks me the question, but he keeps his eyes on Dylan.

“What’s it to you?” Dylan snaps at the same time I say, “Fine.”

Cue unnecessary testosterone surges.

James is still likely mad from yesterday’s practice, and he’s more than happy to use me as an excuse to start a bickering match with Dylan.

Dylan, of course, is just himself.

He’s always calm yet ready for a confrontation, and James looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel.

My head bobs from side to side, waiting for one of them to draw the first blood.

Verbally, of course.

The only one who has resorted to violence in their feud, ironically enough, is me.

Competition in the athletic setting has been a good outlet for them both, but now, they have a reason to interact when they’re not attempting to outrun each other.

Before it can go any further, I diffuse the situation, wanting to prevent anything before it actually happens.

I refuse to be caught in the crossfire of some petty schoolyard argument.

“You both are idiots,” I tell them.

I go off to find a table by myself, but I’m not surprised when James eventually sits down beside me and quietly sulks.

5

Driving is freedom.

It’s only the first day of carting myself around, and I’m annoyed that I didn’t do this sooner.

Complete control over the music is one thing, but it’s nice to be able to do whatever and go wherever I want. After practice, James is usually too exhausted to grab food or hang out anywhere outside of our houses, but I’m always wound up after school.

I tried to make up for my attitude yesterday in the yearbook office by complimenting everyone’s work.

Chrissy, our staff photographer, walked me through some of the pictures she took at an art club meeting last week, and they weren’t completely subpar. Brandon wrote the accompanying captions, and they were the perfect balance of direct and witty. I even patiently waited for Lyla to get through her entire planned speech on her idea for the track team spread before I shot it down, as much as it pained me to do so.

We’re making good progress. We’re almost locked down on the fall and winter sports articles, and the writers are gathering everything we need for the spring sports now that their seasons have started. After that, we’ll tackle the features and tie up any loose ends.

It’s satisfying to be on track and overseeing so many moving parts, and I already know this is good practice for any college publications I can get to agree to let a freshman join the staff of.

Checking one thing after another off my to-do list feels good.

I smile when I open the door to Books & Beans, my favorite bookstore and coffee shop in town.

Marie, the owner, greets me with an enthusiastic smile. “Your usual?” she asks.

I always wanted to be one of those people who had a usual somewhere, and Marie was only too happy to oblige when I told her this on my first visit.

Through trial and error, we figured out the perfect combination of chai tea, two shakes of cinnamon, a shot of espresso, and a generous coverage of whipped cream. It’s spicy, rich, and sweet all at the same time.

“Yes, please,” I say.

Sometimes she lets me hop behind the counter to help her make it, but there’s another customer waiting behind me, so I simply watch her work.

Marie’s hands move quickly over the machines with finesse.

I know she’s been on her feet since early this morning, but she still looks so put together. Her light blonde hair is styled in some sort of chignon, a word I only know from reading regency romance novels, and she’s probably the only woman in our town who can pull off black lipstick, sleeves of tattoos, and a baggy velvet dress.

Fashion isn’t my thing. It’s not just because I spend so much time in my school uniform; I just don’t have an eye for it. I don’t know how to mismatch prints or pull off hats or even wear eyeshadow.

If I didn’t have to wear somewhat formal clothing with my school’s logo on it every day, I’d probably wear the same style of jeans and plain shirts, which is why I’ve learned to admire and appreciate style without actually having it myself.

I toss my hair up in a high, messy bun before I accept my drink.

“Big study day?” Marie asks.

She knows I focus better without my mane of hair falling in my face.

“Physics test tomorrow,” I explain. “I don’t think she’s going to grade this one on a curve, so I need all the extra study time I can get.”

I don’t mention that I usually am the one who sets the curve. It’s great when an eighty percent then turns into a one hundred percent, but without it, I could do some damage to my semester grade. Which would impact my GPA and potentially dethrone me from being valedictorian, then it could impact scholarships and—

That’s why I study, obsess, and plan.

“This will help.” She slides a giant chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic across the counter. “It’s on me for good luck.”

Books and movies celebrate big grand gestures, but I prefer the little acts of kindness in everyday life.

“You’re the best, Marie,” I tell her. “Truly, you’re a gift to me and this town and the world.”

She laughs and eyes me. “Something’s different about you today, Harper.”

“It’s the earrings,” I tell her, gently flicking them with my fingers. “Stolen from Audrey.”

The lotus earrings are the physical manifestation of something I feel deeper within me, like I’m on the cusp of becoming the next, better version of myself.

“Maybe that’s it,” she says.

I pay and thank her, then snag a table by the window, wishing I could bottle up the scent of books and coffee in this place. Marie would make a fortune if she figured out a way to do that.

Not that she’s hurting for business. I watch other customers come in and out of the shop as I settle in. I dip a chunk of cookie into my usual before I chew it down.

It’s warm, melty, and just what I need to power through an hour of studying.

I’m a little jittery when the caffeine hits, so I focus that energy on getting lost in a flurry of notecards, highlighters, and my textbook.