I have an option. I have a guarantee to go somewhere, to take that next step in my life, and it’s only one sheet of paper.

Next, I pick up Cornell and feel a sense of dread when my fingers touch the red logo.

It’s what James wants. Without him, I never would have applied to the school.

One of the main reasons he wants to go there is because it’s where his parents met, which is a bit strange, considering he doesn’t actually like them all that much, and I definitely don’t share that attachment.

“I got in,” I say.

I try to sound enthusiastic, but I’m not sure it’s convincing.

My audience of two doesn’t notice either way because they’re too busy gushing as they read the details for themselves.

I take advantage of their distraction and slide my nail along the edge of the envelope for Columbia.

I think I would have preferred to open these on my own, giving myself the space to digest and figure out how to move forward.

Of course, I already know where I’m headed. It’s where my heart wants to go, and it’s more important than where James and my family want me to spend the next four years. I just need to figure out how to make it happen if I don’t get the financial aid.

But I suppose I should see if I got accepted first.

I start reading. “It is our pleasure…”

A full grin breaks across my face. It’s so large I can barely contain it. Actually, I realize, there’s no reason for me to do so. I laugh at my own realization and my happiness just because I can.

Columbia.

New York City.

A writer’s dream.

Rather, this writer’s dream.

“It says financial aid and scholarship information will come within the next few weeks,” my mom nearly screams. “Oh, Harper!”

They both engulf me in a huge hug, talking about how proud they are of me and that they know how hard I’ve worked. My parents are giddy with excitement. It’s almost uncontrollable how happy and proud they are.

Tears are wiped when I am finally released from their grasp.

I literally have the future at my fingertips.

My hands shake because I did it. Me. All of my planning and hoping worked, and I’m never ever going to doubt myself again. I don’t care that I have to come clean to James and my parents because I deserve better. I know I do, and it has taken me too long to fully accept it.

“Favorite child is home!” Audrey yells as she pushes open the front door.

“Audrey, come in the kitchen now.” My mom’s voice is so strained from excitement that it sounds like she’s in pain.

Audrey, with her emerald green hair, runs in, expecting us all to be held at gunpoint or gravely injured, but she shrieks when she sees the letters, envelopes, and reactions on our faces.

We do the entire group hug scenario all over again for a few minutes.

“Celebratory pizza, please,” Audrey says.

“Are you using me as an excuse to get your favorite pizza?” I ask her.

She smiles devilishly. “Maybe.”

By the time Audrey is unpacked and her first load of laundry is in the washer, our dinner arrives. I happily take a bite of my pepperoni and pineapple slice.

They’re all still riding the high of my acceptance to all three schools. It’s a lovely, warm feeling to have them share in my excitement, and I can only hope that whenever Dylan gets into whatever school he wants, his parents are equally as supportive.

Audrey pops the tab on her third Diet Coke as James lets himself in the side door.

I’m lucky that Audrey and I haven’t really had sibling rivalry. Sure, she was annoyed at times when we were little and I followed her around, but our teenage years have mostly been drama-free. While I have fallen into many pathetic clichés, and tropes, this is not one of them.

Instead, it’s Audrey and James who butt heads and pick fights with each other.

“Little Jamesy,” Audrey coos, standing up to ruffle his hair.

“Dre,” he says flatly. “Back already? I didn’t realize that you could come and go from the Underworld as you please.”

“Yeah, well, Satan’s kind of busy destroying the earth and humanity at the moment, so I got a free pass.”

“Oh, stop it, you two,” my mom says. “James, come eat pizza. We’re celebrating.”

His eyes go wide at the sight of my acceptance letters before his face completely falters.

I know what this means, but my mom doesn’t, so she presses on. “Harper got into all three schools!”

“And all the acceptance letters mention some kind of scholarship and grant money,” Audrey brags.

“Getting paid to go to college, who would have thought?” My dad says this and glares at Audrey.

“Hey now, at least I’m going in state to a public college,” she reminds them. “Not some fancy private smart people school.”

The three of them laugh, but I just watch James eye the living room like he can’t get away from my family fast enough, which is definitely a first for him.

“What’s wrong?” I should pull him aside and ask this question, but the words fall out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

He chews on his bottom lip, then finally says, “I got waitlisted.”

Audrey gasps, and the rest of the conversation halts immediately.

My parents jump into comforting mode, assuring him that it’s just a roadblock that should be resolved soon enough and maybe if he wrote the university a letter or something to reiterate his interest?

I’m not surprised at how my parents are reacting, but I don’t even want to think about how devastated his will be.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the living room.

“Sucks to suck,” Audrey mumbles before I turn away.

James throws himself on the couch in deep dejection.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, sitting beside him. “But waitlisted isn’t a bad thing. They’re probably just sorting things out before they officially accept you.”

He tears his fingers through his hair. “I’m just going to pretend like you’re right.”

“Did you hear from any of your backup schools?”

At this, his face pales.

“You did apply to other places, right?” I say cautiously.

He swallows. “I, uh, didn’t get around to it,” he admits.

Of course he didn’t.

Because even with me dragging him along in school and reminding him of deadlines and other important details, he somehow always manages to do the bare minimum.

Even though I shouldn’t, I pace around and start thinking about ways he could get around this. Maybe do some sort of late application to one of the places around here and transfer the following semester if he needed to.

I’m ready to start spitballing ideas with him, but when I try to meet his gaze, I see that he’s already sucked into his phone. He’s texting lazily, like he’s not even fully committed to ignoring me, but it still irks me.

Normally I would be jealous or playing the part of the dutiful best friend, but I realize I don’t care.

It’s not that I’m not invested in James’s happiness; it’s the fact that I don’t feel the need to obsess over him or gloss over the fact that he’s being rude as hell.