We finish up and clean up, then they send me up to my room with dessert to do work and not write my essay.

I slurp down the half-melted ice cream as I dig through Audrey’s closet. It’s somehow still packed even though she drove back to school over Christmas with a car filled to the brim. I find the sweater she texted me about earlier and promise I’ll have mom include it in her next care package.

For the remainder of my sugar high, I’m in planning mode.

I rifle through all the papers in my filing system until I find the AP English syllabus. I spend two hours mapping out a plan to get Dylan caught up, if Miss Delway will even let him do so.

By the time I brush my teeth, my brain is tired enough to rest.

I sleep hard, and I actually feel good as I get ready the next morning.

As much as Audrey cursed the uniform, I feel like some part of her had to appreciate the simplicity of it. Of course, she was one of those people who skirted the rules with patterned black tights instead of solid ones, and I’m a rule follower to a fault.

I stare at my reflection a little longer this morning.

But what if I wasn’t so rigid? What if I just let everything go? Let Lyla do her wild idea? Skipped a few reading assignments? Was late for a class?

I shiver at that thought and laugh at my reflection.

That’s not me at all, and I don’t mind it. I’m not out for some overhaul of my personality in the last one hundred days of school.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a smart, forward-thinking woman who knows what she wants.

And I do want to be a little rebellious today. After all, I’m going to drive myself somewhere, which is a big enough deal on its own.

I just want to have a little secret, just for me.

I dig through Audrey’s jewelry box and find a pair of lotus flower earrings from her boho phase. They’re silver and simple, but they dangle off my earlobes.

The school dress code clearly states that simple hoop earrings smaller than one centimeter or plain studs are the only suitable ear jewelry. They explicitly prohibit a number of other piercings, and I didn’t even know there were that many options until I read it listed out in the school rules.

Why the school board feels like they have to police these kinds of things, I’ll never know.

I put them in and shake out my hair. It’s so unruly and voluminous that no one could find my earlobes if they tried, but I know that they’re there.

And I like how that makes me feel.

“You’re driving?” My dad can’t hide the amusement in his voice when I take my car keys off the hook. “Is there a layer of dust on those keys?”

They know better than anyone how reluctant I am to drive. I’m a nervous driver, always trying to look thirty places at once and convinced that I’m going to get in an accident.

My mom hands me an apple and granola bar for the road. “Is James not feeling well?”

“No,” I say casually, but it’s clear they’re waiting for me to elaborate, so I scramble for a lie. “His practices have been going later, and I don’t want to sit around at school.”

They seem to buy that, so I head out.

The most challenging part of my morning is finding a close parking spot in the lot.

Calculus, Independent Study, and Physics are inconsequential, and the day feels like any other until I step in Miss Delway’s classroom for AP English.

We don’t have assigned seats for any of our classes at school. Some people shuffle around, but I sit front and center at every opportunity. It’s easier for me to focus on the lectures without the temptation to sit back and mess around on my phone under my desk.

I catch Dylan’s gaze before I sit.

His expression is smug and maybe a little challenging.

He tilts his head to the left, a silent request to fill the vacant seat beside him. Part of me wants to defy him just to show that he doesn’t have any power over me. But a deal’s a deal, and I can’t very well micromanage his education by sitting across the room.

“I’m guessing Miss Delway gave you the green light?” I ask quietly.

It’s an odd move for me to talk to Dylan calmly, let alone sit beside him, so I’m not surprised at Serena’s gawking as I settle in.

He shrugs. “Something like that,” he says.

I don’t like how it’s mostly a non-answer.

I assume his indifference isn’t because of the prying eyes around us but because he knew outright it wouldn’t be an issue.

Must be nice to have the expectation that the world is yours.

“I wish my father was on the school board,” I say. “Built in intimidation to get what you want.”

Dylan doesn’t seek out trouble, but having Andrew Archer and his power in your back pocket is a trump card. He can do things like skip class and stalk me in Independent Study without so much as a warning for detention.

“I don’t need my father to do my work for me.” There’s a bite to his retort that makes me want to retreat.

I’ve hit a nerve.

Interesting.

“You just need me then?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes.

Miss Delway steps up to the podium at the front of the class, commanding our attention as the bell rings.

She doesn’t notice or acknowledge my change in location. If anything, she’s probably grateful I’m not in her line of sight.

Despite how much I love English and writing, I’m actually probably her least favorite student.

Miss Delway is an accomplished non-fiction writer, with a bestseller and a few co-published books to her name. She indulged my questions and interests at first, but I think I overwhelmed her with my excitement.

Over time, my emails went unreturned, and she began to make excuses for why she could no longer recommend and discuss books after class unless they were explicitly related to what we were working on.

I bet she’d indulge Dylan’s questions.

“We’re starting our unit on dystopian literature today,” Miss Delway announces, pulling up her presentation. “Who can tell me the difference between dystopian and utopian literature?”

My hand shoots up. I’m ready to answer with their definitions, how they differ, and a few examples of each.

She doesn’t call on me, even when Serena gives a short, unimaginative answer.

Miss Delway is satisfied, though.

She begins her long and somewhat dry lecture, spending thirty minutes walking us through her presentation. I take avid notes on common tropes and themes, which will definitely be helpful for some of the upcoming assignments.

I recognize a number of the authors and understand the influences they had on each other.

After I jot down a list of books to check out during Independent Study tomorrow, I notice that Dylan’s lost in thought.

One would think that being motionless meant he was absorbing every word of the lecture, but one glance tells me he hasn’t heard a word Miss Delway has said. My instinct is to snap my fingers in front of his face, but that would bring more attention to me than anything else.

His calmness makes me hyper-aware of my restlessness. I’m constantly readjusting how I sit, twirling a pen in my hand, and smoothing down my hair, but he’s just...there.

Breathing and existing and actively not doing anything.

That’s going to be a problem.