“Oh, the usual. Life. College. Circumstances.” Her tone is too even. Too practiced. “She’s quite sharp, you know. Said she liked Boston College.”
I pause. “She told you that?”
“She did.”
I squint at her, suspicious. “What are you up to?”
She sets down her glass with a soft clink and rises gracefully, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve. “Nothing, darling. Can’t a mother explore... alternate futures?”
“Not when she’s meddling.”
She smiles. “You give me so little credit. I only want what’s best for you.”
“And Jade?”
She leans in slightly, perfume floating like a secret. “Sometimes what’s best foryouis what you’re too proud to ask for back.”
Then she turns and walks out, leaving me standing there alone, jaw clenched, thoughts spiraling.
I check my phone again.
Still no text from Jade.
But now I’m wondering if I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s coming.
The morning air is sharp as I cut through the main quad, the crunch of old snow under my boots like a countdown in my ears. The campus is buzzing — talk of winter ball, final exams, early decision results. But all I can focus on is her.
Rosalie.
She’s standing by the science wing, surrounded by her entourage, wearing her signature glossy lips and a red puffer cropped just enough to show her designer belt. She catches sight of me, and her face lights up like she’s been waiting all morning.
I walk straight up, ignoring the curious stares.
“Rosalie,” I say evenly. “Can we talk?”
She flips her hair, laughing at something one of her friends says before dismissing them with a casual wave. “Finally. I wasabout to text you. Are we matching tux and dress or going with contrast? I found the cutest?—”
“I’m not escorting you.”
The words drop like a bomb.
She blinks. “What?”
“I’m not going to the ball with you. I’m going stag.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “You’re joking. Aftereverything—you said?—”
“I said yes before I knew better,” I reply, keeping my voice level. “But it wouldn’t be right to escort you when my heart lies elsewhere.”
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice pitches higher, echoing off the building’s brick façade. “This issohumiliating.”
“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” I say, soft but firm. “I’m just being honest. I’d rather be upfront now than fake something for a photo op.”
She takes a step back like I struck her. “Is this abouther?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
She huffs, “You’re making a mistake. Everyone at this school will see it.”
