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Jace pressed his lips together and didn’t say anything.

“So I feel like the accidental shoplifting of protein bars shouldn’t count against me seven years later.”

Jace’s mouth worked in thought. Finally, he said, “If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it a secret?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Mr. Copley didn’t let me take the SAT. He kept me at his store until my parents got there, and the police conducted an investigation and completed the necessary paperwork. I missed the test. We all thought it would derail my college acceptance by a semester, maybe an entire year.”

Marlowe cocked her head at him. “You got accepted to Montana State. They offered you a scholarship because of your SAT score. How did they do that if you never took the test?”

“Lucas was there when my parents got the call from Mr. Copley. He grabbed my passport to use as ID and took the test in my place. One of the perks of having an identical twin.”

“No.” She leaned back into her seat in surprise. “Lucas did so well on the SAT that you got a full-tuition scholarship?”

Jace huffed out a breath. “Yeah. I know. I was the one who always studied. He goofed off half the time, and he still probably did better than I would’ve.”

That wasn’t even remotely true. “You would have done at least as well, if not better. Because you’re the one who studied so much.”

Jace kept his eyes fixed on the road, but there was a tightness in his jaw. “That’s exactly what Lucas and I told our parents. That’s how we all justified my accepting the scholarship for a test I didn’t take. But technically, it was illegal. The more time that has gone on, the more we’ve all thought about that decision. I doubt it would ever happen, but if the university found out that the test was fraudulent, they could rescind my degree. Who knows what sort of trouble Lucas could get in.”

His words sat in Marlowe’s stomach, heavy and worrisome. “The university wouldn’t do that, would they? You got straight As in college. You obviously deserved your degree and the scholarship.”

“Yeah. But it was still illegal, and it’s always bothered my parents’ consciences. I put them in a tough position. I was bound and determined to go to college after graduation and didn’t see a point in waiting. They either had to tell me I couldn’t attend college in the fall with my friends or let me do something illegal.”

Marlowe slumped into her seat. It had all happened because she didn’t admit to Mr. Copley that she was the one who walked out with the protein bars.

So there really was no winning his parents over. It didn’t matter how nice she was or how many pies she baked. She was the one who forced them into a choice they still felt bad about seven years later.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If I had known how it would turn out, I would have told Mr. Copley⁠—”

“I know,” he interrupted her. “I didn’t tell you about this to make you feel guilty. You just asked why my parents didn’t like you back in high school.”

He meant why they still didn’t like her.

And then she realized it was even worse than that. Jace would always see her that way too—the girl who didn’t tell the truth when she should have and thus contributed to his fraudulently going to college.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again.

“It’s water under the bridge,” he said.

Apparently not. Apparently, some water didn’t go under the bridge but stuck around.

“Carson is leaving this week, so we won’t have any more family get-togethers for a while.” Jace said this as though she would be relieved. “You won’t have to see my parents until the bazaar, and only then because you signed up to bring pies.” He gave her a pointed look. “Have you tried baking one of those yet?”

“I’ve been busy,” she said.

“Mmm-hmm,” he said knowingly.

“I’ve been watching business tutorials online to try and learn all the lingo.”

“I guess that is more important.”

They talked about her class for the rest of the way home, but that long-ago test was still in the back of Marlowe’s mind.

She kept wishing there was some way for her to fix what she’d done, to take responsibility. It was much too late for that.

The past had already been written—firm and unchangeable.