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“I cannot hold this forever, Gianna.”

“Ten seconds.” She’s already reaching for the tape. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re insufferable when you have a vision, just so you know for any future vision involving endeavors.”

“Thank you,” she says sincerely.

The house looks good—better than I expected when we started pulling things out of the boxes.

The string lights are up the staircase and along the kitchen shelving and wound through the balloon arch.

The playlist Gianna built from Sydney’s Spotify Wrapped is already running low through the speaker, and the punch in the big glass bowl Gianna’s Kappa Pi lent us is full and is already, on first taste, absolutely lethal. I would know, I’m the one who made it that way.

Ashley had appeared at two, looked at the balloons, looked at us, said, “Do you need help?”

Then she spent an hour blowing up the rest of them before disappearing upstairs to get ready. Which was, by any measure, the most enthusiastic house-event participation she’s shown since the text message.

Mel, one of Sydney’s many friends, has taken Sydney to a spa in town with instructions not to bring her back before seven. Which was a relief, because Sydney had a lot of energy this morning. Her twin brother, Austin, sent her a voice memo of what sounds like their entire enormous family singing happy birthday in rounds, badly, and Sydney played it all morning.

It is six forty-seven.

“She’s going to lose her mind,” Gianna says, satisfied, looking around the room.

“That’s the goal,” I say.

My phone buzzes.

Mel

leaving now, ten mins

“Ten minutes,” I say.

Gianna claps once. “Positions, everyone!”

* * *

Sydney loses her mind.

It is, essentially, exactly what you’d expect from Sydney encountering a room full of people she loves. There is screaming. And her tears are brief and theatrical and entirely genuine. There’s a moment where she grabs Mel’s arm and says ‘you knew’ with the betrayed delight of someone who is furious and thrilled in equal measure.

Mel, who I’m meeting for the first time, turns out to be the kind of person who finds this completely normal. A decade of Sydney has clearly prepared her for anything.

The party goes on, the music gets louder, and more people arrive. Gianna and I are busy topping up the punch. I’m smiling ear to ear. Sometimes I’m so focused on my goals, I can forget that this is also what college is about, what life is about.

Sydney finds me in the kitchen at eight. She’s got a cup of punch and a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Bea,” she singsongs.

“Sydney.”

She puts her free hand on my arm. “Bea, I found out something.”

My stomach drops.

“Maya in my Gender Studies seminar told me that you are tutoring Callum Fox.”

I open my mouth.