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“Oh.”

It hurts to hear her hurt, my doing, but I can’t keep secrets forever.

“UC Berkeley is an amazing school, and I can see why so many people want to go there. But maybe I would’ve enjoyed the visit more if you’d asked me what I wanted to do?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not easy for me to speak up first.” I fan my fingers out of my palms, deep marks carved into my hand. “I’m not even sure where I want to apply yet.”

“But your future—”

“—is up to me to decide, Atè,” I finish for her. “I appreciate that you want to help. You’re very wise. But I can’t keep letting people make decisions for me.”

Her shoulders slouch, her frown deepening. I have a sudden flash of me being really young, nearly wandering into an elevator at the mall, about to step in with a bunch of strangers. Aprilette grabbed me and said to never go anywhere without her or our parents. She’s always looking after me, making sure I don’t step into any danger, that I follow the path she knows is safe. She’s felt pressure as an Atè, yes, but everything she’s done, it’s out of love. Every thank you I’ve said, she’s accepted with pride and joy.

As she looks at me now, eyes softening, maybe she’s realized I’m becoming my own person.

“You know, Emi,” Aprilette begins, “you’re always going to be my little sister.”

“I know, Atè,” I say, “I know.”

Chapter Forty-Five

The next two weeks drag on slower than the SMARTake class itself.

Since I don’t volunteer at WCH anymore, my parents have doubled the amount of work they expect me to finish. I hate to admit this, but now I wish I didn’t quit. At least I wasn’t trapped in my house.

SMARTake is pretty much the same but also worse. Jase doesn’t look me in the eye, and I just eat lunch alone in my car. The workload is as heavy as ever, only now I have more time to finish everything.

Funny how I, at first, dreaded presenting at Blossoms. Now, I’m missing it. That may show in class when Mr. Daniels asks us to share our mnemonics for our new vocabulary words. I tower my frame in a power stance, projecting without a push from Mr. Squeaky-Shoes. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but every now and then, it seems like Jase looks at me with the same concern he always has when he senses something’s wrong. Or maybe I’m projecting this because I miss him.

I miss everything about this summer.

The smell of watercolors mixing with the smell of coffee. Watching Say It Proudly perform pop-rock bangers perfect for summer. Shooting photos inspired by the week’s theme and staying up late to edit my work. Practicing my presentations with Aprilette’s yearbook photos and Jase as my audience.

I miss tutoring Jase and seeing his face brighten whenever he answered a question correctly. Sharing my photos with him, listening to his unfinished songs and anticipating the ones he extended.

But maybe, like photographs, they’re meant to stay as memories captured in film. Nothing else.

Now, I hand in my final practice exam to Mrs. Sanderson, who thanks me and says I’ve been a good student. Earlier, Mr. Daniels said the same thing without mentioning my Atè. At least I’ve finished this class not only feeling confident I aced the practice exams, but that both instructors just see me as Emilyn. A good, smart student they can distinguish from Aprilette Padilla.

Outside, the sun hits me with heat. I glance back at the SMARTake building, then dig out my phone from my tote bag. For the past few weeks, I’ve taken random photographs—gravel grounds, curbs, benches—without editing the details. Phones don’t have the same features, let alone the same feel or view, as cameras, but I miss taking photos so much I’ll use anything just to snap a shot.

I focus my phone’s camera lens on the SMARTake logo, then tap on the shutter button. I hate how flat it feels, but at least I’ve captured something.

“Emilyn?”

The first few seconds I think I’m fantasizing. When I catch a glimpse of Jase, though, standing there like he did the day of our first SAT prep class, I realize I’m not.

“Jase,” I say, nervous and unsure.

I expect him to tell me, after having time to think, that it’s over between us. Instead, concern glosses in his eyes. He steps closer, hands in his pockets.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

I drop my phone back into my bag just to stall. Am I ready to talk about it? I take in Jase in his entirety, from his sunflower hair to the gold rim around his pupils to the hole in his plaid button-down shirt. I’ve missed it all.

I step close enough that a sliver of concrete ground is all that sits between us. “I got third place.” My voice breaks on the last two words.