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She swallows for a moment, looking less like I said something kind and more like I kicked her in the back of the knee.

“You’re not my boyfriend,” she snips. Maybe to someone else it would hurt, but I’ve never been her goddamn boyfriend. The word feels pathetic compared to what I was to her—what she was to me. “So stay out of my business.”

She starts to march away, heading for her own ride home and I watch with my arms crossed in disinterest, but my entire body locked down against the torrent of conflict racing through me.

“Also”—she shouts this time, full volume, pointing at me—“do not follow me home!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” I shout back. A delicious lie on my tongue.

Chapter 22

Lily

I’ve never been a big fan of Valentine’s Day.

In fact, I’d barely known what it was. I didn’t celebrate it as a child, being homeschooled by a particularly intense tutor. My dad hadn’t mentioned it or bestowed me with flowers. He’d never bothered to decorate the house for other holidays, so it didn’t surprise me that this was no exception.

In high school, when I attended Walden Prep with Toren, there were lots of things I didn’t understand. Social cues, sarcasm, why no one else wanted to talk about Van Gogh—and, specifically on February fourteenth, carnations.

But I did know the way I’d felt when Toren handed me a red rose in front of our entire homeroom class. He was so handsome, uniform slightly messy, hair in a low bun with a few pieces trailing toward his face, golden earring to match the brightness of his eyes.

My stomach had fluttered, eyes wide because I’d paid attention all week. I knew what it cost, the ridiculous price for one flower when we had an entire garden of them at home. Which meant Toren had spent his hard-earned cash on something silly and borderline stupid, for me.

I also knew the roses all meant something different. I’d heard some girls in the locker rooms at PE talking about it and made a mental note: Yellow roses were for friendship, pink for admiration—or “he likes you” as one of the girls put it more simply.

Red was for love.

My face had matched the petals as Toren sank into the desk just behind me, his hand playing with the end of my high ponytail as I sniffed the rose and ran the soft feel of it against my cheek.

It was my favorite Valentine’s Day ever. Since then I hadn’t bothered. It became, like so many others, just another day.

Tonight will be better.

Paloma was the one to suggest it—a rom-com movie night, whatever that meant. But I’d nodded until I thought my head would fall off and spent the rest of the day panicking over what I should wear or bring.

It was good that it was in our town house, which we both lived in—in case I forgot anything.

But now, on the actual day, I’d been continuously greeted by pink and red everywhere I went. Store windows I passed, some of my smaller classrooms, bulletins inside each building, and couples everywhere across the cold stretches of campus making out and cuddling warmly.

Would Paloma want to have an anti–Valentine’s Day?

I’d showered when I got home, skin glistening and red from the heat index of the boiling water I preferred to bathe in, then blow-dried and styled my hair as best I could, silk bathrobe clinging a little frustratingly to my still-damp skin. But now I feel antsy and ready to be ready.

Paloma’s footsteps thunder up the stairs and I hear her pause outside my closed door, before she knocks.

“Lily?” she calls. “I’m back. Just give me like ten minutes to change?”

“Okay.”

“Unless you’re—you’ve got other plans?”

“No! No, that’s perfect.” I’m too eager, I’m sure, but her next breath sounds almost relieved.

“Okay, meet you downstairs.”

Once upon a time, I’d been a lonely kid. A mansion high on the hill of our town, cared for by a nanny, and then by a homeschool tutor when I was old enough. There was always an ache in me that craved more—even with Toren, the only friend I knew for most of my life, I wanted girlfriends. Like I saw in movies or on TV shows.

When my dad agreed to allow me to attend Walden Prep, I felt confident that it might be the moment. I’d have girlfriends and Toren could be something different. A friend, yes . . . but more. It’s what I wanted, and the line between the two had grown thin as we got older.