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There’s a moment of silence that’s filled with the dull rush of rain and distant traffic.

“Shall I…” I hesitate. “Need me to stay away from you?”

“I don’t want to…” It’s her turn to hesitate. “This is a Harvard thing for me. A work thing. That’s how I’ll be approaching it. And obviously, we’re not supposed to be together anyway.”

Sophie Sutton: a stickler for professionalism and formality. But it still stings like shit, like alcohol rubbed right into an open wound, and it takes all my willpower to not let her see me flinch.

“Right,” I say. “Yeah, of course.” I hitch my grin back on my face. “Don’t worry. I won’t get in the way of you schmoozing.”

“I’m dreading it,” she says flatly, and I can tell she’s telling the truth. “The insane workload I can deal with. But having to suck up to the kind of people who’ve been looking down on me my whole life is giving me nightmares. I can’t stand it.”

“I know.” My tone softens. “But it won’t be so bad. It’s not just going to be obnoxious right idiots like me. My mum will be there. A lot of lawyers, too, the kind of people who’ll inspire you. You’re going to meet people you can actually talk to. You’ll see.”

She nods, and draws closer, raising the umbrella above me. “Thanks,” she says. “I know it’s not easy, Evan, this whole thing. But for what it’s worth, I really appreciate your patience and understanding.”

“Andthe secret fucking, obviously.” I reach down to kiss her cheek. “Will you need a lift to the city—for the gala?”

“No, I’m riding in with this girl from my class.”

“A new friend?”

She shrugs. “Who knows.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you there, then. From afar, of course.”

From afar.Like I won’t be spending most of the night searching for her in the crowd, watching her draw everyone’s attention, watching people being inevitably pulled into her field of gravity while I’m cast out of orbit, forced to remain as cold and remote as a faraway star. Like I won’t be feeding on the sight of her beauty, the addictive heat of her presence, wishing I could stand at her side proudly instead of remaining hidden in the shadowy corners of her life.

A wave of bitter resentment rises through me; I throw it back with all my strength. I’m the one who begged to be her secret. No point in regrets now.

Oblivious to my inner struggle, Sophie reaches up to kiss my cheek, too. “Good luck at KMG. Be brilliant.”

“Brilliance might take a while.” I smile wryly. “I’ll start by trying not to be dull.”

“That’s going to be a real challenge for you,” she says with the kind of cruel little smirk that always gets my blood burning. “But I’ll be rooting for you.”

She steps back, her boots splashing against the wet concrete, the rainfall throwing a grey veil between us, and for a second, I don’t want her to leave.

Every time we part, it feels like I’m stepping out of the real world and into a different existence. A colourless, dull void, where nothing really matters and living is a joyless, boring endeavour. I wonder how long we can keep this up before it becomes too much. I shove the thought firmlyaway.

“You will?” I say lightly. “Thanks, Sutton, oh, and—” I show her my middle finger. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll go put on your sweatshirt, then,” she says, turning away. “I’ll make sure to call your name when I do.” She looks back at me over her shoulder, pulling out her tongue. “Love ya, loser.”

My heart skips a beat. Is this a trap? Iwantto say it back, but feel like I shouldn’t, like this is just like the gala, Sophie keeping me close but never close enough. Does she even want my love? She must do, why else would she keep calling me back to her? Why else would she say it? But if it is a trap, then—

Fuck it.

“Love you too.”

If life was likea movie, Sophie’s love would be enough to transform me into the man I was always meant to be. Like a prince’s transformation, I’d shed my old skin and emerge a newer, better, shinier version of myself. Movies make you think that improvement is just about willpower, that you’re only ever a montage away from the person you’re meant to be.

But that’s not how real life works. Real life is Sophie: It’s spending years working harder than anyone around you only to be mocked and looked down upon. It’s working yourself to the bone for the things you want, not for fifteen minutes, but for every single day of every single week of your life. It’s doing everything you can to get the things you want when getting those things isn’t even guaranteed.

So what other choice do I have?

I getto work.

It’s even harder to start, because by this point everybody in the department seems to be expecting mediocrity from me. I find myself wishing I’d made a better first impression, appeared more enthusiastic, driven, ambitious.