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What did I think, that Cole would suddenly question his morals just because I wrote a silly little note? That he’d devote himself to becoming a good person? More likely, I expected a lifting of the pressure that’s been tightening my chest since May.
And the one person I thought I could rely on through all of this, the one person I’m desperate to talk to in spite of everything, is only two floors beneath me but seems farther away than ever.
We tried to do good deeds and we’re still here.
We tried to right our wrongs and we’re still here.
We lived life to the fullest and I faced my demons and we fucking died, and we’re still here.
I might need to scream again.
My phone lights up. How do I love thee? Joss and I are wishing you SO MUCH LUCK today!
Even my mom’s text does absolutely nothing for me. I am deeply, utterly lost, with no idea where to go from here. All I know for certain is that nothing I do makes any kind of impact.
And if none of it matters…
Then I might as well throw two middle fingers up to the universe.
I show up in the middle of physics, everyone’s heads whipping toward the front as I sashay inside, my makeshift cape trailing behind me. Today felt like the kind of day for a cape, which I fashioned out of a half-dozen T-shirts knotted together.
“Sorry, did I interrupt anything?” I say, and as the room dissolves into nervous laughter, I feel a pang of guilt toward Dr. Okamoto, who doesn’t deserve this. Who’s never done anything wrong except possess a timeline moving at a slower pace, something even a brilliant physicist like herself isn’t aware of.
Miles is in an aisle seat a few rows up, dressed in that red plaid shirt again. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since we almost kissed, and he has the gall to look… well, I’m not sure. Of all the Miles looks I’ve classified and reclassified over the past few weeks, this one is maybe the hardest to analyze. His face is almost blank, but not quite—there’s something in his eyes, something vast and dark and perplexing. He’s either embarrassed by me, or…
He pities me.
That’s it.
I simply won’t look at him, then, because if I don’t, then my heart won’t do that stuttering thing inside my chest.
Dr. Okamoto stalks toward me, arms crossed over her tangerine blazer. “If you’re in this class,” she says, “I won’t tolerate any disruptions. If you have a legitimate reason for not being on time, please enter as quietly as possible.”
I sit down, making a big show of fluffing out my cape. As disruptively as I can, I unzip my backpack, taking out the giant pencil I bought at a dollar store on the Ave, which was the reason I was half an hour late. Just as Dr. Okamoto is about to pass out the syllabus, I raise my hand.
“Yes?”
I hold my pencil high in the air, waving it back and forth. “Does anyone have a pencil sharpener?”
More laughter.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough earlier,” Dr. Okamoto says. “It’s crucial that students come to my class prepared as well.”
“Is this not prepared?” I say. “One might even make the case that this is overly prepared.”
She blinks at me, clearly unable to comprehend a student doing this on the first day of school. “Please don’t waste any more of our time.” Her exasperated tone turns me silent for the rest of class.
Afterward, Miles catches me outside the lecture hall. “What are you doing?” he hisses, brows pulled together. Two days ago, three days ago, who cares how many days ago, I wanted to press myself against him. I’m not immune to his scent or his gaze or the adorable way his ears stick out, but I pretend that I am.
“Haven’t you heard? Nothing matters!” I say it in a singsong, tapping his head with my giant pencil. “We could rob a bank or set the whole school on fire or commit fucking murder and no one would have a clue!” As students stream by, I speak louder. “You hear that? Do whatever you want today, no consequences!”
A few people raise their eyebrows at me, shaking their heads. I pose dramatically with my cape as one snaps a photo.
Miles rakes his hand through the hair I’ve just mussed with my pencil. “You’re going to feel really ridiculous if tomorrow is Thursday.”
I lean in, giving him a pat on the shoulder. I don’t let my hand linger. I cannot linger on anything remotely Miles-adjacent—I don’t trust myself. “Miles, Miles, Miles. Don’t you understand? It’s never going to be tomorrow. This is our tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And… well, you’re smart, you get it.” I do a flourish with my cape as he just stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “Now, if you don’t mind,” I say, “I have more mischief to attend to.
For the next few hours, I am a tornado. I whirl through campus, tipping over trash cans and bursting into classrooms with bizarre proclamations. “Building’s on fire, better run!” I shout to a chemistry class before pulling the fire alarm. “The school just declared bankruptcy—all classes are canceled!” I declare to English 211 before disappearing outside with a cape swish.
