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One corner of his mouth lifts. Not a real smile, not even close. Not the kind that shows off his dimple.

And just like that, the ache I’ve spent three years learning to live with feels brand new again.

My heart squeezes, and I look away because it hurts too much. My gaze collides with Camila’s. She’s dancing a few feet away and looking right at me. Her eyes move briefly across the gym, to where Juliet and Vinny sway together, then back to me. I can tell by her face that she saw the whole thing.

I turn my head, avoiding it all.

Because Jacob Westenskow asked me to prom.

I should be thrilled.

I am thrilled.

I just wish there wasn’t another boy I’d rather be dancing with instead.

Present Day

I’m in a good mood when I walk out to Carly’s car. It’s a Saturday afternoon. The sun is shining. School is out in a few weeks. I’m with my friends. And I’ve already given myself a pep talk in the mirror—today is not about me. Today is about Juliet. Her wedding dress, her moment, her happiness.

I can do that.

I want to do that because we’ve had years of friendship and conversations dreaming about our wedding dresses.

Since Juliet’s mom can’t drive, they’re meeting us at the bridal shop, saving me from wedding planning the entire drive there, which feels merciful, considering the circumstances.

Carpooling with my friends will be much more chill.

Carly’s already in the driver’s seat. She’s always the designated driver. Blair’s in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone, and Camila’s in the back.

I slide in next to her and shut the door behind me. “Who’s ready for an abundance of tulle and lace?”

No one laughs. Not surprising, since it wasn’t that great of a joke, but still, the vibes seem off. The music is on, but barely. Low enough that it feels like background noise instead of something anyone actually wants to listen to.

I glance around the car.

Carly’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly as she pulls away from the curb.

Blair’s not even pretending to scroll anymore, just staring straight ahead.

Camila looks directly at me.

And I feel it before she even says it.

“Emma.” Her tone confirms my worst nightmare.

I cautiously look between the three of them. “Yes?”

“This is an intervention.”

“I wasn’t aware I was an addict.”

Blair turns around in her seat, resting her arm over the headrest. “You are. Just not to substances. You’re addicted to Vinny Brooks, and we all know it.”

I let out a short laugh—too quick and too sharp to be believable. “Wow. Okay. That’s not true.”

Deny. Deflect. Defend. It works for politicians; why can’t it work for me?

Carly doesn’t even look back at me, just keeps her eyes on the road. “There’s no point in denying it, Em. We all know.”