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“I just said he was already accepted when I found out.”

“Did you talk to Ms. Cortez? The judges or the dean or whoever is in charge?”

“Oh my God.” I start rubbing my temples again. Everything is so loud.

“Why didn’t you—” He stops himself short, then shuts his eyes, letting out a long, calming breath. He opens his eyes. “I’m doing it again, huh? I’m not listening, sorry. Can you repeat yourself? I promise to pay attention.”

My headache is beginning to upgrade to a migraine. “Can you stop yelling?”

He opens his mouth, then frowns. “I’m not yelling.” I notice he’s wearing his blazer and his shirt is fully tucked in today. He looks at the cups standing on the desk, then grabs each, shaking them, then grabs the thermos. “You’re drinking this?” He brings it up to his nose, flinches, and takes a sip, then his face pinches together. “Oh my God, Lopez, you’re poisoning yourself.”

“I told you to stop yelling.” I try to stand and my legs buckle.

Theo grabs me, wrapping an arm around my waist before I fall.

“When was the last time you ate? Slept? Anything?”

My answer when the room spins is, “I don’t feel so good.” My eyes roll to the back of my head and my legs fully give out. Theo uses both hands to hold me, stopping me from dropping on the floor.

Black flickers in and out of my vision. I’m lying down; Theo, distantly, is shouting for help. When the haze starts to clear, I reach up and tap his chest.

He notices me, eyes wide, and says, “Violet.”

“Shush,” I tell him, his voice becoming clearer with each passing second. “I don’t need help. This happens sometimes.”

“What?”

“It’s not the first time this has happened.”

“Of course not, because you’re poisoning yourself and not sleeping—”

“Please stop yelling.”

He opens his mouth to deny it, but this time he was, so he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s quick,” I tell him. “I’ll drink some water and take a vitamin. It’ll be fine.” Though I haven’t had an episode like this for a year. They used to happen so much more when I wasn’t used to studying so much and hadn’t built a rigorous but manageable workload.

Am I becoming weaker? Or have I added more work? What went wrong?

“We’re going to the nurse,” he says, moving his arms under me, lifting me to a stand. When I try to speak, he cuts me off. “Don’t argue with me. You won’t win. I won’t stop. This isn’t healthy.”

When I stand, the exhaustion creeps up again and the room is tilting. I should have laid down a little longer. “And you called me dramatic,” I say, or mumble. Words take too much effort.

“Be quiet,” he says, and then he moves. He scoops me up so he’s carrying me in his arms, bridal-style.

Even in my weak state, I feel the embarrassment wash over me. I push at him. “Theo, put me down now.”

“Don’t move or I’ll drop you.”

I instantly stop squirming. “I’m going to kill you.”

“To do that you’d have to be able to stand up, but you’re exhausted.”

He’s right, I am. So I remain quiet, mainly because I’m biding my time when my head doesn’t feel too heavy. I’ll let him take me to the nurse, drink something with electrolytes, and be on my way. Plus, he’s comfortable and warm and smells like fruit, and I breathe in the scent, my head growing heavier but not in the painful way that my headache was doing earlier.

There’s more movement, and talking, and then sweet nothingness.

CHAPTER 15