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“Oh, okay, thanks,” I say, grabbing my laptop and rushing back to my desk. I knock over Theo’s thermos as I do. “Sorry, sorry.”

Seven minutes left. I finish the problem, much clearer now that I understand the question. But I don’t hit submit.

The good thing about using this program is that I can find out how well I did immediately. The bad thing about this program is I find out if I did badly immediately.

My finger hovers over the button, my gaze latches on to the countdown. Theo, probably thinking I’m stuck on another question, starts clearing his throat concerningly until the teacher says, “Jesus, Hudson, drink some water, just don’t drop it.”

In a breath of confidence, I click submit. My grade appears on the screen. I stare at it momentarily, my breathing coming rapidly now, then slam the laptop shut.

The bell rings and I get up and walk right out the door, a little dazed, a little out of body. It’s only when Theo grabs my shoulders that the world returns to me and I hear the chatter of the students flooding the hall, the smack of lockers slamming shut, and notice I left all my stuff in class.

“Violet, what’s wrong?” Theo shakes my shoulders. “What happened?”

His concern adds another set of butterflies in my stomach, and the warmth and pressure of his hands on me makes the tears spring easily to my eyes. “I got an A,” I say, the lump in my throat building. “I’ve never gotten an A in math. Ever. In my life.”

“You got an A?” Theo shakes me again, his voice rising with excitement.

My own climbs to match. “I got an A!”

“You got an A!” Theo shouts, then lets me go to grab some random student, shaking the poor boy’s shoulders. “She got an A.” He lets him go and returns to me. He lifts me off my feet in a hug, swinging us in circles. I wrap myself around him, burying my face into his chest, inhaling his scent, letting our joy fill me.

Some students whistle around us, and I catch a few stares when I pull away. It reminds me of Theo going down on one knee.

How different things are now.

Theo puts me down, pushing a strand of hair from my face. “You’re a genius.”

“I am,” I say. “You’re a good teacher.”

“I am,” he says.

We lock gazes. His hands are still on my waist, and mine on his shoulders. There’s no smirk or joke behind the smile he gives. And not a piece of me is confused about what he’s thinking, not like when I first met him. He’s genuinely happy for me because he cares about me. Why else would it matter what grade I got?

No longer do I look at him as this careless golden boy who gave me a headache. Sure, those things may still be applicable, but he’s more than that. More than what I realized.

And knowing that, knowing him, makes my chest feel warm—for only a moment.

It was easier to hurt someone I thought deserved some kind of reckoning. Now, even though I’m still unsure whether or not he is guilty, the thought of hurting him makes it feel like I’m dropping weights on top of my chest.

Theo is getting kicked off the team because of me… he’d never forgive me. And I care about that.

I care about Theo.

But I care about myself more. Right? I mean, I can’t back out now. I won’t risk Rachel going to the dean with this plan, and I already took the money.

Is it worth risking Theo’s friendship?

Yes. Maybe. Most definitely. My future and my goals are more important than anything else, than doing what’s right or caring for someone else’s feelings.

Liar, liar.

The bell rings and I shove myself away from Theo. “My stuff,” I say, remembering I left it all in the class. I hurry back in, gather my belongings to my chest, and rush past Theo. “I have to go.”

“Don’t you have study hall now?”

“You don’t know my life,” I shout before rushing off.

I hear his laugh trailing behind me as I run, and it makes guilt gallop in my chest.