Amelia

My alarm went off at exactly 6:15.

I reached across the nightstand and silenced it before the second chime, then lay there for another few seconds staring at the ceiling while my brain caught up with the fact that summer was officially over. The first day of senior year had sounded much more exciting when it was still three weeks away. Back then, it had been something shiny and distant, college applications, graduation, all the things adults had been reminding me about since approximately the moment I finished junior year. At 6:15 in the morning, though, senior year mostly felt like an unreasonable reason to be awake before the sun had fully committed to coming up.

I finally pushed myself out of bed and crossed the room to my closet, where I’d hung today’s outfit on the door the night before: a navy pleated skirt, white blouse, and the cream cardigan Ruby had informed me made me look like I was “running for student council in a movie.” I wasn’t running for student council, and I wasn’t sure whether she’d meant it as an insult, but I’d worn it anyway. My bag was already packed beside my desk, my laptop charged, and the folder containing every form the school had mailed over the summer was tucked into the front pocket.

By the time I finished getting ready, my phone had lit up with three notifications. One was from Sophie, sent at 5:52, informing me that whoever invented mornings should be prosecuted. The second was a picture she’d sent seven minutes later of two shirts laid across her bed with the caption Choose my fate. The third was from Jack.

Front steps. 7:35. I have something for you.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Jack met me on the front steps every morning. He had since sometime last fall, when we’d accidentally arrived at school at the same time three days in a row and he’d apparently decided coincidence was too unreliable. Now it was simply part of the day. I’d pull into the student lot, he’d be waiting on the steps, and we’d walk inside together. The I have something for you part, however, was new, and knowing Jack, it could mean anything from coffee to a color-coded spreadsheet explaining the itinerary for our usual Friday date.

I typed back, That sounds threatening.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Good.

I was still smiling when I left my room.

The smell of coffee reached me halfway down the stairs, along with Ruby’s voice arguing that twelve was absolutely old enough to be trusted with a second toaster waffle. Dad apparently disagreed.

“One day,” Ruby said as I entered the kitchen, “you’re going to realize you’ve been holding me back my entire life.”

Dad stood at the counter in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, pouring coffee into a travel mug. He held up one finger at Ruby without looking at her, which somehow managed to communicate both wait and absolutely not. Ruby responded by reaching for the second waffle anyway.

I intercepted it.

“Betrayal,” she whispered.

“You’ll survive.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re allowed to eat whatever you want.”

“I’m also seventeen.”

“Exactly. Privilege.”

Dad set my travel cup on the counter. “Good morning to you both.”

“Tell Amelia I’m allowed another waffle.”

“You’re not.”

Ruby stared at him for a moment, then turned to me. “This family is oppressive.”

“Mom has waffles,” I said.

Her expression changed instantly. “How many days until we go back?”

“Christmas.”

She groaned and collapsed dramatically over the kitchen island.

Mom had called the night before to wish us luck on the first day. She’d made Ruby turn the camera around three separate times because she wanted to see how much she’d grown since July, despite the fact that we’d only been home from Mom’s for a little over two weeks. We’d spent most of the summer with her, like we always did, and after years of the same schedule, I was used to the strange adjustment that came with August, the empty chair at dinner, remembering I couldn’t just walk into the next room when I wanted to tell her something.

It wasn’t sad exactly. Not anymore. It was just different.

Dad handed me my coffee. “Your mother says you’re supposed to call her after school.”

“I know.”

“She told me to remind you.”

“She also texted me to remind me that she told you to remind me.”

He nodded. “Efficient.”

“Terrifying.”

Ruby raised her head. “She told me to send her a picture of my outfit.”

Dad glanced at the oversized sweatshirt Ruby had chosen despite the late-August heat. “Your mother is going to love that.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes. “I have a vision.”

“You have heatstroke scheduled for third period.”

I laughed into my coffee.

By 7:18, I was in the car with Ruby beside me, one sneaker braced against the dashboard until I slapped her knee and told her to put her foot down. Her school was only a few minutes from mine, which meant dropping her off barely added anything to my morning. She talked the entire drive about which teachers she hoped she didn’t get and whether middle school should legally be allowed to assign homework during the first week.

After I dropped her off, Sophie called through the car speakers.

“You chose wrong.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“The blue shirt makes me look like I work at a bank.”

“You asked me to choose between blue and green. I chose blue.”

“And I trusted you.”

“That’s really your mistake.”

“I wore the green.”

“Then why did you ask?”

There was a pause.

“For emotional support.”

I laughed. “Where are you?”

“Two minutes away. Is your boyfriend already assuming his position?”

“Probably.”

“Of course he is.”

“You love him.”

“I tolerate him because he makes you happy and occasionally buys me fries.”

“That’s love.”

“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”

The call disconnected as I turned into the student parking lot, and almost immediately I spotted him.

Jack sat on the front steps exactly where he’d promised, his backpack beside him and one hand wrapped around a cardboard drink carrier. His dark hair was still slightly damp, and he’d buttoned his shirt wrong at the bottom, which I could see from halfway across the lot because apparently I’d been dating him long enough to recognize his inability to dress himself from a distance.

He noticed me before I’d made it across the crosswalk.

His entire face changed.

It was one of my favorite things about him, though I’d never told him that. Jack smiled at plenty of people. He was friendly, and contrary to Sophie’s ongoing campaign to convince everyone otherwise, perfectly capable of functioning in public. But there was a particular smile he gave me that always looked like it had happened before he remembered anyone else could see it.

He stood as I reached the steps and held out one of the cups.

“I come bearing gifts.”

“Coffee?”

“Obviously.”

“I already had coffee.”

“Your father makes terrible coffee.”

I took the cup. “You interned for him for six months.”

“And I suffered quietly.”

“You voluntarily came back every day.”

“I was building character.”

“You were getting paid.”

“That too.”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Jack looked pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”

I took a sip and stopped.

Vanilla latte. Two pumps, not three, because three made it too sweet.

Of course.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was a face.”

“It was not.”

“It absolutely was.”

I started up the steps. “Are you coming?”

He grabbed his bag and caught up beside me. “You can’t distract me with movement.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Not successfully.”

His hand found mine as naturally as breathing.

Inside, the school looked almost exactly as it had in May, except someone had hung a massive WELCOME BACK banner across the main hallway and the floors had been polished to a level of shine that would last approximately three days. Students crowded around lockers, comparing schedules and summer stories, and teachers stood outside their classrooms pretending not to look overwhelmed by the sudden return of hundreds of teenagers.

Sophie appeared near the office wearing the green shirt.

“You ignored my professional opinion,” I said.

“Your professional opinion was wrong.”

Jack looked between us. “Good morning.”

“Nobody asked you,” Sophie said.

“Nice to see you too.”

She hugged me before immediately taking my coffee from my hand and trying it.

“Absolutely not.” I took it back.

“I needed to know what flavor.”

“You could ask.”

“Where’s the adventure in that?”

Jack shook his head. “I bought that for Amelia.”

“And now Amelia knows friendship means sacrifice.”

The warning bell rang, and the hallway shifted around us as everyone reluctantly started moving toward class. Sophie checked her schedule, announced that whoever designed it clearly hated her, then disappeared toward the science wing. Jack had calculus across the hall from my first-period English class, so we walked together until we reached the intersection near the library.

“Friday,” he said.

I looked at him. “What about Friday?”

“I have our date planned.”

“You always have our date planned.”

“Yes, but this one’s good.”

“They’re usually good.”

His eyes narrowed. “Usually?”

“Fine. They’re always good.”

“Thank you.”

“What are we doing?”

“No.”

“Jack.”