Chapter 2

The first thing I did when I got back to my room was log into the Harvard applicant portal.

I stared at my application status.

Without a second of hesitation, I clicked the button at the bottom of the screen: [WITHDRAW APPLICATION.]

A confirmation prompt popped up. [ARE YOU SURE?]

[YES.]

Then, I opened a new tab and logged into my Common App account. I navigated to the college search bar and typed in a new name.

Stanford University.

Without hesitation, I clicked the [Add to My Colleges] button. My new target was set.

Three thousand miles away on the West Coast. Endless California sunshine all year round. No biting Boston winters. And more importantly, no Henry.

Just as I closed the laptop, my phone lit up. A text from Henry.

[Hey Sloane, how’d the interview go? Sleep okay last night?]

Staring at his message, a wave of physical nausea washed over me.

I didn't reply. I just tossed my phone onto the bed.

The next day at school, I wore a baseball cap pulled low to hide my butchered hair.

Henry was leaning against my locker, waiting for me just like always. The second he saw me, his eyes flickered. A flash of guilt crossed his face, but it was instantly swallowed up by his usual arrogant smirk.

"What’s up with the hair?" he asked, playing dumb as he reached out to tug at my cap.

I tilted my head, dodging his hand.

"Cut it," I said flatly.

"Why the sudden chop? Looks weird." He chuckled, seemingly satisfied that I wasn't throwing a tantrum. "Anyway, how was the interview?"

"Bombed it," I said. I looked him dead in the eye and caught the unmistakable flash of relief in his gaze.

"Hey, it’s fine." He patted my shoulder, his tone dripping with condescending pity. "Even if you can't get into Harvard, you can go somewhere else. I'll be at Harvard anyway, so you can just come visit me in Boston."

I stared at him, suddenly finding the whole thing hilarious.

How did the old me ever mistake this insufferable arrogance for love?

"Right," I muttered, turning on my heel and walking into the homeroom.

I had barely taken three steps through the door. Someone had snatched the baseball cap right off my head from behind.

"Nice hat, Sloane! Let's see what you're hiding—whoa!"

It was Jason, the loudmouth varsity linebacker. He dangled my cap in the air, but his eyes, along with every single pair in the room, were glued to my head.

For a split second, the classroom was dead silent. Then, it erupted into brutal laughter.

"Damn, Miss Piggy got a buzzcut!"

"Going for that 2007 Britney meltdown look, huh? Fits the body type!"

A pack of guys in the back row howled, slamming their hands on their desks. Just then, Henry strolled into the classroom. He took in the scene, and instead of defending me, a cruel, mocking smirk played on his lips as he joined his friends.

But then, his eyes met mine. His smirk instantly froze. The laughter died in his throat.

A phantom sting of humiliation pricked my chest.

I turned to Jason, staring at him with eyes so dead and icy that his obnoxious laughter faltered. The room's volume started to drop.

"Keep the hat, Jason," I said, my voice cutting through the remaining giggles like glass. "It smells like cheap body spray now anyway."

Without waiting for his reaction, I walked right past them and sat down at my desk.

Over the next few days, I was like a completely different person.

I stopped going out of my way every morning to grab Henry’s favorite iced Americano. I stopped organizing his study guides. I stopped sitting in the bleachers like an idiot, cheering for him during his basketball practices.

I completely iced him out of my social life, pouring all my energy into my classes and getting my body back on track.

Now that I was off those pills, my body finally started flushing out the excess water weight and fat. A one-hour run every day became my only outlet for the rage inside me.

Henry definitely noticed me giving him the cold shoulder, but he didn't care.

In his mind, I was just throwing a pity party over my failed interview. He was dead certain I couldn't live without him. He thought all he had to do was snap his fingers, and I’d come running back like the obedient little puppy I used to be.

Then, one day after school, he cornered me at the front gates.

"Sloane, what the hell is your problem lately?" he demanded, his brow furrowed in pure annoyance. "So you had a bad interview, get over it. I already told you it's fine. How much longer are you gonna keep giving me attitude?"

I stopped in my tracks and just looked at him.

Looked at the face I had loved for ten years.

"I don't have a problem, Henry," I said, my voice so chillingly calm it even surprised me. "I just think it'd be best if we kept our distance from now on."

"Keep our distance?" He scoffed like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. "Sloane, don't forget **our families' arrangement. We're practically engaged."

"Are we?" I gave him a ghost of a smile. "You might want to go home and ask your parents if that 'little arrangement' still exists."