I wish that I had blacked out. I wish that I didn't remember anything from last weekend. I wish that all the shots and coolers I drank acted like a memory wipe. I wish I didn't remember anything.

I wish. I wish. I wish.

But wishing for things never works. Ever. Wishes are for people who can't face reality. Who don't know how the real world works. Who leave shit up to faith and divine intervention. Wishing is foolish.

And I was a freaking fool.

God, why did I call him? Why did I do that? Such an idiot. Can I blame the alcohol? I could, definitely. Is it actually the alcohol's fault? No. It's not. It's mine. It's mine because I knew I shouldn't have dialed his number. I knew it wouldn't help me move on. I knew that. Deep down. I really did. And yet? I still called.

Like a fool.

And now? I sigh, glancing over at the back of Oliver's head as Mr. Takanaki dismisses the class. And now I'm going to have to talk to him. Tell him that I'm sorry. That it was a mistake calling him. That it didn't mean anything. Because it didn't. That's what I'm telling myself. And if I train my brain to ignore the fact I'm missing him, it'll slowly start believing it. That's psychology.

Mind over matter.

"So you stoked for the senior trip?" Sawyer asks, hopping off the stool and collecting his backpack. "KC?"

"What?" I mumble as Oliver cranes his neck over his shoulder, our eyes meeting for a split second before I turn away, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Oh, the camping trip? I don't know. Three days in the woods doesn't seem like much of a celebration to me."

"It's cabins, not tents," Sawyer chuckles as we walk out of Photography. "Plus, there's gonna be WiFi and actual toilets. Think of it more like glamping."

I roll my eyes. "Bugs are bugs, Sawyer."

"Oh, come on," Sawyer says, checking his phone. "It's gonna be fun. Bonfires? Marshmallows? You'll love it, trust me."

"I doubt that but Max is forcing me to go so I'll be there," I say, subtly scanning the halls for Oliver. Where did he go? I catch the sleeve of his leather jacket turning a corner into the quad. "I gotta go, I'll see you around."

"Wait," Sawyer says, putting out his hand. "What're you doing this weekend? Wanna come to Zeek's with me? He's throwing a little thing at his place. Just a few people. It'll be chill."

"Is Corrine going?" I ask, tossing him a skeptical look. "'Cause if she is, it won't be chill."

"Nah," Sawyer says with a shrug. "She's going to Manhattan with her mom or something. I don't know."

I blink. "You don't know?"

"Yeah, she's been ignoring me all week," he says, pocketing his cell. "Probably trying to get back at me for last weekend."

"She still mad at you for taking me home?" I wince, faded memories of Sawyer attempting to lug me up to Max's parent's house flashing in my head.

"Guess so," he says with a sigh. "Thought she'd get over it by now."

"Buy her some flowers," I suggest. "She likes daisies. Maybe that will help."

"Yeah," he says in a drawn-out breath. "Sure."

"Kay," I say, biting my lip as I check the time. I hope Oliver's still outside. "Well, good luck with that. Let me know how it goes."

"Will do," Sawyer says, reaching for his phone again. "See ya."

"Bye," I chirp, dashing out the glass door. Zipping up my jacket, I look around the quad until I spot Oliver sitting by the welcome sign, his head bobbing to music. I swallow, straightening out my posture as I approach him and tap his shoulder. "Hey."

"Shit." Oliver jolts, glancing up at me before removing his headphone, a nervous smile on his face. "You scared me."

"Sorry." I grin in spite of myself. "Didn't mean to." I flick my nails, nodding beside him. "Do you have a minute to chat?"

"For you," he begins, clearing his throat as he pats the frosty grass, "I have as minutes as you need."

"Right," I say, sitting down and tightening my jacket. Who hangs out outside when it's still 46 degrees?! "So...about last weekend..."

"Ah, that's what this is about," he breathes with a nod of understanding.

"Yeah," I say awkwardly. "Sorry about that. I was uh- I was drunk and I shouldn't have-"

"Don't apologize." He lets out a cynical chuckle. "We've all been there before. It's forgotten."

"It's just-" I exhale. "I don't want you to think that I called because-"

"Because you've forgiven me? Or that you miss me?" he asks, shaking his head as he gazes into the distance. "Don't worry, I don't think that all."

"You don't?" I ask, frowning.

"No," he mutters, taking a deep breath. "Drunk words aren't always sober thoughts." He glances at me with regret in his eyes. "Just like drunk actions aren't sober thoughts."

I swallow, the air between us thickening with tension. He's right but he's also wrong. He's right because I do miss him. I do. Sitting beside him, my heart is beating far too quickly. I can feel it. I can hear it. Every beat. It's so loud.

Deafening.

But he's also wrong. He's wrong because the heart isn't the commander. The brain calls the shots. And despite my heart longing to touch him, to kiss him, my brain is standing firm in its convictions. It doesn't forgive him. It can't.

The brain always wins. Always.

"I'm sorry, Ollie," I whisper, my heart pleading with my brain to stop it. Stop being so scared. So weak. Just stop. "I really am."

Mind over heart.

"It's fine." He smiles at me, scanning my face. There's a gleam of calm in his eyes like he knows something I don't. "It's fine. Really."

"What-"

"I wanted to show you something," Ollie interrupts me, grabbing his backpack. He unzips the larger compartment and pulls out a black portfolio. He opens the folder, delicately grabbing a photograph and flipping it over. "Look."

I blink, staring at the image. It's me. In the park. Leaves everywhere. It's me. I know it's me. That's my hair. My face. My clothes. But it doesn't feel like me. That girl is smiling. She's really really smiling. She looks so happy. Is that really me?

"What do you think?" he asks. "I never got to show it to you earlier. It's quite brilliant, isn't it?"

"It's-" I tilt my head, unable to stop staring at the strange girl in the photo. She looks fun. Nice. Energetic. She looks like someone I'd like to be friends with. Someone who laughs more than she cries. Someone who makes wishes. "It's um... It's really good."

"Keep it," he says, handing me the photograph. "I have more versions developing in the darkroom. You should come by and pick them up this weekend." He shrugs when I cast him a confused look. "Might be a nice gift for your mum or something."

He's developing all of them? For what? For me? For him?

"Why-" I begin but the buzzing of my cell phone interrupts my train of thought. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the notification screen.

Dread washes over me.

"Shit," I whisper, my palms starting to sweat. "Oh, God."

"What is it?" Oliver asks, a frown marring his brows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I mumble, logging into my email, my heart erratic. This is it. This is what I've worked for all these years. My future. It's here. Right here. My head buzzes with hesitation and panic as I close my eyes and hover my finger over the inbox tab. My eyelids refuse to open. To look. To see my fate. Oh, God. "I can't do it."

"Do what?" Oliver asks, shifting towards me.

"Is there an email?" I ask, turning my phone screen in his direction. "From Harvard?"

"Oh...Harvard," Ollie muses, taking my phone. "You sure you want me to check?"

"I can't do it," I repeat myself as I control my breathing. "Please?"

"Okay," he says, pausing for the longest second of my fucking life before an airy and indiscernible hmm escapes his lips.

"Well?" I probe, eyes still shut.

Oliver clears his throat. "Dear Miss Carmichael," he begins slowly. "Congratulations. On behalf of the Committee of Admissions of Harvard University, I am pleased to offer you conditional early acceptance to Harvard as a member of the Class of 2026. You were selected from an extraordinary and talented group of..."

The world stops. Everything stops moving. It's still. Silent. No sounds. No voices. No noise.

Nothing.

I got in. I- I got in. I did it.

It- it was worth it. Every late night. Every missed party. All the tears. Breakdowns. Headaches. Sleepless night. It was...worth it. They want me. Harvard wants me. I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. I did it. I got in.

Now to do it all over again. For four more years. Because I can do it.

I will do it.

"Kennedy?" Oliver's voice cracks through my thoughts. "Kennedy?"

"What?" I ask, my vision slightly blurry.

"Did you hear me?" he asks, a wide grin on his face. "You got in! That's incredible! Congratulations! I knew you would."

"Thank you," I whisper, forcing a smile. "I'm so happy." His smile wavers for a second. "I gotta call my dad."

"Of course," he says, handing me my phone. "Here."

"Thanks." I stand up, dusting tiny flakes of frost from my jacket.

"Don't forget this." Oliver hands me the photograph. "Let me know if you're free this weekend to get the others, yeah?"

"I will. Thanks, Ollie," I say, slipping the photo into my backpack before dialing my dad's number. I wave goodbye to Oliver as I head back into the school, the line ringing in my ear.

"Well?" My father asks, answering the call.

"I got in!" I exclaim, sucking in a sharp breath. "I got in, daddy!"

"Read it to me," he demands.

I pull up the email and read him the letter, my gut stirring with every word.

"Now," Dad begins as I finish the last time, "As much as I would love to celebrate this accomplishment, I need not remind you that your admission is conditional on finishing the rest of the year in excellent academic standing."

"I know-"

"Do not interrupt me," he states. "I do not want you to think that just because you received that letter, you can slack off. Understand?"

My teeth clench as my heart rate accelerates. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he says. "I expect you to work hard these last couple of months. Harder than you've worked before. Do not bring shame to the Carmichael name."

"I won't." I swallow a lump in my throat as my fingertips tingle. "I promise."

"Good. I must go now," he says. "We will talk later."

"Okay-" And he hangs up. As usual.

My hand drops to my side, my gaze unfocused as I stand in the middle of the hallway.

Work harder. I have to work even harder. Okay. I can do that. I can. I've done well so far. I've managed to ace everything. Every test. Every presentation. Every report.

I did it.

But I- I didn't do it alone.

Shit. Oh no. I have none left. I took them all for midterms. Why did I do that? Why didn't I save a couple?

In the corner of my eye, I see Zeek coming out of a classroom. Maybe he has some. He might, right? I mean...worth a shot. Right?

"Hey!" I call out, catching up to him.

"Hey," he says with a mild scowl. "What's up?"

"Sawyer, he um...he invited me to your place this weekend," I say, easing in carefully. "Is it cool if I come?"

"I guess," he says bitterly with a shrug. "Just don't bring your blue slips, kay?"

"Don't worry." I let out a nervous laugh. "I won't."

"Good," he says, a sly smirk creeping up on his face. "Cause we plan to party."

A chill night my ass, Sawyer.

"Umm...speaking of which-" I clear my throat. "I know you're uh- the go to for um...party drugs but uh-"

He narrows his eyes at me. "What?"

I bite my lip.

For Harvard. For my dream. For my future.

"Do you have any Adderall?"

Zeek's silent for a second before he bursts out laughing. "Baby, I got it all." He wraps his arm around my shoulder. "Welcome to The Pharmacy."

____________

Y.I.K.E.S

THOUGHTS? PREDICTIONS?

There are only 7 chapters left FYI .... hehe