Chapter 1

When the acceptance letters went out, the childhood friend who'd repeated a year got into the same university as me.

The day before the semester started, I got my boyfriend and my best friend together to play a game. My boyfriend picked a marksman, and the second he did, my best friend locked in support, then typed:

"Big bro, protect me, okay?"

"Big bro, I'm dying, save me!"

"Big bro's so good!"

"You're so mean, how come you never come help me?"

I couldn't help it. I opened my mic and snapped, "Can you be normal for once? Do you have to make it this gross?"

To my surprise, my boyfriend took his side. "Do you really have to be so hostile toward him?"

"It's the twenty-first century, and you're a college girl with a real education. Is all your brain does compete with other women?"

What? Compete with other women?

I froze.

But my best friend is a guy.

Even after the game flashed "defeat," my head was still a fog.

What? Female competition? Me and Roderick Harding?

He's a guy, six foot two. What exactly would I be competing with him over?

The most we've ever competed over in all these years was who ranked first in our grade back in high school.

But before I could say anything, I realized Saul Dickerson had just kicked me out of the room.

The anger flared up all at once.

It's always like this. I never do anything wrong, and yet Saul flies off the handle for no reason, then goes cold on me, ignoring my calls, ignoring my texts, keeping a stone face even when we pass each other in class, refusing to answer no matter what I say.

Then, when I finally can't take it and bring up breaking up, he comes crawling back, coaxing me, begging me not to, saying he was just too angry and he'll change next time for sure.

And I'm sentimental and soft-hearted, so I forgive him.

And the next time it's the exact same thing.

Around and around until I'm worn out.

It's just a relationship. How is it more exhausting than the whole year leading up to the SATs?

I found Saul's chat and typed:

"What now?"

He sent back a single question mark.

What kind of attitude is that?

I got angrier, but I held my temper and replied, "Is there anything you can't just say normally? You have to be like this?"

He fired back instantly:

"Doreen Finch, you actually have the nerve to interrogate me?"

"He called me big bro a couple of times, that's all, and you cursed him out that viciously. What's wrong with me saying something to you?"

I was done being gentle. The words I typed weren't soft or tactful anymore.

"Me cursing out my best friend is none of your damn business!"

A whole string came rattling back:

"How is it none of my business? You only went off on him because of me, didn't you? I can't figure out what's going through your head every day. What's so satisfying about this kind of jealousy?"

"He's your best friend! I don't know where you got this rotten temper. You grew up with him and you can't even learn from him. If you were half as gentle, half as understanding as he is, I'd count my blessings!"

"I just talk to someone else a little and you throw a fit. You're so controlling. Being with you leaves no room to have any friends at all. We might as well just break up!"

Roderick? Gentle? Understanding?

I could not connect any of those words together.

But I'd been blinded by rage long before this, with no time to think through the details buried in Saul's words, and I fired back, furious:

"Fine, let's break up! I've had enough of you anyway!"

The moment I sent it I went straight down the line, blocked and deleted, then threw my phone onto the bed.