Thursday morning I stare at my report card in Mrs. Patterson's office like it's written in a foreign language. F in calculus. D in chemistry. C-minus in everything else. The fluorescent light overhead buzzes, making the numbers swim.
"These aren't just failing grades, Evelyn." Mrs. Patterson's voice drips with concern that feels like judgment. "This is academic freefall. Yale will rescind any acceptance the moment they see this."
I know. The knowledge sits in my chest like a stone. But all I can think about is last night—four hours of exquisite torment that left me hollow and desperate.
"My father's sending me to military school anyway." My voice sounds dead even to me. "So it doesn't matter."
Mrs. Patterson sighs, adjusting her reading glasses. "Is this about the video? The boy? Evelyn, you're throwing away your entire future for—"
"For what?" I cut her off. "For the first real thing I've ever felt? My future was never mine anyway. It was his plan, his dream, his control disguised as love."
At lunch, Mia ambushes me by the abandoned art wing where broken easels gather dust. Her face is set with determination.
"This is your last chance, Evie." Her voice shakes. "End it with Caleb today, and I'll help you. We'll study together, get your grades up, beg teachers for extra credit. I'll even talk to your dad, tell him you've changed."
Her eyes fill with tears. "Or keep destroying yourself for someone who's just using you, and lose me forever. Choose."
I look at my best friend since third grade. The girl who held my hair during my first period, who celebrated every perfect score with ice cream, who knew all my secrets before Caleb.
Then I think about him. The only person who's ever made me feel alive instead of just performing life.
"I choose him," I whisper.
Mia's face crumbles, then hardens into something I've never seen before. "Then we're done. Don't call me when he gets bored and throws you away."
She walks off, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Another piece of myself breaks off and floats away.
Friday after school, my father's waiting in the kitchen with a military-green suitcase.
"Pack your things." His voice is arctic. "St. Catherine's Military Academy has a spot opening Monday. Six AM pickup."
I stare at the suitcase—my future prison in luggage form. His face shows no emotion, like he's shipping off a defective product for repair.
"I need this weekend," I manage. "To say goodbye to Mia. To get my things from school."
He considers, probably calculating the risk. "Fine. But Sunday night, eight PM sharp, you're back here. Ready to leave."
I nod, already planning. That night, I pack a different bag—clothes that aren't mine anymore, the burgundy dress, whatever cash I've saved. I climb out my window for what might be the last time.
Caleb's waiting in his car, engine running. "Drive," I say, throwing my bag in back. "Just drive."
His house feels different when we arrive. Quieter, like it's holding its breath. His mom's at work—double shift again, won't be back until Monday.
"You sure about this?" He sets my bag by his door carefully. "Whole weekend?"
"I have nowhere else to go." The truth tastes bitter. "Mia's done with me. My father's shipping me off to military prison. You're all I have left."
Something flickers in his eyes—guilt? Fear? Pain?
"Evie—"
"Don't." I step closer. "Just... can we pretend? For two days? That this is real, that we're real?"
He pulls me close, and for once, it's just holding. No games, no teasing, no power plays. Just two broken people clinging to each other in a broken house.
Saturday is strange and perfect and nothing I expected. We eat cereal at 2 PM straight from the box. Watch terrible horror movies that make me hide my face in his shoulder. I wear his t-shirt that hangs to my knees and smells like him.
He teaches me to play video games badly, laughing when I die immediately every time. I help him clean the disaster of his kitchen, finding dishes that might be archaeological artifacts.
It's domestic and normal and nothing like our usual dynamic of power and desperation.
"Is this what you do on weekends?" I ask, curled against him on the couch, his heartbeat steady under my ear. "Just... nothing?"
"Pretty much." His hand plays with my hair absently, like he doesn't realize he's doing it. "Disappointing?"
"No." I turn to look at him. "It's perfect. I've never done nothing before. My whole life has been scheduled, planned, optimized for success. Every minute accounted for."
I trace patterns on his chest. "I'm eighteen and I just learned what it feels like to waste time. To just be a person instead of a project. Instead of someone's expectation."
Saturday night, the teasing returns but different. Gentler. He touches me like I'm precious instead of a toy, bringing me close to the edge but pulling back with apologies in his eyes instead of cruel smirks.
I don't beg this time. Just accept it, let the want simmer under my skin like a constant ache I'm learning to live with.
Sunday morning, I wake up in his bed—we slept, just slept—and reality crashes down. Tomorrow I'll be at St. Catherine's. This fantasy will be over. This glimpse of what life could be will end.
Sunday night, everything breaks.
I'm sitting on his bathroom floor, the cold tile pressing through my jeans, sobbing so hard I can't breathe.
"I can't do this anymore." The words rip out of me. "I can't go to that school. I can't lose you. I can't keep wanting you this badly and never having you. I'm going insane, Caleb. Actually, clinically insane."
He sits beside me on the floor, pulls me into his lap like I weigh nothing.
"Hey, stop." His thumb wipes at my tears. "You're not going insane."
"Then why?" The question explodes out of me. "Why do you keep rejecting me? Is it really just a game to you? Making me beg over and over? Do you get off on the power?"
He flinches like I've slapped him.
"That's what you think? That this is still about power?"
"What else could it be? You've had me on my knees begging. You've had me desperate for months. What more do you need?"
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, broken.
"You want to know why I won't sleep with you? The real reason?"
I nod against his chest.
"It's not the game anymore. Hasn't been for weeks." He takes a shaky breath. "It's because once I have you completely, once you get what you want, you'll realize I'm nothing special. Just some poor kid with a drunk mom and no future. And you'll leave."
He's trembling now too. "Like everyone leaves. My dad before I was born. My brother when he turned eighteen. Even Stacy, eventually. Everyone."
I pull back to look at him, really look at him. This boy who seems invincible, who's had me on my knees begging, is terrified. Actually terrified of being abandoned.
"You idiot," I breathe.
And then I do something I've never done before. I push him back against the bathroom wall and kiss him with everything I have. Not desperate or begging, but claiming. Taking control for the first time in whatever this is between us.
"I'm not going anywhere." I say it against his mouth like a vow. "Even if my father locks me in military school. Even if I never see you again after tonight. I'm yours. Don't you get that by now? You've ruined me for anyone else."
I stand up, pulling him with me, leading him to his bedroom. My hands aren't shaking anymore.
"No more games. No more waiting. No more fear."
I look him in the eyes, and for once, I'm the one with all the power.
"I'm taking what's mine."