CHAPTER ONE: TEN YEARS OF ALMOST

CHLOE'S POV

The first time I fell in love with Ryan Whitmore, I was nine years old, wearing mismatched socks and sitting outside the principal's office with a split lip.

He was ten, grass-stained at the knees, and being lectured by a teacher who looked as though she regretted her career choice.

Neither of us was supposed to be there. I had punched a boy who called my mother a liar. Ryan had punched the same boy for calling me ugly. He insisted his punishment was unfair, since the boy had clearly deserved a second punch.

I laughed so hard my lip started bleeding again.

Ryan handed me his handkerchief. It was white, with his initials stitched in blue thread. I kept it for three years, until my mother found it in a drawer and threw it away.

By then, it didn't matter. I had already fallen.

Ten years later, I was still falling, and Ryan Whitmore still had no idea.

"You're staring again."

I blinked.

Across the cafeteria, Ryan leaned against a table, laughing at something a teammate had said. Dark hair fell over his forehead, and his university jacket was shoved up to his elbows. He had the kind of ease that made people look at him without his ever asking them to.

I lowered my eyes to my lunch. "I'm not staring."

Olivia Hayes made a sound that suggested she had heard this lie many times before. "Of course not. You're simply looking in his direction with the concentration of someone sitting a medical exam."

"Eat your fries and leave me alone."

"I would, but watching you suffer is far more entertaining."

I stole a fry. Olivia slapped my hand.

"Sharing is caring," I said.

"Funny. I don't remember agreeing to feed your emotional problems."

I smiled in spite of myself. Olivia was the only person who could do that on my worst days. We had met in our first year of high school, when Olivia borrowed a mathematics textbook and returned it with a page missing. We had fought for two days, made peace over a packet of biscuits, and been inseparable ever since. Now we were both at Westbridge University, Olivia in her second year and me in my first.

There was very little we didn't tell each other.

At least, that was what Olivia believed.

"Anyway," Olivia said, "I need your help with something."

She looked nervous. It was rare enough that I set down my fork.

"What did you do?"

"Why do you always assume I've done something?"

"Experience."

Olivia rolled her eyes and pulled a small folded note from her bag. She unfolded it. Five words, in neat handwriting:

*I THINK I LIKE RYAN.*

For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything.

The cafeteria carried on around us. A tray clattered to the floor. A table near the entrance erupted in laughter. But at our table, the world had stopped.

"I know it sounds stupid," Olivia said, watching me. "But I think I really like him."

Ryan. Of all the people in the world, Olivia had chosen Ryan.

I wanted to snatch the paper and tear it to pieces. Instead, I reached for my glass and found it empty. I set it down again.

"Oh," I said.

Olivia's smile faltered. "That's all you've got?"

"What do you want me to say? Congratulations?"

"Don't be annoying." Olivia nudged my foot under the table. "He's different from the other guys here. He's funny, and he's easy to talk to. Yesterday we talked for almost an hour after class and I didn't even notice the time."

I curled my fingers around the edge of the table.

Yesterday, Ryan had called me to complain about a professor who'd assigned three chapters before the next lecture. I had listened for twenty minutes while brushing my teeth. He hadn't mentioned Olivia.

Why would he? They weren't dating.

"I didn't know you two were talking," I said.

"Not every day. But enough." Olivia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And I think he likes me, too. He asked if I was seeing anyone."

The words landed harder than they should have.

I had spent years trying not to wonder what it would take for Ryan to look at me differently. New haircuts. Different clothes. A carefully practised indifference whenever he mentioned another girl. And now one casual question, asked of someone else, felt heavier than every year I had spent hoping.

"That's nice," I managed.

"I know!" Olivia covered her face. "But what if I'm reading too much into it?"

"Maybe you are."

"You're supposed to encourage me."

"I'm encouraging you to have realistic expectations."

"You're the worst."

I smiled, grateful for the familiar teasing. Then Olivia caught my hand.

"Should I ask him out?"

I looked at my best friend. Olivia was warm, quick, and effortlessly sure of herself, the kind of girl who walked into a room of strangers and walked out with three new friends.

Ryan would like her. Of course he would. Olivia listened when people spoke. She remembered the small details of their lives.

She was everything I had always been afraid I wasn't.

"Why not?" I heard myself say.

Olivia's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really."

"And if he says no?"

"Then it's awkward for a day or two, and you survive."

Olivia laughed and squeezed my hand. "Okay. I'm doing it. Don't go anywhere. I'll tell you everything."

Then she was gone, weaving through the crowd with the note clutched in her fist.

I watched her reach Ryan's table.

He noticed Olivia at once. His face lit up, a small, ordinary change, the kind he gave anyone he liked. But I had spent ten years studying that face. I knew the difference between Ryan being polite and Ryan being interested.

Olivia said something that made him laugh. His teammates began grinning. Olivia glanced toward my table, then away, her cheeks flushing pink.

Then Ryan reached for her hand.

It wasn't dramatic. He didn't pull her close or kiss her in front of the whole cafeteria. He simply took her hand, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

I knew that smile. I had dreamed about it for ten years.

Only now, it belonged to someone else.

Twenty minutes later, my phone buzzed. I was on a bench outside the student center, pretending to read an assignment I had no intention of finishing.

**OLIVIA:** OH MY GOD.

**OLIVIA:** HE SAID YES.

I stared at the screen. I typed *I'm happy for you*, then deleted it. In the end I sent three words.

**CHLOE:** I'm so happy.

**OLIVIA:** We're going out Friday. He said he's wanted to ask me for weeks but didn't know if I liked him.

Weeks.

While he sat beside me in the library, grumbling about assignments. While he stole food from my plate and sent me stupid memes at midnight. While I quietly wondered whether this might finally be the year he noticed me.

I set the phone down and sat very still. Then I laughed, a small, ugly sound that startled even me.

Of course. Why wouldn't he want Olivia? Olivia was kind, and brave enough to say what she wanted. I was the girl who had spent ten years believing that if I stayed close enough for long enough, Ryan might finally figure it out.

I had mistaken being present for being chosen.

And the worst part was that I couldn't even hate Olivia. Olivia had asked, and I had smiled and said *why not*. I had opened the door myself.

The phone buzzed again.

**RYAN:** Hey, Bennett.

I stared at his name until the screen dimmed.

**RYAN:** Your best friend just asked me out.

**RYAN:** I said yes.

I pressed a hand to my mouth. It was childish to be hurt. Ryan had never been mine, and he owed me no explanation. But there was something cruel in being told like this, as if I were just another friend who needed informing. As if I hadn't kept every birthday card he'd ever given me in a shoebox under my bed. As if I hadn't spent my eighteenth birthday wishing he would kiss me instead of hugging me goodbye.

**CHLOE:** Olivia told me. I'm happy for you both.

He replied with a heart. A red one.

I stared at it until my vision blurred, then switched off the phone.

For the first time in ten years, I wished I had never met Ryan Whitmore. And for the first time, I understood that wishing would change nothing.

On Friday, he would take Olivia to dinner. He would make her laugh. The next morning, I would be expected to smile while my best friend told me every detail.

I would listen. I would ask questions. I would pretend that the thought of Ryan's hands at Olivia's waist didn't make me want to disappear.

Because that was what good friends did.

And I, Chloe Bennett, had just promised to be one.