Our Story Ends on the Hundredth Page
The 100th time Dexter Carrington ditches me to help my best friend with her lab work, I write the final line in my diary and break up with him.
Dexter is exasperated, to say the least. "I genuinely don't know how your amygdala is wired. Your emotions have completely bulldozed your rational thinking."
My best friend, Brianna Holt, laughs. "That's cruel. You're insulting her intelligence in words she can't even understand."
She's right. I don't understand. The two of them dominate the biology department rankings every year, taking first and second place, and are the kind of prodigies even their professors defer to.
I'm just an ordinary student at the music school next door. When they talk about how cells have their own rhythms, the only thing I can think to ask is what time signature those rhythms are in.
Dexter always hates that. "If you don't understand, don't chime in."
So now I listen. I don't chime in anymore. Because the first page of this diary reads, "Today is my birthday, but Dexter chose to go over data with Brianna.
"By the time this diary is full, I'm leaving him for good."