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bunch of their football teammates had laughed. Bruce had been so pissed you could see the muscles in his jaw jumping up and down. When they were done with all the Court photos, he’d stormed off the stage without saying good-bye to anyone, and he and Vee had left soon after that.
    Sam and I hadn’t made it to the after-party. I was too traumatized. When I thought about it, it was strange that Vee hadn’t mentioned my absence. Then again, maybe she had been glad not to have me there as a reminder of the election gone wrong.
    The dance already felt like a distant memory. My dad had finished his breakfast by the time I stumbled downstairs. He handed me a cup of tea, which I downed gratefully.
    â€œGood night?” my dad asked with a grin. He nudged my tiara. I’d left it on the kitchen table last night with my keys and cell phone, next to a stack of mail.
    I looked down into my mostly empty mug; decades of spoon stirring had created a network of gray rings on the inside. My mom had always been a big tea drinker, practically a walking Celestial Seasons ad: Irish Breakfast every morning, Black Cherry Berry after dinner with dessert, and Lemon Zinger whenever anyone was sick. I breathed in the peppermint tea my dad had made me, and closed my eyes, steadying myself.
    I mustered as much enthusiasm as I could, and lied.
    â€œYeah, it was great.”
    The next Monday was maybe the first time ever that I dreaded a morning run. Sam and I had texted a little over the weekend, but mostly as part of a group convo about how Kimmie Perkins wore her bra and underwear into the hot tub at the after-Homecoming party, and went commando for the rest of the night. We hadn’t discussed what we’d done. What we’d barely done.
    I still had twinges of pain when my running shorts rubbed the wrong way. As I jogged across my lawn to meet Sam, he stopped his stretching to stare at me like he was trying to read the fine print at the bottom of a sign.
    â€œHey,” he said, touching my shoulder. “You doing okay?”
    â€œYeah, I’m fine,” I said. Except I knew right away that he wasn’t, because Sam never just touched my shoulder. He always draped his arm around me, establishing ownership. But that day he hovered just out of reach.
    I stretched out my hand. “You still coming over tonight?” We had a standing Monday study date. On good nights, we got an hour’s worth of work done before going down to the basement and making out on the sofa bed.
    For a split second, my hand hovered in space, alone. Then Sam’s hand tightened over mine. He pulled me to him and he planted a kiss on my forehead like a blessing.
    â€œCourse.”
    And it was summer again.
    The relief that washed through my body almost took my breath away. I held Sam close. I pressed my cheek against his chest, feeling the familiar stubble of T-shirt print cracked with old age.
    We started our run, and with each step the tension in my shoulders eased. I fell into the hypnotic rhythm of our matched strides, thinking that our Homecoming night hadn’t been perfect, but so what? As long as we had ground under our feet and the wind at our backs, things were going to be okay.
    When I called to make my ob-gyn appointment the next morning, the only time they had available was during my AP English class, which was a shame because it was the one class I actually enjoyed and was kind of good at. We were just about to start The Merchant of Venice , so I gave my teacher a heads-up that I’d be gone.
    â€œYou won’t miss much,” Ms. MacDowell assured me. “I’ll have one of your classmates write up some notes for you. It’s also the first day of extra-credit sign-up for acting out part of the play, though. You can give me a scene preference if you’d like.”
    â€œNo, thank you,” I said. “I’m not really an actress.” That was an understatement. Whatever talent it was that