Chapter 3

Monday morning, the registrar's office was packed.

Graduation paperwork had everyone on edge, faces pinched with barely contained irritation.

I stood in line, holding two forms.

One was a refund request for the joint graduation trip we were supposed to take. The other was a form removing my name from the Sigma Chi fraternity's partner list.

"Rachel?"

A voice like syrup dripped from behind me. I didn't turn around—the exaggerated, drawn-out tone told me everything I needed to know.

Claire hobbled up beside me on a medical crutch she'd definitely acquired through questionable means, somehow still managing to hold a Starbucks cup with dainty elegance.

She took a sip of her iced coffee through the straw, gave me a slow once-over, then her eyes landed on the forms in my hand, and the corners of her mouth curled into a smug little smirk.

"Oh my gosh, Rachel, you're actually going through with it?" Claire pressed a hand to her chest, fake surprise written all over her face. "Steven told me you were just having a little meltdown. I figured you'd run back to him in a day or two."

I didn't respond. I just kept watching the line move.

My silence ruffled her. She hobbled a step closer on that crutch, lowered her voice, and leaned in with pure provocation.

"Rachel, you really don't need to go to all this trouble. Yesterday, Steven stayed with me at the hospital while they patched up my ankle, then he watched movies with me till the middle of the night."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand and let out a fake, pitying sigh—though she couldn't quite hide the smugness underneath.

"He mentioned privately that you've been way too dramatic lately. Guys like girls who are low-maintenance, you know. Pulling stunts like this is just going to push him further away."

Then she raised her coffee and gave it a little shake. "See this? He waited in line for ages to get it for me. He said you never once made him wait in line."

I turned my head and looked at her with total calm.

No anger. No jealousy. Nothing but a faint pity, like watching a clown perform.

"Are you done?" My tone was flat.

Claire blinked, clearly caught off guard by my lack of reaction.

"Then move. You're blocking my view."

I turned back around and handed my forms to the clerk.

"Please remove my name from every record associated with Steven," I said. "Completely."

The clerk kept typing, eyes on the screen. "Just to confirm—the graduation trip cancellation has a fifty percent cancellation fee on the flights."

"Yes. I'm sure."

Paperwork done, I stepped out of the admin building.

The sun was bright, bright enough to sting my eyes.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

On the screen: STEVEN.

His first call since the night everything fell apart.

I answered and said nothing.

"Rachel. Done with your tantrum?" His voice came through with that familiar self-satisfied tone, like he was doing me a favor. There was background noise—sounded like a basketball court.

"I hear you went to the registrar and canceled our trip." Steven laughed lightly, dripping with condescension. "You're so desperate to get me to cave that you're just tossing money at cancellation fees? Rachel. That's a little dramatic, even for you."

I stared at the clock tower in the distance, my voice completely level.

"I'm not being dramatic."

"Okay, listen." Steven cut me off, irritated. "I know you were embarrassed at the party. I checked Claire's ankle first, in front of everyone, and you didn't like it. But I told you—she was bleeding a lot. You really want to make a scene over something like that when someone's hurt?"

He paused, and his tone softened, like he was smoothing down a restless pet.

"There's a get-together at the frat house tonight. Come by. Apologize to everyone, and we'll call it even. The furniture you sold—whatever. I'll just buy everything new again."

Apologize.

He had ground my dignity into the dirt, and now he was asking me to apologize for it.

I almost laughed. "Steven."

"Yeah?"

"Do you actually think I can't survive without you?"

A beat of silence. Then Steven laughed—confident, certain, sure of his place in the world.

"What else is there to think? Rachel, you've been mine since freshman year. Your friends, your life—everything revolves around me. You say you're getting married? Who else would even have you?"

"Okay," I said, calm as still water. "Guess we'll see."

And I hung up. Then I blocked his number.

Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. Every way he could reach me—gone, in one sweep.

I took a deep breath, then flagged down a taxi.

"Vera Wang bridal, downtown."

The city blurred past the window.

In the passenger seat, I pulled out my phone and texted the unsaved number: [On my way to try on dresses.]

A reply, almost instant: [Already here. They have your favorite red velvet cake today.]

I stared at the screen, and my eyes went warm.

This is what being chosen feels like.

No "next time." No waiting in line behind anyone.