Chapter 1

My phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the hardwood floor of the empty event hall.

The noise echoed in the silence. The graduation party was over. I was supposed to be helping clean up.

Instead, I was hiding behind a stack of folded tables, my body numb.

I had just heard Liam, my best friend, the boy I' d loved my entire life, talking to his friends.

"Northwestern? For journalism? Are you kidding me? I just told Chloe that to keep her on a leash. She gets so clingy."

His friend laughed. "So where are you really going?"

"Wharton. Finance. Got to put a continent between us, you know? She' s suffocating."

Suffocating. The word bounced around in my head.

I picked up my phone. The screen was cracked. Fitting.

I walked out from behind the tables. Liam saw me and his smile froze. His friends went quiet.

I didn' t say anything. I just looked at him.

He rushed over, his face a mask of concern. "Chloe? What' s wrong? You look pale."

I just stared at him.

"Chloe, talk to me."

"Wharton," I said. The word felt like broken glass in my mouth.

His face fell. He knew I' d heard. He grabbed my arm. "Chloe, it' s not what you think. My dad… he' s forcing me. He said if I didn' t go into finance, he' d cut me off completely."

He looked so sincere, so pained. The Liam I knew, the one who could talk his way out of anything.

"He crushed my dream, Chloe. The one we shared."

I knew his father was a controlling man. It was a plausible lie. But it didn' t matter.

"Don' t touch me," I said, my voice flat.

I pulled my arm away and walked out of the hall, leaving him standing there.

He called my name, but I didn' t look back.

That night, I went home and withdrew my application to Northwestern. I had a regular decision deadline for NYU in a few weeks. I would go there instead. Alone.

The summer was long and hot. Liam tried to get in touch. He called, he texted, he came over to my house.

"Let' s go to the lake."

"My parents are having a barbecue."

"Want to catch a movie?"

I always had an excuse. "I' m busy." "I have to study." "I don' t feel well."

He' d look hurt, but I didn' t care.

Then I saw his Instagram. He was in Europe. Pictures of him on a yacht in Ibiza, a place I once told him I dreamed of visiting. He was surrounded by beautiful girls, a bottle of champagne in his hand.

He didn' t hate the destination. He just hated the idea of going with me.

The pain was a dull, constant ache. It confirmed everything.

I focused on my new plan. NYU. New York City. A new life.

I packed my bags, said goodbye to my parents, and left Oregon without ever saying goodbye to him.