And then suddenly, it all starts to come back to me. Not everything, but big chunks of it. I remember sitting next to Dylan, eating sushi. I got some extra soy sauce around my mouth and he wiped it away with his finger. The moment lasted a little bit too long. I didn’t want it to stop. He leaned closer and kissed me. I kissed him back.

“You’re such a good kisser,” I said.

“So are you,” he said.

“I sort of wish we could kiss longer,” I joked. And then he kissed me again. This time it was longer than a kiss. It was more like a make out session.

I don’t know how much time passed, but when we stopped, he said, “I wish I could kiss you forever.”

“Me too,” I mumbled.

He looked over my shoulder and smiled.

“There’s a wedding chapel over there,” Dylan said. “Do you think that’s a sign?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Well, let’s make it one,” he said. “Alice Summers, will you marry me?”

“Are you insane?” I asked, laughing. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I like you. You like me. We’re really good at kissing. We’ll probably be even better at the other stuff.”

“That’s one reason to get married!” I said.

“Of course it is! We’re really good friends. And relationships are complicated. So why don’t we just marry each other?”

“Because we’re still in college!”

“So? Wouldn’t it be romantic?”

And insane. And crazy. But romantic? Yes, I guessed so.

“Besides, Tristan would hate it,” Dylan added.

Well, if he would hate it then…I started to waver.

“C’mon, say yes. Please say yes,” he said and kissed me again. When we pulled away this time, we were engaged.

* * *

“This can’t be happening,” I say. Everyone’s staring at us.

“You’re remembering it, right? I can see that,” Juliet says. I nod and drop my shoulders. “Dylan? How about you?” Juliet asks.

“Bits and pieces,” he whispers.

“Well, here’s your signed marriage certificate in case you forget again,” Juliet says, handing us the paper. “The minister said that you should expect to get something in the mail about it as well.”

I have to sit down. My head hasn’t stopped throbbing and the locomotive whistling and banging around up there now seemed to have picked up speed. I have no idea what to do about this. All I know is that I don’t want anyone to find out about it. This is so embarrassing. So humiliating. So not like me. I don’t get drunk and do crazy things like this. I’m just a regular person.

This is all Tristan’s fault. If he hadn’t wanted us to take a break, I would never be here alone complaining to Dylan about this. I wouldn’t have ever even kissed him, let alone married him!

Oh my God! My breaths get shallow. My heart starts to beat faster. What if Tristan finds out? He can’t find out. Ever. If he does, it will crush him. This will definitely change our status from a break to a breakup. And I don’t want to break up.

My mind’s racing. I don’t know how to stop it. I need to lie down.

* * *

Dylan and I ride the train back to school in silence. Neither of us is in the mood to talk. The train’s not too crowded and there’s enough room for both of us to take up entire seats. I sit across from him, in the window seat. Juliet, Tea, and Tanner are planning on taking a later train, but also come back today. No one’s really in the mood to stay too long in Atlantic City after the night we’ve all head.

Around Elizabeth, New Jersey, my headache finally starts to fade and I can think clearer. When I look across the aisle, I see that Dylan also stopped staring out of the window like he’s unconscious.

“How could we let this happen?” I ask, sitting down in the seat next to him. He shrugs, hangs he head. “What are you going to do?” I ask. “Are you going to tell Peyton?”

“I have no idea,” he whispers. “We were just getting back into this really good spot. Not fighting so much. I thought we were finally over all that bullshit from last semester. And now this…it’s going to crush her.”

I sigh. “I don’t know what to do either,” I say.

Suddenly, a look of shock and horror appears on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“You’re not actually thinking of telling Tristan, are you?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Alice, you can’t!” His voice aches from desperation.

I haven’t actually given this any thought. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want Tristan to know. I don’t want him to know any of this. I want us to go back to the way things were before he got “confused” and we went “on break.” I want us to be back in that happy place, where everything felt safe and I thought our love would last forever. But we’re not there anymore. This weekend definitely made things a whole lot more complicated. But even though I don’t want Tristan to know about what happened, I mainly want it to never have happened. I’m not sure if I want to lie to him.

“Alice?” Dylan shakes me. I must’ve spaced out for a moment. Or ten.

“Yeah?” I ask.

My eyes focus on the earnest look on Dylan’s face. He doesn’t want me to say anything to Tristan and he’s holding his breath, waiting for my answer.

“Alice, you can’t tell him,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because he’s my roommate! How are we going to make it through the rest of the semester after this?”

“But wouldn’t it be worse if he finds out anyway?” I ask. I can’t lie; the thought of keeping this from Tristan does give me some relief.

“He won’t, if you don’t say anything.”

“But what about keeping this lie? Isn’t that bad, too?”

Dylan sighs. “Of course it is. But…I just don’t know any other way around it.”

We don’t say anything for a few minutes while we both think about this. But more time doesn’t really help me decide either way.

“Okay, what about this?” Dylan says, turning to me. “What if we first try to get this whole thing resolved? You know, get un-married. And then, and only then, tell him the truth.”

That actually sounds like a good idea. Wow, I’m impressed.

“Yeah, that sounds like it could work,” I say. “And by un-married, you mean…”

“I don’t know, I guess we can try to get an annulment. And if that doesn’t work out then maybe a…divorce.”

That word. Divorce. It sounds so adult. Even more than married. Lots of people get married. Not everyone gets divorced. Especially at 19.

“Wow, divorce,” I say, trying to come to grips with the foreignness of the word. “I always thought that I’d have a house with wall-to-wall carpeting, a big mortgage, a golden retriever, and an SUV before I’d ever do that.”

“I thought those things were a requirement,” Dylan says, flashing me a smile. I laugh. This is the first time we smile since last night. It feels good to do it again.

“So you think we can get an annulment instead? What is that exactly?” I ask.

An annulment sounds more reasonable than a divorce. I mean we were really drunk. This was a mistake. How can our situation be subject to the same thing as people who have been married for years? Shouldn’t there be some sort of special clause for accidental weddings?

“I don’t really know,” Dylan says with a shrug. “But from what I’ve seen on TV, I think it’s some sort of alternative divorce for people who were coerced into marriage.”

“Hmm, well, maybe we were coerced. We drank too much. We can’t be held responsible for this,” I say.

“I’m not sure it works that way.” He nods. “This is Atlantic City. If everyone said that they were drunk and should get the opportunity to get a do-over, none of the casinos would be in business anymore.”

“I guess not,” I say.

“As soon as we’re back, I’m going to find out exactly what an annulment is. And whether we can get it instead of a divorce,” Dylan says. “But before we do that, we have to make a promise to each other.”

“Didn’t we already do that?” I joke. “Promised to love each other through thick and thin? For richer and poorer?”

Dylan cracks a smile.

“And look where that got us,” he says. “Okay, let’s promise each other that we’re not going to tell anyone about this. And I mean not anyone. Not Tristan. Not Peyton. Not even friends back home. Until this is all resolved.”

I look straight into his eyes. They twinkle under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“I promise,” I say with a nod.

“I promise, too,” Dylan says. For a second, we dance around possibly giving each other a brief hug to solidify the promise. But instead, we settle on a handshake. It’s more professional. Less intimate.

“Oh, and don’t forget to text Juliet and Tea and Tanner and tell her what we’ve decided. We can’t have Tristan and Peyton finding out any of this by accident,” Dylan says.

I nod and get my phone.