I open my laptop, waiting as it whirrs to life. My ginger cat twists around my ankles, nudging my hand, hoping for scratches. I tickle behind her ear. “Looks like our old friend has been making waves again, Biscuit. Let’s see what he’s been getting himself into this time.”

When I type Ethan’s name into the search bar, hundreds of results line up.

Steele Industries revolutionizes online security.

$10,000,000 donated to rescue efforts by technology tycoon Ethan Steele.

Love is in the air? Ethan Steele spotted on a date with Lorina Valencia.

Lorina Valencia. When I first read about her and Ethan, my heart broke again, especially as I scrolled through picture after picture of them together. Lorina is gorgeous. She is slim and lovely with thick, heavy lashes and full lips, an aspiring model who has already appeared in a few magazines. I’d seen her once as the model in a perfume advertising campaign, wearing nothing but a scarf draped around her. I’d imagined that body wrapped around Ethan’s and cried.

“All these years missing him, Biscuit. Doesn’t look like he’s missing me, does it?”

It hurts to think he’s out there living his life while I’ve put mine on hold. I guess I’ve never stopped waiting for him. Chloe says it’s because I never got closure. I suppose she’s right.

Ethan and I grew up together. We shared our first awkward kiss when I was thirteen and he was fifteen. After that, through our teens, we were glued together. We started making plans for what would happen after high school. We were going to travel the world.

Then, three days after my graduation, he vanished.

If he hadn’t become such a success, maybe I’d never have known what became of him. I wish that’s the way things had gone. I wish I didn’t know. Instead, I have to deal with his face in magazines, his name in the stories. I have to look at him holding hands with his gorgeous Italian girlfriend and read about how she inspired him to give others the chance to find their true love.

It hurts to know he’s going on and accomplishing his dreams without me to share them, but I’m glad he’s happy. Even though he broke my heart, I still love him. I always will.

That doesn’t mean I can’t have my own life, though. If Ethan is with Lorina, and he’s never coming back, then maybe Chloe is right, and it’s time I try to find someone new to love.

It’s been eleven years. Nobody can say I didn’t give him a chance to look me up again.

My eyes linger on his picture for a moment longer. He’s so handsome and sharp. Look at how refined he is in his suit with his perfect hair. He must wear contacts now because the wonky glasses are gone. This new Ethan is nothing like the scruffy teenager who used to keep me warm when we were staring at the stars.

Let him go, Lily. It’s time to move on.

I type in Destiny. Ethan’s app is sponsored, the first result on the page.

I click on the link, and the site opens up. I doubt Ethan was the person behind the slick, modern commercial design. Sleek, silver-edged phrases are dancing on my screen against an ombré backdrop. In the center of the page is a large, tempting red button that says “Match me.”

I click it. It brings up the payment page. Romantic, Ethan. Dutifully, I fill in my card details, and click “next.”

Security. It asks a lot of questions; it wants proof of a recent utility bill at the address I’ve given. I boot up the printer I never use and scan in a page.

I turn to my cat. “What do you think? He’s stealing all our identities? Maybe the government has him profiling us all, and we’re so desperate for a date that we type it in without thinking twice.”

I look over at Biscuit, almost expecting her to laugh at my joke. The cat stares at me, blinks lazily, and stretches, leaving tufts of ginger fur on my bedsheets.

The site asks me to identify my gender and sexual orientation before it will let me continue. I select “female” and “heterosexual,” then click “next.”

“What? God, Biscuit—how much does he need to know? Quiz one of twenty-five! So much for security. He wants my life story!”

I stare at the first question.

You’re going on a first date at a bar. What do you wear?

1. A pantsuit
2. A floral dress and flats
3. A red dress and heels

“I’m not sure what to put. There’s no option for ‘a paint-covered shirt and some sneakers.’”

I pick the floral dress and move on.

You’re meeting a man on a first date at the bar. Which of the following outfits is sexiest for him to wear?

1. T-shirt and jeans
2. A tailored suit
3. Chinos and a shirt

Two images appear in my mind at the same time. One of Ethan as he was. One of Ethan as he is. T-shirt and jeans, or a tailored suit?

I select “B.” As much as I loved Ethan’s terrible dress sense when we were kids, I must confess that there’s something about a man in a suit. I answer ten more questions and finish the first quiz.

The next one is different. It shows a series of pictures, and for each one, you type the first word that comes to mind into a little box.

The first picture is a man with a puppy. Cute.

A scientist. Boring.

A couple laughing hysterically, leaning into each other and looking into their partner’s eyes. Desire.

I wonder what the point is. Maybe this is how the app figures out your subconscious longings?

Another quiz. I’m starting to enjoy them.

“Are you more of a risk-taker or more likely to play it safe? Hmm, what do we think, Biscuit? Twenty-nine years in the same old town. I think we like to play it safe. Am I right?”

Next question.

“Which Hogwarts house best fits your personality? Hmm. Definitely Hufflepuff, I think. And you’d be my Hedwig.”

I scroll to the next question and read aloud. “Which describes you best: logical or dreamy?” I laugh. “We both know the answer to that one.”

* * *

“We need to start making plans, Ethan!” I pull out the map of the world I bought at the bookstore and lay it on the ground. I lie on my stomach with my feet kicking up behind me and let my eyes wander over the world. “I want to go to New Zealand and Russia. Ooh, India! Let’s go there!”

Ethan lies on the ground next to me and scans the map. I wait for his arm to close around my waist and pull me closer, but he doesn’t touch me. There are inches between us that feel like miles.

“And how are we going to pay for this trip around the world, Lily?”

“Pfft! Who cares? We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“We wouldn’t even be able to afford the visas for some of these places.”

“And? I’ll waitress for a bit. You can work in a warehouse. We’ll save up.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“It’s starting to feel like a pipe dream, Lily.”

I turn to face him and frown. “We’ve been talking about this forever. I thought this was the plan.”

“There’s a difference between a dream and a plan.”

A year has passed since Ethan’s mom died. It seems like ever since he lost her, all his dreams have been replaced with plans that will take him away from me.

“Not to me, there isn’t. Sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith, or else you’ll get stuck in the same world forever.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I close the inches between us, shuffling across the carpet of my bedroom and rolling onto my back to stare up at him. Ethan kind of smiles, but his eyes don’t change. He’s become hollow lately.

I reach up. My fingers brush against his face. “We can make it happen if we want it.”

“Nothing will ever happen for us here, Lily. We’ll always be living hand-to-mouth. You’ll waitress. If you’re lucky, you’ll still paint in your spare time—if you can afford the oils. And me? You’re right. I’ll probably end up in a warehouse, doing the kind of hard labor my mom didn’t want for me. We’ll scrape by, but never have enough. We’ll argue. Maybe one of us gets sick. Then what? Will we still go to New Zealand?”

I sit up and feel my lip begin to tremble. We’ve been talking about traveling since I was thirteen. It’s the plan, to grow up and see the world together. Now I can feel Ethan stepping back from that dream. I can feel him slipping away.

“You could go to college when we get back,” I say. “You don’t have to work in a warehouse. We don’t have to stay here.”

Ethan stays on the floor, still staring at where I lay moments before. He scowls, clenches his jaw. His hands tighten into fists. “Our lives are going to be exactly like our parents’.”

“My parents are happy.”

It’s true. My family is poor, but we’ve always had each other. That is all I want for Ethan and me. I don’t dream of riches, only of our shared happiness. The rest is all merely technicalities we can overcome, tiny little blips along the way.

Ethan doesn’t reply, but I know what he’s thinking. Things haven’t worked out very well for his family. His father walked out on him and his mom before Ethan was even born. It had always been him and her, and now she’s gone. He doesn’t blame the cancer. He blames himself.

“Look, Ethan—our future is together. This—,” I gesture toward the map, “—is waiting for us. Our whole lives are waiting for us. Nothing ends here. I know things have been hard for you lately, but I promise you we’ll be happy. Please believe me, Ethan.”

Suddenly, Ethan sits up and turns to me. He takes my face in his hands and stares at me with an intensity I’ve never seen in him before. His face is creased in anguish, and when he speaks, I can hear the pain in his voice.

“Lily, you’ve got to stop dreaming. We’re not kids anymore. You graduate next week. Life is going to hit us hard. We’ve got to be prepared. Traveling the world isn’t in the cards for us, and neither is any kind of life if we don’t start facing reality.”

I pull away from him and stand. I cross my arms and turn toward the window, shaking my head. “Don’t make me feel like I’m stupid, Ethan. You’re the only one who never has. This isn’t my dream, this is ours.”

* * *

I’d forgotten the things he said so quickly. The next week at my graduation, he gave me watercolors, and I knew it was his way of saying he was sorry, and that he still believed in me and my dreams.

The memory makes me tear up. Once, Ethan and I were both dreamers. I guess Ethan was always a bit more practical than me, but with a creative side, too. He was an artist.

He used to be.

Since he left, I’ve turned that conversation over and over in my head. I’ve replayed it a thousand times, knowing I missed the clues that were right there. Maybe he’d been trying to tell me I wasn’t enough for him, that he wanted more.

Now, he has it all.

I still don’t know if I think the gift was kind or cruel. Was it a final token of Ethan’s love for me, or a way to distract me while he was making plans to leave? I stare at the empty tin now, still sitting on my shelf, rusting.

Looking back to my screen, I’m almost to the last quiz. I finish up. I hold my breath a second when I’m done, before finding the courage to hit “enter.”

Destiny, do your work.