The night I meet Tate is near the end of the semester, when summer vacation looms, full of promise and freedom. Elise and I luck into a college party invite from our favorite barista at Stumptown, off-duty with his friends at the table next to ours. Elise shrugs, casual, and says we’ll try to make it, but the minute the group leaves, we grip each other’s hands, bright-eyed with delight. “Tell your dad you’re crashing at my house,” Elise orders, and I call him to leave the message, knowing there will only be a hurried text in reply. Ever since I brought Elise home, and he made the connection between her father, Charles Warren, and the state senator of the same name, my father has let me go out with her anytime I want.

So we do: getting ready in a flurry of discarded outfits and lip gloss, then sneaking down the back stairs while her parents are in the den, breathless in the backseat of a cab as we cross the twilight city, heading for adventure.

“If anyone asks, we’re freshman at Berklee,” Elise orders me as we clamber out of the cab outside the scribbled address. It’s a warm, muggy night and the street is busy with college crowds; music is already spilling out of the upstairs windows of a narrow brownstone. “I’m studying psychology, and you’re a business major.”

“Boring!” I protest. “I’ll be a Lit student. No, drama!”

Elise laughs. “Sure, with your stage fright?”

“They don’t have to know,” I say with a grin as we climb the front steps and push inside the narrow lobby area. “As far as they’re concerned, I could be a fabulous actress, auditioning for all kinds of Broadway shows.”

“And Hollywood,” Elise adds. “You got offered a role in the new Chris Carmel movie, but you turned it down because you wanted to stay in school and perfect your craft.”

“I’m very dedicated,” I agree, laughing. I can feel a sparkle in my veins, some sense of possibility, and when we walk into the party upstairs, it all makes sense, because there he is.

Tate.

My eyes meet his right away across the crowded room, and I know it’s the start of something. I can just feel it.

“Hellooo,” Elise murmurs. Tate is with a guy from the lacrosse team, Lamar, but right away he heads over toward us. “I guess you’ve been wishing on a star.”

“Shh!” I hiss to Elise. “Please, don’t say anything.” But she just widens her eyes in innocence as Tate arrives, casual in a faded gray T-shirt and jeans.

“Hey.” He looks at the two of us with a surprised expression, as if he can’t quite place us. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Oh, we know a guy,” Elise replies, her eyes already roving over the scene. It’s hot and crammed with people, music so loud I can feel the bass, and everywhere, there’s laughter and noisy chatter, full of the relief of finishing finals. “Well, really, Anna knows him,” she adds, her gaze sliding back to us with a meaningful smile. “I swear, the poor guy follows her around like a puppy dog. She’s not interested, but we figure, why waste a good party?”

Elise sends me a look that says, Don’t screw this up, then squeezes me in a sudden hug. “I’m going to go look around. See you two later!”

She disappears into the crowd, leaving me by the side of the room with Tate. I stare awkwardly at the ground, not sure whether to thank or throttle her, but when I force myself to glance up, he’s looking at me with something new in his expression, some kind of curiosity.

“You want a drink?” he offers quickly. “There’s a bar back in the kitchen, they have all kinds.”

“Sure,” I agree, just as a new group of guys hurtles through the door. One of the frat guys knocks into me, and I stumble, but Tate takes my arm, steadying me. His hand is hot against my skin, and our eyes meet, just a flash, but I feel it all the way to my stomach.

“Come on,” he says, smiling, and I follow him across the room.

I would follow him anywhere.

BEFORE

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

• • •

“How much?”

“Miles and miles.”

“Deeper than the oceans?”

“Yup. More than the wind.”

“Higher than Everest?”

“I don’t know, that’s pretty high. . . . Ow!” (laughter)

“Admit it. You love me more than anyone.”

“Maybe.”

• • •

“What about you—how much do you love me?”

“Enough.”

“Hey!”

“You didn’t ask, ‘Enough for what?’ ”

“Fine, then. Enough for what?”

“For anything.”

“That’s better.”

• • •

“You think we’ll ever wind up like our parents?”

“God, I hope not. Just kill me if I do.”

“No, I mean . . . alone like they are. . . . My mom shows me her old yearbooks, and there are tons of people in there she doesn’t talk to anymore. Old boyfriends, best friends . . . What do you think happened to them?”

“Maybe they drifted apart.”

“That’s stupid. You don’t drift, not if someone matters to you.”

“So maybe they didn’t matter, not really.”

• • •

“Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d never do that. Leave you.”

“I know. Me either.”

THE PARTY

Tate leads me to the crowded kitchen, every surface covered with bottles and abandoned red plastic cups. He finds us two unopened beers, and cracks the tops off against the edge of the table. “This okay?” he asks, passing me one. “Because I can find some soda—”

“No,” I answer quickly. “This is great.”

There’s another pause as we both take a sip of our drinks, but I don’t feel nervous or awkward. Instead, I’m unnervingly calm. I’ve never been one to get all romantic about fate and destiny, but there’s something so neat about this, I don’t have a chance to panic. After all these weeks stealing glances in the hallway, I suddenly have him to myself.

“Cool party, huh?” Tate offers.

“Who do you know here?” I ask, and Tate leans in to hear me. All around us, there’s music, and packed bodies—dancing and chatting, voices raised to be heard.

“Some of the guys from last year’s team,” Tate replies, his breath warm against my cheek. “And Lamar, well, you heard about him and Kayla?”