She nodded at each of them, murmuring a few words of thanks before swishing past in her gown of gold tulle. It fell in frothy folds from her nipped-in waist, the edge of each tier lined in pale gold sequins and shimmering embroidery. With her hair pinned up in delicate curls and her mom’s five-carat canary diamonds blazing in her ears, Avery knew she looked glittering and expensive. She hated it.

“Avery!” Leda pushed determinedly through the crowd toward her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hey, Leda,” Avery managed, her smile still affixed to her face, but it felt a little wobbly. Leda wasn’t fooled.

“What is it?”

“I can’t escape him,” Avery said helplessly. The words fell from her lips before she’d given them thought.

“But why would you want to?” Leda’s eyes narrowed. “Is it the apartment thing?”

Avery’s lips parted. Her mouth felt sandpaper-dry. Her eyes had darted reflexively toward Atlas.

Leda followed her gaze. Avery watched the comprehension dawn on her face, that moment of tacit understanding mingled with shocked disbelief.

“Oh” was all Leda said at first. “I thought you meant Max.”

Which was understandable, because she should have meant Max. If Avery was going to use a vague, antecedent-less him, it should have been her boyfriend she was talking about.

Neither of them spoke Atlas’s name.

“Look, Avery,” Leda said slowly. “You and Max are good together—calm, stable. No drama.” Somehow, the way she pronounced it made it sound as though a world without drama was as dull as it was safe.

“Max and I have drama!” Avery protested. “And sparks and fireworks. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Of course you do,” Leda said, too quickly to be convincing. She heaved a sigh. “You’ve just been so happy lately with Max. I don’t want you to lose that.”

“You seem happy too.” This time Avery’s smile came out more genuine. “Is Watt here tonight?”

She didn’t miss the telltale way that Leda’s cheeks flushed at the mention of him. “He was supposed to be here, but he couldn’t make it at the last minute. Something urgent came up,” Leda said, and shrugged. “He told me not to worry.”

Avery nodded. “I’m glad that you two are . . . you know.”

“Yeah.” Leda’s eyes skimmed over the crowded room. “Can you believe that we’re here? Senior year, at your dad’s inauguration?”

Avery knew the feeling. Time kept slipping through her hands, too quickly for her to snatch it. “If only we could go back, do things differently. Fix all our mistakes.”

“I wish,” Leda agreed. “But I think the only thing to do is keep going forward, the best we can.”

Maybe Leda was right. Maybe the secret to growing up was turning away from the ugliest parts of yourself. Pasting a smile on your face, and pretending that it—the kiss, the confession, the night you watched your best friend die—never happened.

Avery wondered if maybe she should tell Leda that the police had questioned her today. She didn’t want her to worry or spin out of control again. But maybe it was foolish to hide it from her. Maybe Leda had a right to know.

Avery started to open her mouth, uncertain how to bring it up, just as Max appeared at her side.

“Here you are,” he exclaimed, dropping a kiss on Avery’s brow. He looked crisply handsome in his tux.

“I was just going to go grab some dessert,” Leda announced, taking her cue to leave. She shot Avery a meaningful look before swishing away. Avery watched her go, the exaggerated V of the back of her dress drawing attention to her tiny frame, the stark black-and-white pattern of her skirts.

“Sorry. I was doing interviews.” Avery willed herself to seem normal, to refrain from looking in Atlas’s direction. Because even now she knew exactly where he was. She kept trying not to, but she’d been following his movements all night out of the corner of her eye with that silent pulsing radar that operates just under the surface of one’s mind.

She knew she shouldn’t be thinking this way. She was with Max now—she loved Max. It was just that Atlas had been her first love, and when he was near her like this, all their secret history seemed to cloud over her head and suck the very air from the ballroom.

“No more interviews. I get you to myself from now on.” Max reached eagerly for Avery’s hand. The warmth of his skin on hers felt reassuring.

For a while she managed it. She moved through the room with Max, kept up a stream of small talk, chatting about all the things they were going to do in Oxford. When the band struck up a slow song, she let him spin her effortlessly over the dance floor, her feet moving through the steps with no input from her brain. She accepted a flute of champagne, but it tasted like nothing at all.

Avery felt his gaze like a brush against her lower back, as if someone across the room had whispered her name and it echoed all the way to her. She lifted her eyes and looked directly into Atlas’s.

“I’m sorry.” She broke away, tearing her hand from Max’s. “I just—I need some air.”

“I’ll come with you,” Max offered, but Avery shook her head frantically.

“I only need a minute,” she insisted, more forcibly than she’d meant. And before Max could protest, she grabbed the skirts of her gown with both hands and fled toward the archway that led to city hall’s single elevator. The New York princess, running away from it all.