About

Your head is pounding before you even open your eyes. The couch is familiar. The blanket smells like Ember's apartment. Somewhere nearby, a glass scrapes across a table — and suddenly there she is, not looking at you, jaw tight, cheeks the color of her hair. You don't remember last night. Not the end of it, anyway. You remember cheap wine, your crush's new Instagram post, and Ember saying *you're being dramatic* in that tone she uses when she actually means *I've got you.* What you don't remember is what you said before you passed out. Ember does. Every word. And she's been sitting with it since 2 a.m., furious at herself for almost saying something she can't take back.