Seven days before midterm.
I was lying on my back, one leg tangled in the covers, phone in hand, as I mindlessly scrolled through my messages.
Sloane was lying across her bed in a hoodie and shorts, her knees bent as she tapped away at something on her phone. I could hear her nails clicking against the screen in a nervous rhythm. She’d been quiet ever since she woke up, and that alone was strange. Usually, she was the one who started the morning chaos with music. Dramatic sighs and complaints about the most random things ever.
I glanced at her. “Hey, Sloane, babe. You good?”
She didn’t answer at first. Then. “Kim.”
“Mhm?”
“That note... from yesterday.”
I let my phone fall onto my chest, exhaling. “We’re really still on that?”
She sat up straight now, legs crossed. Her face
