The easiest way to survive disappointment is to stop expecting anything.
It sounds harsh, but honestly? It’s the most liberating realization I’ve had since moving into Alder Hall. Standing in the crowded arena lobby last Friday night, watching Jace burn with that silent, territorial fury while Ethan’s arm rested heavy on my shoulders, something inside me finally clicked. I’m done. I am officially retiring from the Olympic sport of overanalyzing Jace Donovan’s mixed signals.
"You look fiercely determined," Mia remarked on Tuesday afternoon, sliding a basket of curly fries between us at the student union. "Like you’re about to either ace an exam or commit a minor felony."
"Neither," I said, popping a fry into my mouth and pulling my laptop closer. "I’m just reclaiming my time. I’ve spent
