Four years of hiding, and this is how it ends. I'm standing in the lobby of the resort hotel, watching Ethan Miller—my boyfriend of four years, the man I've loved since sophomore year—pull a folded slip of paper from the bowl with that easy, confident smile everyone at our college knows. The smile that used to make my heart race. The smile that right now is making my stomach turn. "Room 304!" Jake announces, reading over Ethan's shoulder. "Dude, you're with... let me check the master list... Maya Chen!" Maya. Beautiful, popular Maya with her perfect laugh and her perfect hair and her very public crush on Ethan that she's never bothered to hide. I watch Ethan's face. Wait for the disappointment. Wait for him to catch my eye across the room, to give me that secret look that says "don't worry, I'll fix this." Instead, he grins wider. "Nice," he says, and the single word hits me like a fist to the chest. Nice. This whole stupid random room assignment idea was supposed to be fun. "Mix things up!" our trip organizer, Chelsea, had chirped earlier. "Guys and girls together—we're all adults here! It'll be an adventure!" I'd felt the panic immediately. Four years of carefully maintained secrecy, of stolen moments in empty classrooms and late-night calls from separate dorm rooms, of telling everyone we were "just friends" because Ethan said he wasn't ready to go public, that his family was traditional, that the timing wasn't right, that we should wait until after graduation. Well. Graduation was three days ago. And now I'm watching him look at Maya like she's a prize he just won. "Emma!" Chelsea thrusts the bowl at me. "Your turn!" My hand shakes as I reach in. I don't even look at what I draw. My eyes are locked on Ethan, willing him to look at me. Acknowledge me. Do something. He's laughing with Maya now. She's touching his arm. He's letting her. "Room 307, you're with Derek Kim!" Chelsea announces. Derek's nice. Quiet. Into photography. Under any other circumstances, I'd be relieved to have such an easygoing roommate for the week. Right now, I can barely remember how to breathe. "I should mention," Chelsea continues, oblivious to my internal collapse, "the rooms have two separate beds, obviously. And if anyone's really uncomfortable, we can try to shuffle things around, but the hotel's pretty booked, so..." "I'm good," Ethan says immediately. Too quickly. "Sounds fun." Maya beams. "This is going to be amazing!" I finally tear my gaze away, staring down at the crumpled paper in my fist. The number 307 blurs as tears threaten to spill. Four years. Four years of being his secret. Of understanding when he couldn't hold my hand in public. Of smiling and nodding when girls flirted with him at parties while I stood three feet away, pretending to be just another friend. Of believing him every time he said "soon, Emma. We'll go public soon. I just need a little more time." I gave him time. I gave him everything. And the second he has an excuse to room with another girl—a girl everyone knows has been wanting him for months—he takes it without hesitation. "You okay?" Derek appears beside me, his voice soft with concern. "You look kind of pale." "Fine," I manage. "Just... tired from the drive." It's a six-hour drive we all made together this morning, crammed into various cars. I'd ridden with Ethan, sitting in the passenger seat of his Honda Civic like I had a right to be there. Like I was his girlfriend. What a joke. "Want to head up?" Derek asks. "I could use a nap before dinner." I nod, not trusting my voice. As we move toward the elevators, I risk one more glance back. Ethan's walking toward the opposite elevator bank with Maya, Jake, and a few others. Maya's chattering excitedly about the beach and the resort amenities. Ethan's nodding along, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He doesn't look back. Not once. The elevator doors close on Derek's concerned face and my barely-held-together composure. The second we start ascending, a sob claws its way up my throat. I swallow it down, force it back, press my fingernails into my palms until the pain gives me something else to focus on. "Seriously, are you okay?" Derek asks. "Do you need me to get someone? Chelsea? Or... I don't know, do you have a boyfriend or someone I should call?" The laugh that escapes me is sharp and bitter and completely inappropriate. "No," I whisper. "I don't have a boyfriend." And it's true, isn't it? Because a boyfriend wouldn't choose another girl's room over finding a way to stay with me. A boyfriend wouldn't look that happy about being randomly assigned to spend a week sharing space with someone else. A boyfriend wouldn't have kept me hidden for four years like I was something to be ashamed of. The elevator dings. Floor three. Derek leads the way to room 307, making small talk about the ocean view and the complimentary breakfast. I follow numbly, my suitcase wheels catching on the carpet. Room 304 is just down the hall. I can hear Maya's laughter echoing from inside as we pass.