Diamonds Are Forever. Michelle Madow

to throw her stuff on the ground and resume where things had left off before Adrian interrupted them. But the bag of textbooks weighed on her back, reminding her about how much studying she had to do before dinner.

      “See you tonight,” she said softly, letting herself out. The door closed behind her, and she leaned against it, taking in a deep breath.

      Even though they would see each other tonight, nothing could happen, because it would be a family dinner. Meaning they would have to pretend that everything between them—the depth of how much they cared for each other—didn’t exist at all.

       chapter 3:

      After getting back from Savannah’s celebration dinner, Peyton lay down on her bed and glared at the calendar pinned on her wall. There were less than twenty-four hours until the end of winter break. Sure, the Goodman School wasn’t as torturous as Fairfield High, but she still didn’t like sitting in classes all day or want to be there. Especially after all the fun she’d had in Italy.

      She clicked on Dante Lazzaro’s Facebook page for the hundredth time since returning home and scrolled through the pictures they’d taken together. Dante was the son of the owners of the resort they’d stayed in while in Tuscany. He was gorgeous and only a year older than her, and they’d hit it off immediately. But he was only a vacation fling. She’d been with him mainly to help her get over Jackson—her bodyguard, whom she’d fallen for over the past few months, and had stupidly managed to get fired because she kept pushing him to give in to his feelings for her.

      It had all gone to hell on Thanksgiving Day, when she’d found out about her mom keeping the secret about Courtney’s twin sister, Britney. Peyton had gone to Jackson to talk. Once he saw how red her eyes were from crying, he’d taken her to a dive hotel on the Strip, where no one should have known who she was, so they could talk privately. They’d ended up admitting their feelings for each other, and some tourists had taken pictures of them having a clearly romantic conversation while drinking beers.

      Adrian had seen the pictures, fired Jackson, and told them they couldn’t see each other anymore. Jackson had gone back to his home in Nebraska. The last Peyton had heard from him was that he “needed space so he could get his life back on track.” She hadn’t wanted to be clingy and force him to talk to her, but it had been almost a month, and she missed him so much that it left a hole aching in her chest.

      Not knowing what else to do, she’d tried getting over him by spending time with Dante in Italy. But Dante didn’t look at her the way Jackson did—like he could see through her protective shield and straight to her core. Dante was supposed to help her get over Jackson, but he’d made her miss Jackson even more.

      She shouldn’t do it—she would only be torturing herself—but she typed Jackson’s name into Facebook and clicked on his profile. She’d added him about two weeks ago, and his page still taunted her with the box that said Friend Request Sent. She slouched over her computer, staring hopelessly at the screen. His page had such intense privacy settings that all she could see was his profile picture of him and his family hanging out at a lake.

      Maybe she should send him a message. She bit her lip, hovering her mouse over the message button. She just wanted to make sure she hadn’t completely wrecked his future. If she had, and if he never wanted to speak to her again, she would rather he tell her. It would be better than this awful silence.

      Then someone knocked on her door, and she clicked off his Facebook page.

      “Peyton?” Courtney opened the door a crack. “Can I come in?”

      “Sure.” Peyton shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed. “What’s up?”

      Courtney walked inside, clutching a red pocket folder to her chest, and sat down on the bed. She chewed her bottom lip, a telltale sign that she was nervous.

      “What’s in the folder?” Peyton prompted.

      “A college application for UNLV.” Courtney gingerly placed the folder down, unable to meet Peyton’s eyes.

      Peyton heaved a giant sigh and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m not going to college,” she said. “Shoving forms in my face and asking me to fill them out won’t change my mind.”

      “I’m not asking you to do anything,” Courtney said. “I filled it out for you. It’s all saved online—I made you an account—­but I printed it so you can see what I did.”

      “You did what?”

      “I filled out a college application for you,” she repeated. “For UNLV. I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself, and your SAT scores from when Adrian and Rebecca forced you to take the test were good.”

      “My SAT scores were average,” Peyton said.

      “Slightly above average,” Courtney corrected her. “And UNLV is a good school, but it isn’t Harvard or anything, so above average is fine, especially since you don’t need a scholarship. And your grades have improved at Goodman. With a good essay, they might accept you.”

      “I knew there had to be a catch.” Peyton laughed, stretched her legs out, and leaned back into her pillows. “I’m not writing a college essay today. Or ever.”

      “I’m not asking you to,” Courtney said. “Like I said, I completed the application for you.”

      “You wrote my essay?” Peyton smirked. “Isn’t that breaking some kind of rule?”

      “Don’t tell anyone.” Courtney took a deep breath and glanced at the door, as if afraid someone would overhear. “But yes. I wrote your essay. And it’s pretty good.” She pushed the folder closer to Peyton. “At least take a look. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

      Unable to resist, Peyton picked up the folder and opened it. One side held the boring form with all her information filled out, and the other held an essay. She took it out and skimmed through it.

      It was about how switching to Goodman, where she received individualized attention from teachers who cared, opened her eyes to the “joys of learning.” This was proven by evidence of how her grades had improved in the past semester. The majority of the essay consisted of trying to convince the applications committee to look past her below-average grades from Fairfield High and see potential in what she could do in the future. Courtney had even written that Peyton wanted to be an education major so she could positively influence students the same way her teachers at Goodman had influenced her, going as far as listing three courses offered at UNLV and saying that Peyton couldn’t wait to take them.

      If Peyton had been an admissions person, she would have believed it.

      “It’s good, right?” Courtney asked.

      “I guess.” Peyton placed the essay back inside the folder. “Except that I don’t want to go to college, and I definitely don’t want to be an education major. I can’t wait to get out of school. Why would I major in something that would keep me in a school for the rest of my life?” She shuddered. “That sounds awful.”

      “You’re not declaring your major in your admissions essay,” Courtney said. “This is just to convince them to let you in. Once you’re in, you can choose not to declare your major, and take your general requirements until you figure out what you like best.”

      “But I don’t want to go to college...” Why couldn’t Courtney get this through her head?

      “Applying doesn’t mean you have to go,” she said quickly. “I’ve done all the work for you. Just give me permission to click Send, and we’ll see what happens.” Peyton opened her mouth to protest, but Courtney continued. “If anything, do it for me,” she said. “This is practice for my own college applications. If I can get you in, I should be able to get myself in somewhere,