Three days until the Spring Formal.

Jackson Cartwright’s “childhood sweetheart,” Hailey Vanderbilt, was twirling on TikTok in the custom gown I’d spent all semester designing.

She stood in front of the white columns of the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority house, the lavender satin shimmering in the sun. The caption read:

“Formal Szn Sneak Peek 💫 When his fraternity pin is on your heart… but your heart belongs to someone else #SpringFormal #KKG #SororityLife”

I typed a comment directly: “Keep it. I’m not going anyway.”

Five seconds later, the video was gone.

My phone immediately blew up—a call from Hailey.

“Chloe, oh my god, why would you say that? You know I was just trying it on for pictures…”

Her voice had that well-practiced sob I knew all too well.

Before I could respond, Jackson changed his Instagram profile picture to a photo of him and Hailey in front of the ATO frat house—both in formal wear, smiling like I never existed.

Then he called.

“Hailey and I grew up together. Our families have been friends since the Greenwich Country Club days. If you’re going to be petty about this, then maybe we shouldn’t go to the formal at all.”

But I wasn’t being petty.

I genuinely didn’t want to go anymore.

…

When Jackson got back to our off-campus apartment, I was emailing my professor to explain the dress situation.

“What are you busy with now?”

He glanced at my computer screen, a casual contempt playing on his lips.

I kept typing, letting out a soft “hmm.”

“Is your fashion design professor giving you a hard time again?” He chuckled. “It’s just a dress. Is it really that big of a deal?”

My fingers paused on the keyboard.

I first saw him four years ago at a party after the homecoming game.

It was love at first sight with the guy in the ATO letters, the one everyone crowded around.

When I finally got his number through a mutual friend and texted him for the first time, his replies were slow—but I just assumed he was busy.

To fit into his world, I obsessed over everything about New England old money—from Thanksgiving traditions to sailing terminology. But he just shrugged it off.

“Relax, Chloe. You don’t have to try so hard. I like you for… you.”

It wasn’t until his ATO brothers complimented my homemade cranberry sauce that he said, coldly:

“You guys haven’t had the real thing. Hailey’s is authentic New England style.”

I learned much later that Hailey didn’t cook. She brought hers from Whole Foods.

Ignoring his jab, I continued my email.

Seeing he got no reaction, he grinned and wrapped his arms around me from behind, ruffling my hair.

“Alright, babe. Don’t be mad. Look what I got you.”

A Starbucks latte appeared in front of me.

I glanced at it, then opened the fridge and pointed to the two identical whole milk lattes already inside.

“Thanks, but I can’t drink these. You know I’m lactose intolerant.”

Jackson froze. His face instantly soured.

This was the third time he’d bought the wrong coffee.

My order was an oat milk latte. He never remembered.