"I am telling you pistachio is the best-tasting flavor here."

It's around six o'clock at my favorite ice cream shop, Sweet Treat, and my indecisive friend Mina can't decide on a flavor, despite coming here countless times over the last four years. This wouldn't be a problem if we hadn't been standing in front of the counter for five minutes already, receiving angry sighs from the two boys behind us eager to get their hands on a sundae.

"But what if I—"

Before Mina can finish, I order us two pistachio bowls. The worker behind the counter, a grumpy teenage girl, mutters something under her breath and picks up an ice cream scoop. Even she is tired of Mina's indecisiveness.

"You didn't even let me order!"

I roll my eyes. "Mina, if I had waited for you to finally make up your mind, I could have hitchhiked to Mars and came back."

We take our bowls and start walking to the small red booth in the corner of the store, our favorite spot for the past four years.

"I swear you are the biggest exaggerator I know," she says, taking a seat in the red booth. She ties her straight black hair up and rests her fists under her chin like an upset five-year-old. "If this flavor tastes bad, you're paying me back."

"Haha—it won't." I take a big spoonful of the ice cream and regret it after feeling a giant brain freeze. I always thought I was stronger than this.

"You okay, Whitney?" Mina asks, putting down her spoon.

"Just peachy." Once I feel fine again, I take another spoonful and watch Mina take her third delightfully, her large coffee-colored eyes widening. Once again, I am never wrong when it comes to ice cream. "Guess I won't be paying after all."

"Do you ever think we have too much ice cream?" she asks. She looks down at her bowl and lightly pushes it away from her. Seconds later, she pulls it back closer and her fingers toy with the spoon, mentally debating whether to keep eating it.

Mina is forever conscious about what she eats, considering her mother has the body of a twenty-year-old at forty-six. Although they share the same Persian beauty, thick dark hair and a tan complexion that people pay money for, she still feels like she lives in mother's shadow, never quite perfect enough. I stopped reminding her that she's still pretty a couple years ago, realizing compliments only served to boost her strangely egoistic insecurities.

"Oh Mina, sweet, sweet Mina, you can never have enough ice cream," I answer, placing my hand on her arm. "Well, unless you're lactose intolerant."

"I guess not," she replies with a laugh. A distant look crosses her face, a look she gets when she's thinking about something on the back of her mind, and a sigh escapes her lips. "It's still not dawning upon me high school is over. It seems like yesterday we were clueless freshmen getting our hair stuck in lockers."

A wave of nostalgia washes over me at thought of how we met during our freshman year, helping each other get our hair out of our lockers, which we used to slam shut without looking. A month into high school, we grew out of that habit, and that was about the time we discovered Sweet Treat, our little haven from the drama of high school.

I had that dorky tween sense of fashion at that time, and Mina was a scrawny fourteen-year-old with braces, barely five feet tall.

I look between us. At least something has improved.

"Oh, it's hit me already," I say, "and I could not be happier. Hell school is over."

"But we're old now," she whines. "I'm not ready for all the responsibility yet."

"Mina, you're going to college not to war." My assertion lacks conviction, probably from all the times my newly graduated sister has informed me that they're almost equivalent.

"I know, I know," she says, "but what do you think you're going to miss? I mean come on, there has to be something."

Hard question. As the unpopular counterpart of Mina, high school was a blur of studying and embarrassments, not yacht parties and designer shopping sprees. Even after only a few days of being away from that place, I'm already working on completely blocking out all four years.

I already have the first semester of freshman year ticked off my mental checklist.

Only seven more to go...

"It's kind of hard between the mountains of homework, weekly gym torture, and... Willow Gerard."

In the bluntest terms, Willow is the most popular bitch at our high school—well, was the most popular bitch, now that she's graduated with us. You could have blamed almost anything bad that happened in school on her.

A circulating rumor that Juan and Michael are secretly dating?

Willow Gerard.

Robotics club president Alexa crying in the bathroom after lunch?

Willow Gerard.

A pounding headache after having two classes in a row with her?

Willow Gerard.

And how could I forget; the main reason I want all four years of high school erased from my memory?

No one else but Willow Estelle Gerard.

"Now you just gave me one full reason to be happy I am out of high school," Mina says, rubbing her forehead.

You see, everyone hates Willow, the teachers, the students in other grades, and even her best friends. Even Willow herself would admit it, yet despite her toxic and bitter demeanor, everyone manages to keep kissing her non-existent ass, Mina included. Between their texts and dinner parties and impromptu get-togethers, Mina has always been oblivious to my special hatred of that blonde-haired demon, brushing off my experiences with her as simply "Willow's regular personality."

"I guess we should—" My eyes flicker upwards, catching sight of a familiar bright blonde with a mousy face, sporting a handbag half the size of her rail-thin body. "Speak of the devil, there's Willow herself."

I continue to glare at her using my peripheral vision while I eat the rest of my half-melted ice cream. Unfortunately, my indiscreet ways catch her eyes, and she lets out a signature Willow white-toothed smile.

That's fake, of course.

"Hello, Whitney," she says, looking between us, although her eyes eventually rest on my reddened face. Mina has taken her hands off her head but doesn't look Willow's way. "And Mina, of course. A coincidence we'd run into each other, but then again, Whitney is probably always here, anyway."

Mina tries to come to my defense, but I hold a hand up. She seems less intimidating now that we're out of the four walls of our stuffy private school.

"You know, Willow, I don't recall me or Mina inviting you over here," I say, pushing my bowl to the side. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore.

"Oh, I just thought a friendly greeting wouldn't kill," she says, moving her tacky beige purse from her right arm to her left. "Besides, Mina, since you don't seem to be dead, I see no reason why you've avoided every one of my texts."

Mina lets out a breath. "Look, let's make something clear here." Brushing her sleek ponytail to the side to look up at Willow, she continues rather curtly, "Just because our mothers are still friends, doesn't mean I want to hang out with you this summer. And besides, you look a little desperate for someone with the largest friend group in high school. Did Daddy Dearest's funds finally run out? It's a shame you won't be able to afford your followers forever."

Willow's smug expression shatters, replaced by bug eyes and parted lips. For a second, I swear I see tears form in the corners of her eyes, but I don't know which part of Mina's impudent comeback hurts her most.

Staring at my still silent form, Willow shakes her head and hurries away from us, oddly broken for such a soulless person. The door to exit the store slams shut behind her.

Mina and I sit in silence for a moment before deciding to end our dessert date. As we walk into the parking lot, I wonder if I'll ever have the courage to put Willow in her place like that, or if the stupidly kind piece of my heart will rule forever. Forgetting her entirely, I groan as we're greeted by the humid June weather.

"Wait, Whitney, aren't you going to be late?" Mina holds her phone out to show me the time.

Late? But then it clicks. Tonight is the family dinner that my mother hasn't stopped talking about. I haven't figured out what we're celebrating, or if we're celebrating at all, but one thing I know for sure is that I have no choice but to be there.

"I don't even know how I forgot," I mumble, scrambling to unlock my car. From the driver's seat, I call out, "Let's hang out again soon!"

"No worries, just text me!" Mina yells back and ambles over to her Audi.

I pull out of the parking lot and head on to the main street, having to stop in front of a stoplight. I turn the radio on to a random station and run my hand across my puffy ponytail.

Often, there are events in my house that are absolutely mandatory. Like visiting a certain relative or going on a family hike (I manage to get out of the hike about halfway up the trail every time).

This time it's a dinner. My sister, Poppy, and her boyfriend, Levi, are finally visiting home after graduating from Columbia. They've spent nearly a month vacationing around the country, doing, in her words, "things Mom won't ever know about."

I can't say they didn't deserve the break, as they're both textbook overachievers and archers—I know right, archery—graduating summa cum laude with respective plans to head to law school and med school in the future.

I, on the other hand, like to keep the overachieving to a minimum, just having the grades to parallel my sister. Other than that, I'm a disaster at athletics, and the closest I get to the Ivy League right now is the wrinkly Yale brochure lying in my desk drawer.

My collected thoughts keep me entertained as I drive the rest of the way home. I pull up into the driveway, taking note neither Levi's nor Poppy's cars are here, meaning for once, I am actually early.

"I'm home!" I call to no one in particular, as I walk through the front door.

"Whitney, you're early!" My mother echoes my thoughts, walking into the kitchen at the same time as me. She fluffs her freshly colored and styled honey-brown hair and then pulls me into a bear hug. We exchange a few words, before she fittingly encourages me to fix my disheveled appearance.

As I put on some mascara and eyeliner and then straighten my puffy brown hair, I can hear Poppy with our dad downstairs. She's chattering on about how nice it is to be back home, and every now and then I hear him laugh at something she says. They've always had such a comfortable relationship, something I used to envy deep down.

Now, I just don't care.

I decide to join the party a few minutes later, finding Poppy sitting next to my father on the couch and Levi with my mother, giving her some advice.

"Whitney!" she squeals. She runs over and squeezes me into a hug.

"Hey, Poppy." I laugh and squeeze her back, enjoying the sisterly comfort for a few seconds. She angles her head down to look at me, while I tilt my head up, lessening the four or five inches that separate us.

Levi finally breaks us up. "Whitney," he says, stretching the syllables in my name. During the times we've met, we've created a convoluted handshake, a step of which we forget each time. I laugh when I mess it up halfway through, and we retry it.

"Dinner's ready," my dad calls to all of us from the dining room.

Before we eat, he pops open a bottle of champagne and fills everyone's glasses but mine. I hold mine out, wanting to fit in as the baby of these gatherings.

"Now, come on, tell us all about how you two have been," my mom says, bringing her glass to her lips.

Levi smiles and wraps his arm around Poppy's shoulder. "We've been absolutely great. I don't think either of us have had as much of a break in years." She nods from beside him, resting her hand on the blue sleeve of his shirt. Chuckling, he adds, "Well, I feel like I might have forgotten everything I've learned in college this past month, but I'm excited to get back into the groove of things soon."

"Oh, you know that's not true," my dad laughs, shaking his head.

Finally, there's something he and I agree on. Sometimes I wonder if Levi and my sister are actually robots, able to execute everything with the utmost perfection, and tiredness—well, it's not a part of their vocabulary.

"We didn't expect anything less of you two," my mom adds and takes a sip of champagne. She eyes my dad, and they share a puzzling smirk. "Don't you two have something else to say?"

The four people at this table look between each other knowingly, making me realize that while this dinner is about Levi and Poppy, maybe it's for me.

"Am I missing something...?"

I lock eyes with Poppy, whose cheeks are turning pink. Levi gives her a nod, gesturing for her to speak.

"Well, I guess I'll just say it. Levi and I are engaged!"

I wish I could remember my response as any bit classy. Instead, in a bout of surprise, my hand falls to the table and flings my fork into the air. It clatters against the hardwood, landing several feet away from me. My mom and I dive to the ground at the same time to pick it up and bash heads on the way up, each gripping one end of the fork. The impact feels almost concussive, duplicating both Levi and Poppy before me. I blink twice, and they merge into one person each again.

"Oh God, Whitney, are you alright?" Poppy rises from her seat in a panic, but I wave her off and let go of my forehead. "And Mom, you too, are you okay?"

She winces and nods but excuses herself from the table. I close my eyes in sheer embarrassment, unsure what to say now.

"Well, you could say I was a little taken aback." I try to laugh it off, realizing I transformed the atmosphere from celebratory to plain awkward. "But congratulations, really. I'm so happy for you guys. How long have you all been keeping this a secret from me?"

"Only a couple weeks," my dad says and adds, "trust me when I say the two sprung the news on us as well."

My mom returns from the kitchen with a tall glass of water, still rubbing her head. I try to utter an apology, but she waves it off and turns to the newly engaged couple.

"I think it's appropriate that we dive into some of the details now that Whitney knows, right?" she says, turning to us. We all nod, except for Poppy. "When exactly are you two planning on having the wedding?"

Levi's steel-gray eyes widen slightly, and Poppy clears her throat, finding the hardwood floor a lot more interesting now.

"Well, Poppy and I have thought this through for a while, and we agreed that we definitely want a wedding in the warm weather," Levi begins, "but we're still neutral on New York or Connecticut for the location."

"But when?" my dad asks, pouring himself another glass of champagne. "I think your mother and I took over a year-and-a-half to plan ours, and that was still short compared to some of Jennifer's wedding-crazed friends."

"We're well aware," Poppy mumbles, trying to avoid our mom's gaze. "But we were thinking something a little sooner than that. A lot sooner..."

"This summer," Levi adds, hardly audible.

Their jaws drop, mine included.

"This summer?" my mom repeats.

"Towards the end of August," Levi clarifies. Any trace of amusement vanishes from Mom's face, replaced with slight horror. "We feel that since we've been together for almost four years, there's no need to prolong the engagement. We never planned on an elaborate wedding anyway, so we can definitely make this work."

"But what about your future plans, Poppy?" my mom asks, furrowing her eyebrows together. "You're already taking a year off before law school. Are you sure rushing your marriage won't make you want to hold off on those dreams forever?"

Just as much as my father and I avoid each other, my mom and Poppy clash over everything. I can tell my sister knew this topic was coming, as she grips her champagne glass a little harder and closes her eyes.

"Mom, I don't think we need to talk about this right now," she says and forces a smile to preserve what's left of the mood. "How about forget the wedding plans and enjoy the rest of the night?"

We all agree to change the subject, but I soon tune myself out of the rest of the conversation, realizing I don't have much of value to add. Maybe it's younger sister syndrome, hearing everything that Poppy has accomplished, or that high school is wearing off, especially after having witnessed Willow's fragility with my own two eyes.

Only three undefined months lie in between those two stages, and I still have zero plans.

Zero plans, so far, I correct myself and get to thinking.

***

: This book has a lower number of inline comments than what the total number of comments on this book implies because I rewrote this story and uploaded a new version a little while ago. Since the new version was vastly different than the previous version on Wattpad, most of the old inline comments disappeared because the sentences they referred to no longer exist. Please stop asking this question in the comments and refer to this note if you're ever confused, thanks!