No, this was a limited edition.
“You’re saying it just fine.”
“Okay,” she breathed.
His thumb found the center of her palm and rubbed in a comforting circle. Charlotte couldn’t look away from his eyes, warm and green and full of emotions to match her own. They proved what she already knew: She wasn’t alone in this.
“Charlie.” She blinked up at him, powerless to do anything else. His hold on her hand tightened just so as he wet his lips. “I have loved you for years. I don’t plan on stopping.” He lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. An altogether different smile teased her as he added, “Even if you’re unemployed.”
She swatted him in the side, and he laughed, pulling her closer for a lingering kiss. Then he murmured, “I think the Jeep has room for one more.”
—
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JIO VARGAS TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:15 PM: hey viral queen, you should check your venmo balance
(Message not delivered.)
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JIO VARGAS TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:16 PM: idk how much money people have sent you but my tweet linking to it has over 8k likes sooooooo it might be a lot
(Message not delivered.)
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JIO VARGAS TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 1:16 PM: you’re welcome!!!!!!! 
(Message not delivered.)
When Charlotte got back to the dorm, the door to her room was cracked open. Thank goodness, because she still didn’t have her keys. She had a feeling they were in Jackie’s pocket, just waiting for her to ask for them.
Charlotte eased the door open. Her best friend kneeled on the floor beside her open suitcase, rolling her socks into neat balls. The package of Oreos sat beside her, almost empty.
“Hey, stranger,” Charlotte said. “I brought breakfast.”
Jackie startled. Her face was guarded when she looked up from her task, but it softened as she took in the plate of breakfast sandwiches. “Bless you, you asshole.”
Charlotte sat down on the cold linoleum next to her, crossing her legs as she handed over the plate. She picked up a pair of jeans, unworn by the looks of their neat creases, and folded them. “I looked for you at the picnic.”
Jackie swallowed a piece of bacon and then cleared her throat. Her lips pinched with uncharacteristic embarrassment. “Nina just left.”
Charlotte didn’t bother to fight a smile. “Good for you, lady killer.”
“I would never kill a lady,” Jackie trilled in a bastardized English accent. She thrust her chin in the air and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead with a flourish. “How dare you accuse me of such a crime!”
Charlotte laughed, but her smile faded as silence fell on the mountain of clothes in front of them. She reached for a sweatshirt and held it in her lap. She’d been thinking about this all morning but, once again, she still didn’t have the right words.
Then again, an apology always started with the same two.
Jackie beat her to the punch. “What happened?”
She blinked. “Hmm?”
Her best friend gave her a sideways look. “You have a weird look on your face.”
Charlotte picked up the hoodie and tucked the sleeves into the center. “Jio can send you a Vox explainer.”
“What?”
She shook her head and put the hoodie in the suitcase. “Sorry, bad joke.” Charlotte took a deep breath and held it. Then she turned to meet Jackie’s eyes. “I quit my job.”
Jackie’s surprise bloomed like a rose, her lips parting in a delicate gasp. “You…you did?”
Charlotte nodded. Then, a little proud herself, she added, “On Twitter. During Roger’s speech.”
“What?” Jackie dropped her plate, the breakfast sandwich flopping open on the floor. “Char, you did what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Charlotte took her friend’s hand and closed it between both of her own. “You were right, Jackie. I’m sorry. I’ve been so self-absorbed.”
Jackie goggled at her. “Yeah. You’ve been a shithead.” But her face brightened, and her dazed smile melted the worry from Charlotte’s heart. “But it’s okay. I mean, I didn’t know what was going on. I just wanted to help, but—”
“About that.” Charlotte sat up on her heels for a moment to pull a folded page of cream construction paper out of the back pocket of her overalls. Then she turned over Jackie’s hand, palm up, and placed it in her grasp. “I made this last night at Acronym.”
Jackie gave her a curious look. She unfolded the page, smoothing out the creases, and turned it over. Charlotte watched as confusion and then understanding spread across Jackie’s face, her jaw going slack as she took it in.
It was a color wheel. Not very colorful, though. Charlotte had ground the gray pencil to a nub, filling most of the pie slices with darker and lighter patches of ashy blank nothing—the void of her life, thick with insecurity and loneliness and shame. But lines of color as thin as embroidery thread wove through the expanse of gray: violet, tangerine, sepia, electric blue.
Gold for Nina. Metallic silver for Jio. Jade green for Reece. Burgundy red for Jackie.
Hope and affection and ambition and desire and anticipation all straining to break through, radiating from the corner of herself she kept protected. She wanted all those colors back.
“This is how I felt last night,” Charlotte said. “When I stormed out, I mean. I guess it’s how I’ve felt for a while.” Jackie looked up from the sketch, her eyes wide but focused on her words. Charlotte licked her dry lips, her hand fisting where it rested on her thigh. “But I think that’s starting to change now. I hope.”
