He glared at me, so long and so hard I thought I'd melt under the intensity of his gaze. The glasses were there, but he was no longer mine. "Yes, Tess," he said at last. "You've made a liar out of me, too."

And that, I realized, was the worst thing of all.

TWENTY-THREE.

My father did come home from the hospital the following day, but due to his broken arm, it would be a while before he'd be able to drive himself to our apartment. My mother managed to meet him for lunch but I didn't see him at all, a fact that I think we were all okay with.

"Is he very mad?" I asked her.

She shrugged.

"Does that mean yes?"

Again, she shrugged. "Your father and I disagree on this matter. He was in the hospital. Of course you wanted to see him."

Except he hadn't visited me when I was eight and had my appendix out. To Dad, trips to the hospital were no excuse to break the rules. I didn't point this out to Mom, though. I was just glad she'd taken my side for once. I'd actually never seen her disagree with him before.

Which made me wonder how angry he'd be about Dylan, once the drugs wore off.

I didn't see Dylan, either. Classes were over for the semester-we were well into reading period, where we spent our days studying for the upcoming exams. When Sylvia texted, asking if I had shifts this week, I told her to redistribute my hours to some of the other servers. She seemed excited about the idea, and I needed to study. I knew Dylan was deep in his books, too, but still... He didn't call; he didn't email.

Though to be fair, I didn't either. I wasn't sure what I could say. The few times I'd opened the Compose box on my email, the only thing I could think to type was something I was far too terrified to put into words.

Are we broken up?

I wondered if this was how Dylan had felt, after Cornell, when he'd sent me text after text, email after email, and I'd never responded. Maybe Dylan figured turnabout was fair play. No contact meant it was over. And I was totally capable of getting the message more quickly than he had back then.

Except...that was never the way Dylan had been. I was the one who lied, the one who thought silence was better than speech.

The symposium was held two days after the hospital. When I woke up in the morning, there was a message from Dylan waiting.

Tess, Sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday. I'd had a long night. I've been over all our notes for the public presentation. I hope you've done the same. Unfortunately, my morning's pretty booked up with study groups, but if you want to rehearse before tonight, I can meet you in Lab C at Bio-E at 2.

Dylan The lump of lead where my heart once lived clanged, reading his note. I fingered the T around my neck. Did I want to meet him? Would we really be rehearsing? Would he be breaking up with me? Could I bear to go into the symposium with this question hanging over my head? Could I even do a presentation at his side if he told me we were through?

Dylan, I'd like to meet beforehand, but not to rehearse.

Tess Yeah, no way I could send that. What if he thought I was propositioning him? I pressed Delete and started typing again.

No, I think I'm ready for whatever comes my way tonight.

There. I hit Send. Now, if only it were true.

I arrived at the symposium that evening with my mother. I was dressed in a smart gray suit for the presentation, and I'd pulled my hair back into a French twist that I thought made me look older and intellectual and my mom said made me look like I was going for "sexy librarian." But when I went to pull the pins out, she stopped me.

"Sexy librarian might help with the judges," she pointed out.

That was my mom. Never let months of hard work and scientific rigor get in the way of good old-fashioned sex appeal.

Dylan was already waiting in the auditorium, in a suit that fit him so well I knew Hannah must have originally picked it out and a tie that brought out the scary gorgeous levels of blue in his eyes. My heart dropped to my stomach as I approached, afraid of what I might see in his expression, but he met me with a smooth, confident smile, then greeted my mother.

"Mrs. McMann," he said and shook her hand. "I'm so glad you could come out tonight to be with us. My parents would have come if they lived closer."

"Of course," she said. "Though I'll warn you in advance, I can't promise I'll comprehend anything you say."

He laughed. "Just clap when we say, 'Thank you.'"

She found her seat, and Dylan went back to staring resolutely out at the crowd. There had to be over a hundred people here tonight, plus all the students waiting to give their podium presentations.

I shuffled my notecards and cleared my throat. "All ready?"

"I see your father didn't bother showing up to see you win tonight."

I whirled to face him, but he still wasn't looking at me. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

He turned to me and beneath the polished exterior, I noticed nervousness behind his eyes. "No, Tess, I promise you I'd never joke about something like that."

Before I could think of an adequate response, the presentations began. I watched each with careful eyes, comparing their science to the work Dylan and I had done. The style of the presentations ran the gamut from high-school level science fair, complete with amateurish posters, to hipster cutesy cat-gif brigades. Dylan and I had chosen a straightforward, professional-style PowerPoint presentation, and when it was our turn we took to the auditorium stage, notes and pointers in hand.

I began by introducing us and stating the subject and background of our experiment. To go along with this portion of our presentation, we'd compiled an array of short videos and photos about similar algae-related experiments and the potential for implementation in the renewable energy field. Our particular experiment examined the potential for small-scale changes to microstructure fluid flow and its applications for increasing efficiency in algae production for biofuel.

Dylan took over the talk portion and began discussing the parameters of our project, and I stole a glance at the screen behind us. My jaw dropped.

Where we'd arranged for simple, clean-lined graphs to chart our subjects' progress throughout the experiments, there were now detailed 3-D images like wavy lines of seaweed that snaked their way up and down the number lines in time with Dylan's words. I turned to him, gobsmacked.

He flashed me a glance and kept talking. Our upgraded presentation continued as he spoke about breakthroughs and setbacks throughout our weeks ofwork and how we'd built upon the study we'd performed back at Cornell.

Once again it was my turn and, swallowing my surprise, I began to tell the assembly about the places where our findings matched and diverged from the expected results. A quick check on the screen showed animated images that matched my explanations. The crowd was riveted-not so much by the super-exciting world of algae growth, but by the TED-level graphics we'd brought along for the ride.

"And that concludes the presentation," Dylan said at last. "Thank you very much."

Out in the audience somewhere, my mother heard her cue to clap. But everyone else was clapping, too, and I couldn't help but smile, if only in relief that it was over.

As we came down the steps from the stage, I shook my head at him. "What the hell was that?"

But he just shrugged and ignored all my nudges to go out in the hall and talk while the rest of the presentations went on.

I thought we might have a chance to speak after the formal portion of the symposium ended, but we were soon accosted by professors and other onlookers filled with questions. We spent a good half an hour clarifying and defending our work, especially to members of the jury panel from Canton Chem, who expressed great surprise that we'd picked a subject outside of the field of biomed.

"Risky," said one, skeptical.

"Ballsy," corrected another.

We didn't get a moment's privacy until the jury retired to discuss their rankings and the cocktail hour commenced. I bypassed the trays of canapes and plastic glasses of wine and tracked down my partner. He was deep in conversation with Kathleen Hamilton, that Canton Chem VP he'd brought to Verde that time. We made chitchat for a good fifteen minutes before I wrested Dylan away.

"I think this is the time we should be schmoozing," he pointed out as I pulled him into a quiet corner.

"Where did those new graphics come from?" I pressed. "You think you have free rein to keep secrets now? You almost screwed me up out there!"

"The graphics come from me now owing an enormous favor to my sister," he said with a sigh. "She's got a master's in animation and she pretty much lived with me on Skype for the past day and a half in order to get them done on time."

"Why?" I asked. "The charts we had were fine."

"Fine doesn't win you five thousand dollars, Tess." He looked at me. "The last time you didn't have the money you needed to go to Canton, I lost you for two years. I can't risk that again."

It was like a thunderclap to my heart. I'd thought he hated me for lying. I'd thought he was avoiding me because he felt betrayed. But really he was spending every spare second making sure we didn't lose. I didn't know what to say. I simply reached out and laid my hand over his. "You wouldn't," I said. "Not now."

But Dylan went on like he hadn't heard me. "And we especially can't let your father win."

"What?"

"All this time I thought you had a deadbeat dad, and that's why you were on scholarship. Turns out it's true, only he's a bigger deadbeat than I could have ever imagined."

I stared at him in awe. "I thought you were mad."

"Are you kidding? I'm furious." Beneath my palm, his hand had closed into a fist. "If my father wouldn't have had to take several days off work to travel here, he'd be sitting in this audience right now."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant. And now I know why you keep doubting our future every time we have some dumb fight. You can't even count on your own father."

"That's not-"

"Your dad's here in town, it's a huge crowd, he's a Canton alum and booster, no one would even blink if he showed up tonight, and yet you and I both know he would never come."

"He was in an accident..." I trailed off. The words sounded hollow in my mouth. Why did I keep making excuses for him?

"Were you expecting him to come before?"

"No," I admitted.

"He's got all the money in the world and he won't give you any for your education. You're working every night you can and trying to earn extra scholarships on the side and you're living with your mother and none of this is necessary. I've been to your father's house. He could find five thousand dollars in the couch cushions."

"Yeah," I said, "but Dad's money comes with Dad's rules. That's how I ended up at State for two years."

"So that's it," he hissed. "I thought maybe it was. Why didn't he want you to go to Canton?"

"Too expensive."

"Lies."

I nodded. Yes, yes it was. I'd known that, even at eighteen. "You know why."

Dylan said nothing for a while. Then, "You know, you were still following his rules, even after you came back here."

I felt as if my breath had been knocked out of me. No, I wanted to shout at him. It was breaking the rules to be with you, to steal Hannah's boyfriend. It was breaking the rules to go to the hospital the other night. "That's different. Canton is about me, about what I want from my life. Exposing him-that's about his life."

"Bullshit," Dylan scoffed. "He's made you lie your entire life to protect his money, and he won't even share it with you. He takes advantage of you and your mother, of Hannah and her mother..." He clenched his jaw. "He's a liar, Tess. And he's made us both into liars-for him. It's about our lives, too."

The panelists got back up on the stage, and the lights flickered, indicating they were ready to announce the winners.

"Tell me," Dylan whispered in my ear as the noise of the crowd settled. "What bad thing would happen to you if people knew your secret?"

"I'd lose him." It was the truth. The only truth to live behind a lifetime of lies. "I know you don't think he's much of a father, but he's the only one I've got." I caught sight of my mother approaching, wineglass in hand. She beamed at me. My mother, so proud of me. My mother, so weak. "And she'd lose him, too."

Dylan followed the path of my gaze. "Fair enough," he said. "You can only make decisions for yourself, not your mom. But maybe it's time for your mom to pick a side, too."

There was a rash of feedback as Dr. Cavel fiddled with the mic, and everyone fell silent. "I want to thank you all for your participation this evening."

My mom had arrived by my side. She leaned in. "Is that one of your professors? She's very pretty."

"Yeah, Mom," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Plus, she's got a PhD and a Sloan Fellowship."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Dylan stiffen. I could practically hear the pieces clicking into place in his brain. At last he understood why I thought it was nice he thought I was beautiful, but not as important as everything else.

I thought of what Mom would do without the crutch of my father to lean on. If she'd have to get serious about her art or the jobs she took on. I thought of the time she'd agreed with my father about sending me to State instead of Canton. And I thought about what she'd said the other morning, after my dad had gotten out of the hospital, still angry I'd dare to visit him there. Your father and I disagree on this matter. Maybe things could change.

"As you know," Dr. Cavel went on, "the First Semester Design Symposium is one of the most prestigious competitions for bioengineering students here at Canton, and I'm so pleased that this year's crop of projects has been one of the most competitive and impressive yet. Every student who has presented tonight should be extremely proud of the work they've accomplished this semester and of their contributions to this growing field. I look forward to see what you bring us in the new year."

There was a smattering of applause.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The winner of the symposium, and the recipient of the five-thousand-dollar grand prize is..." She paused. I breathed. Dylan grabbed my hand. "Elaine Sun, for her work in Targeting Drug-Loaded Nanoparticles to Prostate Cancer Cells Using the PD36 Minibody."

All the bones in my body turned to swizzle sticks. I slumped. My hand went wet fish in Dylan's. We'd lost. We'd lost?

"Clap," he whispered. "She's your friend."

So I clapped. Tears burned my eyes as I clapped for Elaine. She stepped up on the stage, her smile bigger than I'd ever seen, to accept her plaque and the envelope with her check. She and Dr. Cavel smiled for the pictures.

I was happy for her. I was. I certainly wasn't going to be as sore a loser as she'd been back when Dylan had beaten her freshman year. Elaine had also been working her ass off, and she deserved recognition for that. She'd played fair, too, giving us all the lab time we'd needed, in the end. It wasn't her fault we'd lost.

Dr. Yue came up behind us. "Better luck next time, you two. It was a great podium presentation, but biofuel is a tough nut to crack at Canton. Half the jurors are from Chem and they don't give a crap about anything they can't package in a pill."

I nodded, trying to look staid. To most entrants, this was just a minor disappointment-oh well, one little bullet point that didn't make it on their resume. Back to studying for finals.

Of course, it was so much harder to study for finals if you still weren't sure how to pay for the books in your hands.

I was going to have to take a semester off. That was the only option. I could work a few jobs, build up some reserves in my bank account-maybe they would hold my scholarship. Maybe I could take out a few more loans. A few more.

The clapping went on and on, rising like a storm, matching the rush of blood in my ears.