He follows me. “So that’s it?” he asks. “No more interview?”

I don’t stop walking. “You said it yourself. I don’t really care about Yale.”

He puts a hand on my arm so I have to turn and face him. “Look, I know I said you should get your screwing up done now while you’re still a kid, but Yale’s a big deal. Going there could open a lot of doors for you. It did for me.”

And maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m being shortsighted.

I look around his office. How long will it take for the construction to be done? I wonder. How long will it take for him to hire a new paralegal?

I jut my chin in the direction of her desk. “You did all the things you were supposed to, and you’re still not happy.”

He rubs again at the bandage above his eye and doesn’t look over at the desk. He’s tired, but not the kind of tired that sleeping can fix.

I tell him, “If I don’t go now, I’ll always regret it.”

“What’s another half an hour to finish this interview?” he insists.

Does he really need me to tell him that all the seconds matter? That our own universe exploded into existence in the space of a breath?

“Time counts, Mr. Fitzgerald,” I tell him.

Finally he turns away from me and looks at the empty desk.

“But you know that already,” I say.

JEREMY FITZGERALD DIDN’T TELL DANIEL the truth. The reason he wasn’t able to stop Natasha’s deportation is that he missed the court appointment with the judge who could’ve reversed the Voluntary Removal. He missed it because he’s in love with Hannah Winter, and instead of going to see the judge, he spent the afternoon at a hotel with her.

Alone in his partially built office, Jeremy will think of Daniel Bae constantly for the next week. He will remember what Daniel said about time counting. He’ll remember with perfect clarity Daniel’s busted lip and bloodied shirt. He’ll remember how that was nothing compared to the complete devastation on Daniel’s face when he learned the news about Natasha. Like someone handed him a grenade and exploded his life apart.

Sometime in the next month, Jeremy will tell his wife that he no longer loves her. That it will be best for her and the children if he leaves. He will call Hannah Winter, and he will make her promises and he will keep all of them.

His son will never settle down or marry or have children or forgive his father for his betrayal. His daughter will marry her first girlfriend, Marie. She will spend most of that first marriage anticipating and then causing its end. After Marie, no one will ever love her quite as much again. And though she’ll get married twice more, she’ll never love anyone as much as she did Marie.

Jeremy and Hannah’s children will grow up to love others in the simple and uncomplicated way of people who have always known where love comes from, and aren’t afraid of its loss.

All of which isn’t to say that Jeremy Fitzgerald did the right thing or the wrong thing. It’s only to say this: love always changes everything.

And They Lived Happily Ever After.

NOW THAT THE SUN HAS set, the air’s gotten much colder. It’s not hard to imagine that winter’s just around the corner. I’ll have to unearth my bulky black coat and my boots. I tug my jacket closer and contemplate going inside to the lobby, where it’s warm. I’m on my way in when Daniel walks out the sliding glass doors.

He sees me and I expect a smile, but his face is grim. How badly could his interview have gone?

“What happened?” I ask as soon as I reach him. I’m imagining the worst, like he got into a fight with his interviewer, and now he’s banned from applying to any college at all, and his future is ruined.

He puts his hand on my face. “I really love you,” he says. He’s not joking. This has nothing to do with our silly bet. He says it the way you would say it to someone who is dying or you don’t expect to see again.

“Daniel, what’s wrong?” I pull his hand away from my face, but I hold on to it.

“I love you,” he says again, and recaptures my face with his other hand. “It doesn’t matter if you say it back. I just want you to know it.”

My phone rings. It’s the lawyer’s office.

“Don’t answer it,” he says.

Of course I’m going to answer it.

He touches my hand to stop me. “Please don’t,” he says again.

Now I’m alarmed. I click Ignore. “What happened to you in there?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again they’re filled with tears. “You can’t stay here,” he says.

At first I don’t get it. “Why? Is the building closing for the night?” I look around for guards asking us to leave.

Tears slide down his cheeks. Certain and unwanted knowledge blooms in my mind. I pull my hand out of his.

“What was your interviewer’s name?” I whisper.

He’s nodding now. “My interviewer was your lawyer.”

“Fitzgerald?”

“Yes,” he says.

I pull out my phone and look at the number again, still refusing to understand what he’s telling me. “I’ve been waiting for him to call. Did he say something about me?”

I already know the answer. I know it.

It takes him a couple of tries to get the words out. “He said he couldn’t get the order overturned.”

“But he said he could do it,” I insist.