a/n: I'm weirdly nervous about putting all of this out there? Let me know what you think! <3 

NOW.

Choices. Choices. Choices. Little things that pile together, that align together so perfectly, so exactly, just like a domino – falling, toppling, hitting and landing here. Right here. With me alone. In the perfect place, at the perfect time, wearing the perfect thing.

I made those choices. I made those little decisions I thought negligible and they aligned. The pieces fit, and they fell and now I am here.

Now I am here. Living and breathing and existing and still making choices. I am still making choices. As I sit here in class, in my t-shirt and my jeans, I am making a choice.

Everyday I wonder if I made the right one.

But there are some things that are beyond the choices I make. They're choices, though. Just not my own. I guess some people call that fate.

"Karol, Branley," Ms Clarkson says. "And Jacobs, Renee."

When I don't move and neither does Renee, Ms Clarkson rolls her eyes and says, "Well, hurry up. Go on."

I'm about to stand up and walk over to Renee – because Renee Jacobs is one of those girls who sit at That Table and don't really move for people – but she does. She stands up, throws her bag over her shoulder and scuttles over to me, looking perfectly bored and perfectly beautiful.

Just like she did that night.

The realization is startling, as it usually is. Remembering is startling. It's almost like déjà vu, except the little things all cumulate into that big, black picture. That gaping black hole of time you can't take back. It's the little things, and then the big ones. That IKEA couch you see on TV is the same one in that room. That song was the one that was playing. That scent. That taste.

That perfect picture of boredom and beauty on Renee Jacobs' face.

"Branley Karol, was it?" Renee asks, making me look right at her.

"Yeah." The last time a girl from That Table spoke to me willingly, I made a choice. I made a choice I should be able to take back.

Renee keeps looking at me, even if I've already turned back to the board. A life ago, I would've made a choice. I would have kept the conversation alive. I would have sat on the edge of my seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Renee or her smile or laugh or any fleeting moment of validation to cling onto.

But choices were made then, and they are made now.

*

"Heard you were paired with Renee Jacobs," Elizabeth Blanchard says to me over lunch, easing into the seat opposite me. Elizabeth is my supposed best friend. She and I have stuck together from our dorky Middle School days, to our bright-eyed Freshman ones. And apparently, for that sole reason, we are best friends.

I shrug. "We just sit next to each other in AP Lit."

Elizabeth looks at me, green eyes wide. "Bran, that's everything."

I shrug again, stabbing my salad. "I guess so."

She turns, facing the other members of our little clique, all of whom are clearly eavesdropping. There was a time when I was exactly like all of them, when I fit in like a gem – hungry for attention, for popularity, for validation. But that girl also wanted to be seen. And she made a choice. She chose to be seen.

And just like that, she vanished.

"Kelsey," Elizabeth says in her bossy voice, "tell her that she's being stupid."

Kelsey Donahue looks up from her meal and at Elizabeth, who looks at her with a raised eyebrow. Elizabeth likes to think herself higher than us, which is true, to an extent. While she's never been popular, she is not invisible. She's stolen kisses with boys who sit at That Table, she wears makeup and compliments Alyssa Davies' clothes. And while she could easily join a larger clique, she'd rather stay with us, where her word is law.

"Bran," Kelsey sighs. "You're being stupid."

"You see," Elizabeth says, gesturing to the younger girl. "Kels gets it. Bran, sitting beside Renee Jacobs is your big shot. It's opportunity. It's your chance to make a name for yourself before Senior year ends." She laces her fingers together. "It's like that time you were invited to Alyssa Davies' party and totally fucked it up." I feel myself freeze. "Don't. Fuck. It. Up."

I nod-mumble something to appease her, and her attention is immediately diverted.

But mine isn't.

It's there; that reminder of a choice I made a lifetime ago. It's there, floating in everyone's memory, except mine. That giant, gaping black hole. That chasm of a moment that changed everything. That one gap in my memory that I can never take back.

I remember the night in flashes, little reminders, little chills, feelings that are eerily familiar – things you just wish you could place. I remember it in the words of other people, in their photographs and tweets, in their equally warped perceptions and memories of that night.

I sit there, listening to the drone of Elizabeth's voice, the memory of that night picturesque in everybody's mind – except my own.