Audrey mouthed: I'm so sorry.

Felicity did not look at her.

She stood. She cleared her throat. And she began what would later be described, in Audrey's retelling, as "the most impressively vague literary analysis ever delivered in a high school classroom." It involved three separate instances of the phrase "he seems quite dominant," a detour into whether Daisy was "perhaps not as simple as she appears," a moment where Felicity appeared to briefly confuse Tom Buchanan with Jay Gatsby before self-correcting with no acknowledgment that anything had gone wrong, and a final sentence that proposed, with unexpected confidence, that Nick Carraway functioned as "the emotional mirror of the scene, which is relatable, in a way."

Professor Vance let her finish completely. Then she said, with perfect evenness: "Thank you, Miss Holloway. We'll revisit that passage on Friday."

Felicity sat down.

The last five minutes of class, Audrey kept her eyes forward. She didn't need to turn around. She could feel Felicity's stare on the back of her neck like a direct application of heat.

The second the bell rang, Felicity was standing.

"Don't run," she said, appearing at Audrey's shoulder before Audrey had even fully stood up. "Do not run. If you run, I will follow you and I will be significantly angrier by the time I catch you."

"I was going to apologize-"

"You were going to run and apologize simultaneously while hoping speed reduced the impact." Felicity grabbed her arm and steered her into the hallway. "You were dreaming again."

"I wasn't-"

"You had the face, Audrey. That face. The one where your eyes go soft and you're basically somewhere else entirely. I've been watching that face for three years and I know exactly what it means." She released Audrey's arm. "Him?"

Audrey didn't answer immediately. They walked. The hallway was loud and crowded, lockers slamming on both sides, and she used the noise as an excuse to take a second.

"We were just talking," she said finally.

"You were talking." Felicity's voice went flat. "You failed to write a single word of notes for forty-three minutes - I did count - because you were having a conversation with someone in your head."

"It wasn't-" Audrey stopped. "We were sitting together. He had his arm around me. We were just - sitting there, talking. And it felt completely real. More real than this hallway feels right now, actually."

Felicity looked at her sideways. "What were you talking about?"

"I was asking him who he was."

"And?"

Audrey hesitated. "He said he's the one I dream about. He said he only exists in the dream." She pressed her notebook against her chest. "I know how that sounds."

"It sounds like a Hallmark movie that got too philosophical." Felicity stopped at her locker, spun the combination. "Have you ever seen his face?"

"In the dream I can see it clearly. But the moment I wake up, it's just-" She searched for the right word. "Gone. Like looking at something through water. I know it was there. I just can't hold onto it."

"So you're in love with a man whose face you can't remember."

"I'm not in love with him."

Felicity turned from her locker. Both eyebrows up.

"I don't know him well enough to be in love with him," Audrey said. Which was not entirely convincing, even to herself.

"What do you know about him?"

"I know how he laughs. I know that he takes his coffee black in the mornings but sweet in the afternoons. I know that he doesn't talk much when he's thinking through something but when he does talk it's-" She stopped. "It's exactly right. Whatever he says is exactly what I needed to hear."

Felicity was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "Audrey. That's called being in love."

"It's called having very detailed dreams-"

"Also, what was last Tuesday? Because last Tuesday you missed the first twenty minutes of Calculus and you had that face again, and I thought I heard you say something about motorcycles-"

"He was driving," Audrey said. "I was on the back. We went out to this road somewhere outside the city, all these trees on both sides, and we were going fast and it was-" She felt her cheeks warming. "It was really good."

Felicity stopped walking entirely.

"A motorcycle," she said.

"Yes."

"Your dream man, this perfect ideal, rides a motorcycle."

"What's wrong with-"

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it. It simply means he's probably not the type to arrive on a private jet, which tells us something interesting about what you actually want." Felicity started moving again. "Has he said anything useful? His name? His job? Where he actually lives when you're not dreaming about him?"

"He doesn't-" Audrey struggled. "He just feels like a person. A specific, real, particular person. Not a type. Not a fantasy. A person I've somehow already met, except I haven't." She paused. "And last week he-"

She stopped.

Felicity looked at her. Waited.

"He kissed me," Audrey said, very quietly. "Last week. In the dream."

Felicity stopped walking for the second time in sixty seconds. Her eyes went wide. "He kissed you."

"Yes."

"He actually-" Felicity's voice was climbing. "Audrey. He kissed you. In your dream. Actually kissed you-"

"Felicity, please don't-"

"HE KISSED YOU?!"

The sound bounced off every locker in the corridor, traveled the full length of the hallway, and effectively froze every nearby conversation. A sophomore two lockers down dropped his water bottle. Someone laughed. Someone behind them said "oh my God" with great interest. Audrey grabbed Felicity's arm.

"Please lower your-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just-"

"I swear to God if you do not-"

"Okay, okay, I'm calm-"

"FELICITY."

"I'm calm, I'm completely calm, tell me-"

"Miss Lorne."