"Sign here…. and here…. and one last line here… Congratulations, Mr. Hollingsworth, you are officially richer than I will ever be."

January 19th had come quicker than I would have expected it too. Tristan and I had had a quiet New Year, and before we knew it, we were back at school, embarking on the final half of our final year of high school. The strangeness of that alone was enough to distract me from the anticipation of my 18th birthday.

My alarm woke me up at six-thirty. I got dressed quietly, and made my way outside, desperately hoping I wouldn't get caught. My parents didn't know the details of Grandma and I's plans. They didn't know that she had made a crack-of-dawn appointment with her financial planner, and was picking me up in her town car so that we could be at the bank before school started. I'm sure that they were expecting me to pull something like that, and I'm sure that they weren't planning any alternative morning birthday celebration. I was convinced that they'd avoid my birthday all together this year, because they were, you know, still bitter about my upcoming independence.

I lowered the fountain pen that my grandma had fished out of her purse for the signing. I would have been fine if we'd signed all the papers with a regular ball point, but she'd insisted on using something "grandpa would have written with."

"Your entire life is about to change," She told me, extending the pen to me with a coy smile on her face. "If you're so informal about signing those papers, I'm going to think you don't appreciate this moment at all."

And so I took the fountain pen, and as I held it between my fingers, as I let it glide across the page as I signed my name, I realized it felt right. Even though I had never really known my grandpa, it felt right to be doing this exactly how he would have wanted me to do it. It made the moment more intense, and as I set that pen down, I experienced a powerful wave of emotion. I truly was free.

We shook the banker's hand on our way out. Then, as Grandma buttoned up her coat, she said, "And now, you're going to buy me breakfast."

"Sure thing, Grandma." I chuckled. It felt like the least I could do, seeing how she'd just given me access to millions of dollars.

We went to an upscale place near her house, where we indulged ourselves with forty dollar quiche and virgin mimosas. Grandma called Degrassi and told the front desk receptionist that he grandson would be late for school because he'd just become a millionaire. It was the perfect way to celebrate.

"Thank you, Grandma." I said to her, as the waitress handed me the bill. Even though I'd thanked her a dozen times already since Christmas, I never felt done. "Thank you for trusting me, I guess."

"Miles, you're going to live quite the life. I'm just glad I'm still around to watch you live it." She patted me lovingly on the arm, then grabbed the check.

"I thought I was getting it!" I said defensively.

"You can hardly afford it," She teased, reaching for her purse. "You only got ten percent of his wealth. I got fifty."

"Touché, Grandma…" I laughed out loud. "Touché indeed."


I got to school during fourth period, right before lunch. It felt weird, like going to school on a Saturday. Grandma had told me I didn't have to go, insisting that no child should ever have to go to school on their birthday, and although I knew wouldn't be able to concentrate in any of my classes, I realized I didn't want to miss seeing my friends.

That being said, there didn't seem to be a point to going to just half of calc, so I went to the library after Grandma dropped me off to kill time until Tristan got out of English. Zoe had her spare period then, and I knew she would be there doing homework.

"Mornin', Zo!" I said casually, pulling my messenger bag off of my shoulder and slinging it over the back of a chair.

She glanced up from the assignment she was working on, bored. "Morning," She sighed uncaringly, then went back to her work.

Zoe and I had spent a decent amount of time together since Tristan and I had gotten together sophomore year. She always put on a really neutral face, pretending like she could care less about whether I lived or died. Tristan and I had decided she was still bitter that I'd ended up with him after she'd tried so hard. Surprisingly, Maya had been the first one to be okay with everything. Zoe just didn't give up her pride so easily.

Deep down, though, Zoe was Tristan's friend, and I was Tristan's boyfriend, and through default, we were kind of friends.

"…What are you working on?" I asked conversationally, lowering myself into my chair.

"Psych."

"Oh. Cool…" I said. She didn't say anything else. Okay, maybe we weren't really friends friends.

"You finish the physics lab?"

She smirked, and looked up at me. "He's not in class, you know?"

"…What?"

"Tristan. He's in the prop room, practicing for his audition tonight."

"For what?" I felt my cheeks heat up a bit, panicked at the thought that I'd missed something important in Tristan's life. He would never forget to mention an audition to me.

"Hello… The play…?" Zoe said rudely. "Seriously, Miles? He's been talking about this for weeks."

I was hurt. "Not to me!"

"You want my advice," She smirked smartly. "Go to the prop room, and pretend like you've known what was going on this entire time."

I nodded, quickly getting up and grabbing my bag. As I was rushing away, she called after me, "Happy Birthday, by the way!"

I rushed to the prop room, pushing the door open to find Tristan pacing through the aisles of junk, muttering something to himself.

"Hey," I said confidently. Tristan looked up with a start. "Do you want me to help you run lines?"

He looked confused. "No… I was just doing my English reading." He said defensively.

Then I realized: he had deliberately not told me about his audition.

"Tris… What's going on?" I gently demanded. "Zoe said auditions for the play are tonight."

Tristan sighed heavily. The jig was up. "I didn't want to tell you," He admitted. "It's your birthday. You just, like, became a millionaire. Today wasn't supposed to be about me."

I laughed weakly. "That's ridiculous, okay? Let me help you run lines."

He hesitated, smiling softly, then held his script out to me.

"The Crucible…" I read the cover out loud as I took it from him.

"Yeah." He laughed nervously. "Some pretty heavy stuff. I think Zoe's a shoe-in for the Winona Ryder part…"

"And you?"

"Daniel Day Lewis…?" He admitted timidly.

I nodded, flipping through the pages. "Thankfully, drama club's not one to type cast, right? Didn't you say you played Juliet in grade nine?"

Tristan groaned. "Yeah. Because I wasn't manly enough to play Romeo."

He turned away from me and plopped down on one of the prop room's couches, clearly distraught. I sighed, and walked up behind him. I set the script on the cushion next to him, and instinctively started massaging his shoulders.

"You know that's not what I meant," I said lightly. "You'll make a great Daniel Day-Lewis."

"Mhmm…" He hummed, clearly not convinced. I took my hands away, and walked around to the front of the couch, sitting down next to him. I wasn't sure what else to say, so I put my hand on top of his, playing with his fingers a bit, waiting for him to talk.

"So… is it done, then?" He asked. I realized after a split second that he'd changed the subject. "You, like, signed everything?"

I took a deep breath. Still wasn't fully able to process the reality of the situation. "Um…yeah…"

Tristan nodded. It was a supportive nod. Nothing about the way he was looking at me suggested that he was terribly excited about the fact that I had money now. As he turned his hand to face upward, weaving his fingers in with mine, I felt completely secure in the fact that he truly loved me for me, not that I'd had many doubts before.

"I love you." I told him.

He grinned smugly. "You're not so bad yourself."

I laughed as he leaned in to kiss me gently. "Happy birthday." He said as we pulled apart. "Have I said that yet?"

I smirked, "Like you don't remember calling me at midnight just as I was about to fall asleep."

He shrugged. "Hey. I'm your boyfriend. It's my job."

I laughed. "Come here," We kissed again, for longer this time.

"I really do want to help you practice for your audition," I breathed.

Tristan shook his head, a dark, seductive look in his eyes. "Later."

I chuckled, and went back in for more.


That day, after school, I stood at the back of the gym as Tristan read his monologue for the director: this grade eleven named Dillon who I'd never spoken to before in my life. He was this skinny redhead who wore thick plastic glasses and a jean jacket with patches. I watched him carefully as he watched Tristan take the stage, and decided immediately that I didn't like him. The way he sat behind his little table, his hand on his chin as if he was contemplatively stroking some invisible beard, rubbed me the wrong way. I was good at reading body language, and I could just tell this guy was a jerk.

Tristan pasted on a smile as he went to the center of the stage. If he disliked this guy as much as I already did, he wasn't allowed to show it.

"Whenever you're ready," Dillon said.

And then, Tristan bowed his head, taking a deep breath. When he looked up, he was completely transformed. He was John Proctor. I felt the hairs on my arms stick up, enchanted by the magic he was making. He performed perfectly, delivering every line completely organically. By the time he was done, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I was so proud to call him my boyfriend.

However, Dillon wasn't smiling. He nodded apathetically, writing something down in his notebook. "Thank you…"

Tristan kept his smile on, but his eyes were filled with disappointment. I could tell he was hoping for more immediate praise.

"No, thank you," He said weakly, then climbed down toward the stage, quickly approaching me. I put and arm around him as I guided him out of the auditorium.

"Tris, that was awesome." I told him.

But I could tell he didn't believe me. It took a lot of self restraint not to march up to this Dillon kid and give him a piece of my mind.

"Whatever," Tristan mumbled, as we emerged into the hallway. "There's nothing we can do now but wait. A lot of directors keep a poker face, anyway."

Suddenly, my phone went off. I pulled it out of my pocket, and read the quick text, from my mom:"What time will you be home? Just picked up your cake."

I guess my parents weren't going to avoid my birthday after all.

"Well, I'm sure cake from the finest bakery in Toronto will distract you from the grueling anticipation," I teased.

Tristan laughed. "Another awkward Hollingsworth dinner party?" He cooed. "I'm so in."

"Do you think I could get away with blowing it off?" I asked sheepishly.

He put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. "Look, as much as I was hoping I could use tonight to spoil you, it wouldn't be right of me to steal you from your parents entirely."

I sighed heavily. I knew he was right, but all I wanted was to be alone with him, to talk about the future; to talk about Paris. Now that his audition was over, we would really be able to focus. I didn't have the patience for my parents right now.

"Hey," He grabbed me by the shoulders, and looked me square in the eye. "It's gonna be a good night, I promise." He gave me a light kiss.

"I know."


Tristan gently held onto my arm as we made our way through the courtyard. The fact that he was there was making it easier that I was going to have to spend time with my parents tonight.

"So, they know, right?" Tristan said uneasily. "I mean, I know you said your grandma took you this morning. Your parents know that you really made it official?"

I laughed cynically. "I mean, I didn't try to keep it a secret…"

As we approached the door, we could hear my parents voices coming from inside. It took me a second to realize that they were arguing.

"Of course…" I told Tristan. "It wouldn't be a celebration without drama."

"So what do you plan on doing?" My mother was wailing. "You're just gonna leave it on the side of the road in front of our house?"

"Do you have a better idea?" My dad shouted back at her.

"Yeah. Put it back. It's his stuff, Miles!" There was a hint of laughter in her voice, to show him he was being completely ridiculous. I let go of Tristan and stepped closer to the glass doors, hoping to figure out what they were talking about.

"Well, he can buy his own stuff now, can't he?" My dad hissed. My stomach dropped, as I suddenly realized exactly what they were talking about.

I burst into the living room. My dad was standing in the middle of the room, holding my macbook in one hand.

"What the hell!?" I yelled. "What are you doing?"

My mother massaged her forehead. "He's not doing anything. Happy Birthday, sweetie."

"Dad," I urged, my voice shaking. "Why do you have my computer?"

I heard Tristan entering behind me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Even though he and I didn't have any secrets, it was still humiliating when he witnessed such powerful examples of Hollingsworth family dysfunction.

"Your computer?" My dad laughed. "I'm sorry. Did you dish out fifteen hundred dollars for this?" He was waving it carelessly in the air. "I've paid for everything you own." He lowered the laptop, then tossed it carelessly onto the couch. "You have nothing."

"This couldn't have waited until tomorrow…" My mother mumbled, gripping the back of the couch as if she was about to collapse from exhaustion.

"Why wait until tomorrow?" My dad laughed. "He has his money today! …So, Miles," He smirked wickedly at me. "Why don't you go out and get a nice suite at the Hilton. You don't need to be here anymore, do you?"

My heart was pounding. I'd known my father wasn't cool with me taking the money, but I wasn't expecting this, of all things. Was he throwing me out? Was he expecting me to put my own life together overnight? I mean, in a way, he was right. That was exactly what I was asking for. When faced with it so suddenly, though, I was paralyzed with fear. I could hardly argue with him.

"Dad, I…" I stammered, not sure what I should say. Then, my Mom spoke for me.

"It's his birthday." She snapped, her voice low and authoritative. "He's sleeping here. In his bed."

Her tone must have scared him, at least slightly, because he calmed down. He watched me for a minute, his eyes narrowed, his breathing heavy. Then, he pointed a finger at me, said, "One night. Then, you're gone," then stormed out of the room.

Tristan, Mom and I were quiet for a long moment. Tristan came up behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"There's food waiting for us in the dining room…" Mom said quietly. "Your brother and sister… I just called for them, so they should be down any minute…"

I couldn't look her in the eye.

"Miles…" She said, her voice getting quieter. "You're welcome here for as long as you'd like to stay. You know that, right?"

I looked over at my computer, which was still on the couch. I realized that my Dad was right. It had never really been mine. None of this had been. "No. It's fine." Tristan's hand slowly slid off my shoulder. I could tell he was surprised that I was backing down so easily. "I'll be out tonight."