by Jenna Scott
When I pull it out, I see a text from Isabel, asking for my input on a dress she’s designing and sewing from scratch for the upcoming spring formal (because at Oak Academy, homecoming, winter formal, and prom simply aren’t enough). I answer that she should chill on the flower appliqués and that the bell sleeves look a little too medieval. Appliqués. Bell sleeves. These are things I know now.
Upon closing the chat, I realize I have a few unread emails, and I dive into my inbox to delete what I assume is my usual daily ration of news, junk mail, and spam.
But when I see one from [email protected], the sender name jumps out at me, my blood running cold. I tap it, biting my lip in the milliseconds it takes to load.
Please log in to your portal account to review your official admissions decision…
Heart pounding, I follow the link to the Stanford portal website, type in my username and password with shaking hands, and go to my official school inbox. Of all the college letters that have started trickling in so far, this one means the most.
Congratulations! On behalf of the Office of Undergraduate Admissions, it is my pleasure to offer you… I almost drop my phone as I squeal, and I have to re-read the email over and over again, blood rushing to my head as the first line jumps out at me.
I’m IN. I got into mother-effing Stanford. Yes!!!
There’s no mention of a scholarship offer, which sucks, but there is a spot for me at my dream school if I can find a way to pay for it. The email reminds me to fill out the FAFSA application before the deadline in June, which I know is necessary. There’s no way I can afford over $50,000 per year in tuition without financial aid. A lot of it.
The reasons why I haven’t submitted the FAFSA already are two-fold. First, I need Mom to sit down and fill it out with me, which requires having her submit tax documents, and I’m still working up the nerve to ask since we haven’t discussed college stuff except during arguments. Second, I was holding out hope that one of the schools I applied to would offer me a full ride. But if Stanford wants me, I’ll do anything to make it happen. Even if that means taking out loans. That is, if I can get approved. A big if.
But something else gives me pause. The fact that Hunter still hasn’t made any decisions about college for himself. I’m not even sure where he’s been accepted so far.
If I’m at Stanford, which Hunter didn’t even apply to, that puts me five hundred miles away from La Jolla. San Francisco State or UC Berkeley would both be less than an hour’s drive from my campus, so if Hunter went to one of those schools it wouldn’t be bad at all…but whenever I bring up making plans for where we’ll be next year, Hunter changes the subject. I was putting off trying to force the issue, but now that I have my Stanford acceptance in hand, it’s time for us to figure this stuff out.
The days are passing, the acceptances and rejections are rolling in, and we’re getting closer and closer to the actual future. I understand why he’d want to avoid making any decisions in a hurry, but I wish I had a sense of what he was planning to do next year. The colleges we attend could be on opposite sides of the world, but I already know that I want to find a way to make us work. What if Hunter doesn’t feel the same?
The thought turns my stomach, and I force myself to return to the dishes. There’s no sense in dwelling over all of this right now. I’ll cross this bridge when I come to it. And hopefully, if we’re meant to be, Hunter will be ready to cross it too. Once they’re done, I wipe my hands on a towel and sigh.
When I walk through the living room, I notice Roo on the floor. He probably got knocked off the couch when Hunter landed on me. I pick up the plushie, then head upstairs, where the hallway is dark save for the light coming from Harry’s room.
When I get there, I stop at the threshold of the door. Hunter’s lying in bed with Harrison snuggled up to him, a picture book open between them. I stay back, watching them quietly, not wanting to interrupt this adorably perfect brotherly moment.
I recognize what they’re reading now—it’s a little below Harry’s reading level at this point, but I got it for him when I first started babysitting because I thought the illustrations were cute.
It’s about a kangaroo, just like Roo, whose best friend, an emu, is moving away, and all the things the kangaroo does to try to make the emu’s family stay. In the end, the kangaroo’s mother sits him down and explains that although he and the emu might live in different places and not see each other as often, they’ll always be friends. The book ends with the kangaroo and the emu exchanging email addresses and then planning to meet up at summer surf camp every year after that.
Like I said, super cute.
I basically know the book by heart at this point, and so does Harry, but this is obviously Hunter’s first time reading it. He’s trying to mock the text as he reads, saying things like, “Wow, how incredibly codependent,” and the like. But I hear the catch in his voice and the hesitation in his page turning that tells me something else.
That innocent picture book is getting to him.
“Erwin put another toy in the box, and Kippy started to sniffle,” Hunter reads. “He didn’t understand why Erwin had to move away from the eucalyptus forest. Kippy didn’t want to lose his best friend.” He turns the page carefully, fingers twiddling with the book’s edges, but he doesn’t go on. He seems hesitant to continue.
Harry looks up at his brother, frowns, and says, “Don’t worry, Hunter. Erwin and Kippy go to the same surf camp. They’ll see each other again soon.”
I choose that as my cue to enter and head over to the bedside, Roo held out. “Hey, bud. You forgot this downstairs.”
“Roo!” Harry takes his stuffed animal and hugs it to his chest as he looks up at me. The kid has unreal eyelashes, I swear, and uses them for maximum effect. “Milla, you’re leaving next year, aren’t you? Like Erwin. Where’s your school gonna be?”
My eyes skim to Hunter, and I find him avoiding my gaze, looking at the book open in his lap, trying to seem like he’s not paying attention to my answer. “I still don’t know. Depends on how my scholarship situation works out.”
Harrison pouts. “If you end up going real far away, will I be able to see you?”
His sweetness touches my heart and brings a smile to my face. “I’m hoping so. I’ll be home for holidays at least, and maybe we can FaceTime.”
I steal a glance at Hunter, and he’s frozen, like a statue. He snaps the book shut before I can say anything and sets it on the nightstand. “Time to go to sleep, little man,” he tells Harrison with a forced smile.
“But the story isn’t finished!” Harry whines.
“We’ll finish it tomorrow,” Hunter says, and he sounds tired, as if he’s been awake for two days straight.
I cross my arms and fight the urge to ask what’s wrong. Instead, all I do is watch while Hunter tucks Harrison in, patting his head softly before turning off the light. There’s anxiety in his steps when we walk out of the room together, and he lets out a sigh when he softly closes the door behind us.
I want to ask why he looks so sad. Is it about me leaving next year? Is it something else? Something I can help with?
Wrapping my fingers around his, I murmur, “Let’s go to your room?”
In the dim hallway, his blue eyes fall to our hands, and his lips become a hard line. “I have to take care of some stuff,” he says vaguely, slipping out of my reach.
My chest tightens, and for a moment, I consider minding my own business and just letting him go. But we’re way past cold one-liners and rushed exits.
I follow him downstairs, where he’s fumbling for his keys by the front door. “Wait. Where are you going?”
Hunter doesn’t look at me as he laces up his shoes. “I don’t know. For a drive, I guess.” His voice is hoarse and breathy, a far cry from its usual smooth tone that exudes confidence. Worry instantly gnaws at my stomach.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, then softly add, “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
&nb
sp; He shakes his head, pulling the front door open. “I need to be alone right now.”
“Hunter, stop, don’t go—”
But he doesn’t stop, and once he’s closed the door behind him a little too hard, I give up on chasing him all the way out to his car. What would be the point when he clearly doesn’t want to talk?
I wish I knew what I did or what’s bothering him. He seemed totally fine thirty minutes ago, and now…this. Did that children’s book really shake him up so bad?
As I watch his car drive down the street, a frown tugs at my mouth. Although both of us have been abandoned by a parent, the effects on us were completely different.
With me, I’m constantly looking to find my own version of the stability and validation I never had. Honestly, as much as I hate my dad for abandoning us, I really can’t blame him for not being able to stick it out with Mom. I mean, most of the time I want to run away from her too, which is part of the reason I’m so desperate to go to college in the first place. That, and the fact that nothing seems more stable than having the ability to build my own life and make my own decisions. Plus, what could be more validating than a college degree? It’ll open up a world of opportunities to me.
And as for my constant search for emotional stability, I guess I thought Hunter was giving me some of that. I was starting to rely on him as someone who’d be there not just a week from now, but for years, possibly even my whole life.
Maybe I was wrong.
Yet Hunter seems to have responded to his childhood trauma in the exact opposite ways. He doesn’t seem to care about building his own life and finding his own stable path. It also seems pretty obvious that the reason he doesn’t want to deal with any decisions about next year is because going away for school would force him to leave Harry behind. Maybe he thinks the best way to avoid uncertainty is to just stay exactly where he is, comforted by the routine of his life because it’s all he knows. I get that.
And as for wanting to stay close to Harry, I get that too. Their dad’s either doing the workaholic thing or too busy when he’s at home to even pay much attention to them; Harrison’s mom is the kind of Instagram influencer who seems to only spend time with her son when she needs to be able to post a picture of her happy family life.
What if Hunter is pushing me away because he’s afraid I’ll abandon him too?
As I pad back to the pool house, I realize some things I hadn’t dared to before.
I don’t want to leave Hunter.
These past few weeks have been like something out of a dream. He’s been sweet, attentive, and caring, and whenever I’m with him, I feel stable. Solid. Supported. Kind of like my feet are planted firmly on the ground, and I have someone strong to hold on to whenever problems threaten to uproot me.
My heart is full of Hunter because it’s already his.
But left all alone now, with my thoughts and my worries and my doubts, it’s like I’m missing a part of myself. He took a piece of me with him when he walked out that door and refused to tell me why.
Crawling across my bed, I plant myself face down in my pillow.
I wish Hunter would tell me what’s really going on. I want to be able to help him. I want him to feel like he can rely on me the same way I’m starting to rely on him. But if he can’t meet me halfway, then this relationship is going nowhere.
And watching him just walk out the door with no explanation and no look back, all because he can’t even talk to me? That hurt. Just the thought of us breaking up makes my chest go tight.
It occurs to me that somehow, despite promising myself I wouldn’t let Hunter jerk me around, I’ve let him gain way too much power over me.
What if I can’t get it back?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hunter
Whoever said children’s books are basic knows nothing about the gut punch a few words and drawings can pack. And when those words and drawings are basically a thinly-veiled version of the horrible events looming over your life? Yeah, no. I couldn’t even finish reading the damn thing. Even my six-year-old brother is braver than I am when it comes to talking with Milla about her plans for college.
I don’t want her to leave me. Leave this town.
Once she’s gone, no one will be around to shine a light on my darkness. Everything will go back to the way it was before. I’ll walk through my days like a zombie, not really living, not doing much of anything other than existing miserably.
But it’s not as easy as she thinks to just walk away. I have to stay in La Jolla, to watch over Harry and make sure he’s taken care of. He’s too young to look out for himself, and I know firsthand what it’s like to grow up with parents who don’t give a shit. He’s the most important person in my life, and he needs me. And yet…
How the hell am I supposed to get by here without Camilla? And when did I get so attached to her?
I tap a button on the touchscreen in my BMW and tell Siri to text Matt Mason and Tom, letting them know I’m going to Blackout and inviting them to join me for drinks. I leave Steve off the group text on purpose, since he’s still being a little bitch about that time during lunch when I told him to watch his mouth. He can keep on nursing his bruised ego alone, for all I care.
After I park in the corner of Blackout’s lot, I root around in my wallet until I find my fake ID. This isn’t exactly the nicest part of town, but the plus side is that you can usually get in without door security trying to start shit or looking too hard at your driver’s license. On top of that, the bartender is more than happy to keep the drinks coming as long as you have an extra hundred dollar bill to leave in the tip jar.
My friends don’t take too long to join me, and soon enough, they’re piling into the booth I’m at with a pitcher of beer and a few glasses.
“Rare to see you out alone nowadays, Beck,” Matt says as he pours himself a beer. “Get in a fight with your little girlfriend or something?”
“Don’t,” I say sternly, taking a long slug of my gin and tonic. It’s my second.
“This place isn’t Camilla’s scene,” Tom interjects. “And besides, she’s too much of a nerd to have a fake ID. No offense, man.”
“You speak the truth,” I tell him. I can’t get offended either. Tom’s right, and I know he isn’t trying to be a jerk. If anything, he and Camilla have sort of become friends over the last few weeks, if their interaction at lunch is anything to judge by.
“I’m still sensing trouble in paradise,” Matt says. “Given the fact that you skipped the beers and went straight to gin, which by the way is nasty, bro.”
“Nothing wrong with a nice G&T,” I argue, gulping down the rest of my drink and signaling for another. “Even if you’re right, I’m not in the mood to talk about it.”
“No shocker there,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. Because Camilla is the one topic that’s been off-limits lately, even though I’m normally happy to share the details of my conquests.
The thing is, Camilla isn’t a conquest. She’s something completely different.
Matt and Tom soon get distracted by one of the flatscreen TVs, where a basketball game plays. I try to watch, but I can’t focus. I’m not much of a fan. And all I can think about is Milla and how she might be walking out of my life, never to return.
As we continue to drink and bullshit, I keep going back over the events of this evening, and how things went from sexy to sour so fast.
What is it about this girl that has such a strong hold on me? When she’s not around, the entire world seems duller, and I feel this urge to see her again as soon as possible, an urge that I can’t shake. It’s like an addiction. Even the gin feels especially weak right now, like my craving for Camilla is stronger than the numbing effects of alcohol. Everything has been better since she came along, but I can feel her slipping away the more attached I get. And the worst part is, it’s all my fault. Because I’m too afraid to tell her the truth about what’s really going on.
Even though a number of college reps have tripped ov
er themselves trying to get me to accept their offers, and I’ve even had a few swimming scholarships thrown at me, I’ve refused all of them. It’s not that I don’t want to go to college, but someone has to look after my brother. Since it’s not gonna be my dad or my stepmom, it has to be me. But I can’t stay in this shithole of a town anymore either. All these different directions are pulling at me, and the only thing holding me together is Milla.
She’s the only reason it’s been bearable at home.
As I lift another fresh drink to my lips, I realize how little my so-called “friends” actually know me. No one does, really. I’ve gotten too good at wearing a mask—the mask of the popular guy who doesn’t give a shit about anything but having a good time. Milla’s gotten the closest to the real me, but even she doesn’t know the depths of my miserable self. She’d probably run for the hills if she knew what was under my cool, detached exterior. I don’t have my shit together, I don’t have any kind of a plan, and I have no idea where my future is going.
So, yeah. She’d run real fast. That’s not her speed at all.
There’s a warm hand on my shoulder, and I look up to see Hillary, slightly blurry, though there’s no mistaking the way she’s pouting at me. “What’s wrong, Hunter? You look sad.” She slides into the booth beside me, getting indifferent head-nods from Matt and Tom. “Maybe I can cheer you up,” she murmurs, giggling.
Under normal circumstances, I’d probably just go for it. Hillary’s hot, and though we’ve only made out the one time, she’s been after me for years, and I’ve heard she knows what she’s doing when she’s on her knees. I don’t doubt that she’d be up for anything I might want, probably behind the bar even. This pain would disappear.
Thing is, she’s not Milla. So there’s no use trying to distract myself. And even if the pain did disappear, it’d be temporary. With my luck, it might even be worse after. Thinking of how Camilla would react to that kind of betrayal is an instant boner-killer.
I push Hillary away. “Nah, I’m fine.” Not strongly enough, it seems, since she returns and puts her hand on my leg, squeezing my thigh. My skin crawls underneath my jeans. “I’m not in the mood,” I tell her, this time more forcefully.
