This Boy

by Jenna Scott

  “That is my plan, sure,” I say simply. “But that doesn’t mean we’re over.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He sets off toward the corner of the parking lot where he always parks his car, and I follow. It’s hard to keep up with his pace. He’s clearly blowing off more steam.

  When we reach his BMW, he whirls around. “Do you really think it’s going to work out between us when you’re eight hours away? We’ll barely see each other.”

  “I’ll come down every weekend—”

  “No, you won’t. Maybe at first, but then you’ll get busy with studying and exams and you’ll have to skip a weekend, and then two, and meanwhile, you’ll be meeting new people, and pretty soon we’ll just…drift apart.”

  “You can’t predict the future,” I tell him. “Why are you so convinced we’ll fail? We care about each other, and we want to be together. So that’s what we’ll do. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

  “You’re delusional,” he scoffs. “And you can’t promise that. Long-distance relationships never work.”

  “We’ll make it work,” I insist.

  “The world isn’t a fairy tale like you think it is!” he growls. “You see everything through purple-colored glasses, but that’s not real life. You need to grow up, Camilla.”

  My eyes are blurring with tears that I can’t fight back. His words have cut right to my core—not because what he’s saying is true, but because it’s all so wrong.

  “My life has never been a fairy tale, Hunter. And honestly? You’re the last person who should be telling anyone to grow up,” I grind out, my voice cracking on the last word.

  “It’s not gonna work, Camilla. It’s either me or Stanford. You have to choose.”

  It’s an impossible choice, one he shouldn’t be asking me to make, so I don’t even attempt to respond. Instead, I spin on my heel and stalk back to school.

  Minutes later, Isabel is hustling me into her car for an emergency French fry and Oreo milkshake run. All she knows is that Hunter and I had some kind of argument in the parking lot. Well, that and the fact that I can’t stop crying.

  “I’m not gonna push for details, girl, but let me know if you want me to kick his ass,” she says as we idle in line at the drive-thru. “Happy to do it.”

  “It wouldn’t fix anything,” I murmur. “But thanks.”

  My eyes start to well up again, and I can’t say anything more. I’m grateful that Isabel is true to her word and doesn’t try to interrogate me about what Hunter said. Once we have our food, we drive back to school and spend the rest of our lunch period in her car, listening to Billie Eilish and sucking down our milkshakes.

  I can’t believe this is how it’s going to end between me and Hunter. With him just giving up on us because he’s too scared to try and fail. My chest feels like a black hole. I’m a combination of devastated and angry, utterly lost and disappointed.

  For the rest of the school day, I keep anxiously checking my phone, hoping he’ll send a text or leave me a voicemail in between classes, but there’s nothing.

  After school, I do my best to go through the motions babysitting Harry, but Hunter is nowhere to be found. Probably out joyriding around La Jolla again or hanging out with his bros, not a care in the world.

  How could he possibly ask me to choose between him and my dream school? Not just my dream school—my future? And why am I so confused about it? It should be Stanford. Easily. It’s always been Stanford. I shouldn’t even have to think about it.

  But the thought of losing him forever just feels…wrong.

  That night, I cry myself to sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Camilla

  The next morning, I wake up exhausted, drained, and nauseated. I can barely manage to choke down a piece of toast, my stomach is in such knots. I’m a zombie the entire bus ride to school. All I can think about is my fight with Hunter yesterday and all the things I wish I had said rather than just walking away.

  When I see him in the hall before first period, I notice he’s alone, just zoning out as he leans against his locker. He looks over at me, and I feel like I’m moving in slow motion as I head toward him. I can’t just leave things like this between us.

  “Hunter—”

  “Camilla,” he interrupts, all seriousness. “We need to talk.”

  No. I know exactly what this is. And I’m not going to give him the chance to break up with me before I say what I have to say.

  “I know you’re pushing me away to keep yourself from getting hurt,” I tell him. “But it doesn’t work like that. You’re obviously already hurting. You can't save yourself from this.”

  He nods. “You’re right. I can’t.”

  “Wait, what?” I’m completely thrown. He’s actually agreeing with me? Why?

  “Will you come with me?” he asks.

  “I—I don’t know. Where?”

  “Just out to my car. Please. I don’t want to fight. We still have ten minutes before first period.”

  “Okay,” I say, letting him lead me to the parking lot. I don’t doubt his sincerity. Still, I have no idea what I’m agreeing to. This better be good.

  “I didn’t get to finish telling you what happened the other night, when I took off…” He leaves the sentence hanging and rubs his eyes with the back of his hands.

  “I already know what happened,” I say. “You decided to go get incapacitated like an idiot, and you ended up crashing at Tom’s. Everyone was talking about it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Right. Except he’s conveniently leaving out the most important part of the story, which doesn’t give me a lot of confidence.

  “And what about Hillary?” I prod as we walk down a row of student cars, my stomach dropping as I wait for his response. “What happened with her?”

  But he’s already shaking his head. “I didn’t know she was gonna be there. I swear. When she came over to our table, I pushed her away. I mean, literally pushed. I’m lucky she isn’t pressing charges.”

  “So you didn’t touch her, except to push her,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.

  “Believe me, Milla. We didn’t even kiss. We didn’t do anything.” He takes a breath. “And you know why not? Because she isn’t you. Do you get that? I don’t want anyone else but you.”

  He’s looking at me that way again, like I’m everything to him.

  “How can you say that?” I ask. “You told me yesterday I had to choose between you and college. Do you have any idea what kind of position that puts me in? This is my one shot. I don’t have opportunities falling in my lap left and right. I have to fight for myself if I want to have a good life. Nobody’s going to take care of me except for me.”

  He stops and turns to me. “That’s not true. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Really? You’re doing a great job of that so far,” I say bitterly.

  “I get that you’re pissed at me, and you have every right,” he says.

  We’re at his BMW now, and Hunter unlocks it and turns to me. “But can you at least give me another chance?”

  “Another chance for what?”

  “For us.” He gestures at the passenger door.

  Assuming he wants me to get in, I reach for the door handle. But when I open the door, I realize what I didn’t see through the tinted window: the entire seat is full of flowers. Purple flowers. Every color purple under the sun, from fuchsia to plum. I see irises and hydrangeas, asters and orchids and zinnias. More flowers I can’t even name and don’t recognize, their petals every shape and size imaginable. When I pull open the door, their fragrance surrounds me in a cloud. It’s like a dream.

  “I hope you like them. Harry told me purple’s your favorite color,” Hunter says. “A while back. But I remembered. I cut class this morning to hit up every florist in a twenty-mile radius. I promise next time I’ll do better, but this is the best I could do.”

  “No. Th
ese are perfect. They’re beautiful,” I say, dazed. “Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

  “Well, they should have,” Hunter says. “You deserve all this and more. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I’m an asshole. And I’m so sorry I said that shit to you yesterday. Stanford is your dream, and nothing should stand in the way of that.”

  I feel like I’m going to cry. My chest is tight. My emotions are a mess. I don’t want to forgive him so easily, and I’m still angry and upset with him, but I’m also overwhelmed by the apology and the flowers and the sincerity in his eyes.

  Turning, I find Hunter’s arms wrapping around me. I press against him and bury my face in his neck, just breathing him in, the smell of flowers all around us. I could stand like this with him forever.

  “I want to forgive you,” I whisper.

  “It hurts when I think about you leaving,” he whispers back. “I don’t know what to do with that. I just…broke down. I lost it.”

  “Hunter.” I pull back a little so I can look up at him. “You need to be able to talk to me when you’re upset instead of just running off to hide and get shit-faced. That’s not how relationships work. It’s not how friends work.”

  “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I felt pathetic.”

  “I don’t care. I want to see all of you, however you are,” I say. “Having feelings isn’t pathetic, and I want to be there for you, for the good and the bad. You don’t have to hide from me.”

  “I believe you.” He inhales against the top of my head like he’s trying to breathe me in. “I just don’t want you to leave. I want things to stay the way they are.” He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “I won’t even know what to do with myself once you go away.”

  This pains him to say out loud, I can tell by the hushed way he’s speaking.

  “Me leaving for college doesn’t mean leaving you,” I say gently. “I told you, we’ll work it out. I’ll be back every weekend—”

  “You’ll find someone better up there.”

  “Stop.” My voice trembles. “How can you even say that? I’m not—”

  “Not what? You are everything, Milla. I’m nothing. And it’s only a matter of time until you find someone smarter than me, and better for you…”

  “You’re the one who’s going to find someone better,” I say, exasperated. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten tired of me yet. You could have anyone. Someone who’s prettier. Richer. Who gets along with all your friends.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Hunter shakes his head, and there’s something sad about the way he does it, and the way he looks at me. “You’re it for me, Milla. You mean more to me than water.”

  Water. The thing he loves more than almost anything. The thing that gives him comfort, that reminds him of being safe. I look away. “Goddamn you.”

  “Well, if you’re going to cuss me out for being honest…”

  “You caught me off guard,” I complain, but I’m smiling.

  “I have something else for you.” He goes to his trunk and pops it, then reaches inside. When he turns, he’s holding a paper-wrapped bundle. “Happy college acceptances. Plural. I know they’ve been coming in already.”

  My hands are trembling when I take the gift from him, already sure what it is. “You got me books? You picked them out yourself?”

  Hunter nods. “Open them.”

  I’m already touched before I rip off the flowery paper. Then I see them. Sturdy black hardcovers, one with red-sprayed edges, the other with gold. On the covers, beautiful illustrations and the titles Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom.

  The gasp that leaves me is completely authentic.

  “You were looking at some bookstagrammer’s account on your phone and sighing, saying you wanted to re-read the series, but the library waitlist was too long,” he says, and though he’s trying to be smooth, he’s awkward, and it’s adorable. “Now you don’t have to wait any longer. These are both signed first editions.”

  “Hunter. I love them.” Really, goddamn him.

  I set the books on the car’s roof and step back into his arms, burying my face in his chest. “We could’ve avoided all this if you’d just talked to me.”

  “I know. Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry. I really am. And as for the other night, I swear I won’t do anything like that ever again.”

  “You’ll never get drunk with your friends again?” I say with a laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Fine, then how about if I want to do something like that, I talk to you first?”

  I nod slowly. “Okay. And we’ll figure something out when it comes to college. If we can’t see each other physically every day, we can at least FaceTime—”

  “I’m staying here next year. That’s not going to change,” he says firmly. “And I don’t know if FaceTime is gonna cut it. I can’t do this over the internet.”

  His arms tighten, and his mouth comes down on mine. It’s soft, and gentle, and barely there, but enough to make a point. I get what he means. It’s been only half a day since this last happened, and I already missed this. Hunter’s warmth. His touch.

  I’ve always said I wanted to go to Stanford because prestige goes a long way, but without a scholarship in hand, and with this Hunter situation throwing me for a loop, UCSD has been looking more and more appealing. At $15k a year, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper. And closer. Hunter could be at my dorm in fifteen minutes, not eight hours.

  “I got into Stanford,” I whisper. “Officially.” Instantly, I feel Hunter tense up.

  “That’s great,” he says. “Congratulations. I knew you would. Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

  “I was going to apply for the Reed Scholarship so I can cover the tuition, but…what if I just go to UC San Diego instead?” I say. “We could see each other every day if we wanted to. And we’d have every weekend together.” And now that I’m saying it out loud, it feels like a real possibility, and I’m not taking it back.

  “You’re just saying that,” he says.

  “I’m not. I can’t imagine being away from you for that long either.” I cup the side of his face and rise to my tiptoes to kiss him.

  When we part, Hunter’s smiling. “Then maybe you won’t have to.”

  Chapter Forty

  Camilla

  Regardless of what I’ve decided—or think I’ve decided—about going to UCSD instead of Stanford, I’m not going to let the Reed Scholarship slip through my fingers when the award money can be used at any school of the recipient’s choosing. So just as I’d planned, I tell Isabel I need to rain check our movie night so I can devote my weekend to getting all the required documents assembled (in between make-out sessions with Hunter, that is). Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Beck have taken Harry to Anaheim to spend a few days at Disneyland, and they won’t be back until Sunday, so I can devote every spare minute to my all-important scholarship essay.

  I also fill up the whole pool house with the flowers he bought me, telling my mom they were from a school event and I’d rescued them from the trash. They’re definitely keeping my spirits up as I do a last round of edits on this essay about my passion for psych, helping children, and being a force for good in the world. I even take Emmett’s advice and give some explanation of my childhood and background, trying not to cringe as I write about feeling rootless and wanting so much to make a place for myself in the world.

  When Mr. Robertson’s letter of recommendation hits my OakAcademy.edu inbox Saturday night, I take a break to read it and am staggered at his praise. He talks up my studious nature, my intellectual curiosity, and the way I consistently go above and beyond what’s in our textbook by exploring the topics on my own and expanding my breadth of knowledge. I’m practically blushing by the time I hit forward and send it over to Dr. Warren’s email along with the rest of my application materials.

  I can’t believe it. I’m done! I made the scholarship deadline early and everything. Ravenclaws for the win.

  My
phone buzzes with a text from Isabel. Otis or FIDM? Just found out I got into BOTH thanks to my costume design portfolio—TY for helping me put it together! Wasn’t planning on having to choose between them…not that I’m complaining!!

  OMG!!! I text back. They’re both amazing, just like you : ) I know wherever you go, they’ll be lucky to have you in their program. So it’s def one or the other?

  Yup, she tells me. Gonna be matriculating in SoCal, what what!! You can come stay with me in L.A. whenever you want, so don’t be a stranger.

  I smile at her enthusiasm and at the fact that our friendship won’t be stressed by living thousands of miles apart. Not that I’d actually worry about that. Isabel is kind of my rock. Though I still wonder where Emmett will end up and if we “three musketeers” will manage to remain as close-knit as we are now once we’re all at different colleges.

  Speaking of which, I still haven’t talked to my mom about the FAFSA application. Just the thought of it sends me into a panic spiral every time. No matter how much I tell myself it’s no big deal, that it’s something all parents do and that there’s no reason she shouldn’t do it for me, I can’t help worrying that the topic will quickly snowball into a massive argument. Because I know her. I know how she is. And the subject of me going to college has never gone over well between us.

  But if the Reed Scholarship falls through like the others have, I’m going to need lots of financial aid. The thing is, unlike scholarships, financial aid is not free money. Some of it is grants, smaller academic scholarships, and paid work-study options, but the majority of what’s offered is actually massive student loans. Meaning I’d graduate with massive debts. Which I’d rather avoid, unless it’s all I can get. Otherwise, no college for me.

  Ugh. I just need to get this over with.

  My bedroom door is closed, but I can hear my mom turn off the shower in the bathroom and then pad down the hall to her room a few minutes later. Now’s my chance to pounce.