I can’t help but smile. “Subtle.”
“Just hopeful.”
He shuts my door and flattens his palm to the window. I reach up and mirror his touch, our good-bye that allows us to avoid saying the actual word.
Alec is my bridge across limbo. Protecting me no matter what. Loving me for me.
At the stoplight on Main, I glance over at the University of Michigan brochure and let myself wonder, what if?
But after only a few minutes, my mind attaches to the college catalog with the solitary girl on the cover. Is that student alone because her boyfriend is at another school? In another state? Does she miss his touch the way I know I will miss Alec?
I’m no closer to an answer when I arrive home and empty our mailbox of useless bills. The silence from Boston College is deafening.
Chapter 24
I’m at my locker the next morning when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I twist to find Lizzie, hands on her hips.
“So glad to see you in person instead of on the side of a milk carton.”
“Good morning to you too.” I slam my locker too loud.
“I haven’t seen you around much.”
I duck my books into the crook of my arm. “Things have been crazy with the holidays. You know.”
“I get it. It’s hard to balance the boy and friends, especially in the beginning.”
Beginning? Alec and I are so past the beginning. “Look, Lizzie. I know I’ve been lame.”
She holds up her hand. “You don’t have to say it. Alec’s gorgeous. Who wouldn’t want to spend time with him? I just miss you is all.” She nudges her elbow into my side. “I did appreciate the updates on Slice, so you won points there.”
“I’ll be better. I promise. I’ll even toss in some Junior Mints as an apology.”
“Deal.”
When the bell rings, we scatter in our separate directions. Just like we’ll be doing next year.
Change haunts me as I fight to pay attention in classes. My mind drifts to all the unknowns of next year, nebulous and undefined, like a dream I can’t quite remember. Except next year hasn’t happened yet. And the dream I can’t remember is really the future I can’t articulate.
When I get home I go for a run, check the cavern of disappointment that is my mailbox and then spread my textbooks across the table in an attempt to plant myself in the now. At least that I can control. I’m surprised when I hear Mom’s car in the driveway so early.
“What are you doing home?” I ask as she walks through the door.
“I forgot a case file.” She takes in my spray of books. “I like seeing you buckling down. Alone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been spending a lot of time with Alec and I know all too well how a boy can distract from schoolwork.”
I wave my hand toward the empty rooms, showcase-style. “No distractions here.” Under the table, Finn plants his chin onto my feet.
“Alone time is good for a girl your age. I don’t think I got enough of that when I was young.” She twirls her key ring around her index finger creating a quick, chaotic jingle. “Course, I had you.” She smiles, bends to give me a kiss. “I wouldn’t trade that for the world. But you’ll have plenty of time to meet boys at college. You and Alec shouldn’t get too serious.”
Too late. I shift my feet, which makes Finn grunt with displeasure. “What time’s court?”
“Just a meeting with the judge. Four o’clock.” She looks at her watch. “I’m running late, but don’t expect me home before seven. Judge Matheis can talk.” She throws a wink and I laugh.
“Good luck.”
“I’ll need it. Or earplugs.” Mom goes to her study and returns with a stack of folders she balances across her elbow. “I love you, kiddo.” And then she is gone.
“Luf too,” I call at the same time Finn snores out a soft whistle.
And in the quiet Mom leaves behind I should be able to focus entirely on midterms, but my head scrambles with invasive thoughts.
If Gregg’s restless on home confinement and if Lani’s with him, nursing him. The thought brings a bizarre jealousy that tastes bitter and wrong. Then there’s Boston College not even bothering to send any communication. At all. And Alec being too far away next year while Dad’s here and still so far away. I don’t know which worry threads to drop and which to hold. I’m so wrapped up in my head I don’t even hear the car approach.
Just the doorbell.
And I jump.
Finn too.
For a moment—or maybe much longer than a mere moment—I stand frozen, holding on to the back of my chair for support. It’s my father. Mom told me he’d be coming around while I was at school, collecting more things from his studio. My heart pounds, the air feels too hot, too still.