I hope she’s smiling on the other side of the call.
I’ll attribute my overly ambitious self to the tears my dad shed over that first-grade assignment. I’ll credit my reliance on positive grades and feedback to the pride in my mom’s voice when I tell her all the things I’ve achieved.
But forcing myself into late night study sessions and a need to succeed will go back to being my parents’ daughter. More importantly, to be a daughter that’s worth giving up home for.
ten
GRANT
“I can’t believe it worked.”
“I can.”
Liliana’s nail polish is a fresh shade of blue. It peeks out from her cotton long-sleeve, but in the time she waited for me to read over her manuscript, she’s chipped part of the polish from her index finger.
I wasn’t surprised to see Locke walk into Caramel & Latte today. It’s like popping into the café is part of his weekly routine—every Thursday, like clockwork.
What surprised me was seeing Liliana approach the table I saved for us with a large smile on her face. When I asked what she was so excited about, she handed over her assignment. Pages of her writing she wanted to share with me, covered in smiley faces and praising comments.
“I’m glad the textbook helped you out.” A grin stretches across my face. I’m happier I could be of help to Liliana. “Creativity will always mean more than productivity.”
“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.” She swipes the papers from me and stares at them. “Taking the risk with the outline I wanted did pay off, though. Thank you.”
Liliana smiles, her freckles shifting, and hazel eyes gleaming in my favorite shade of brown.
I feel high.
My mouth turns up into a grin. She has no ground to stand on anymore. “You can’t say you’re a bad writer now.”
“A good writer wouldn’t have taken this long to get more than a D minus on a paper.”
“Come on.” I lightly tap my shoe against hers under the table, and she taps me back. “You base everything off grades.”
“I do not.”
“Liliana.” I stare at her pointedly. Reminding her what caused a rift between us is the easiest way to prove my point, but there’s so many other examples. “Once I asked you what your favorite part about freshman year was and you said, ‘acing your finals.’”
“So?”
“Thatwas the highlight of your first year at university?”
She smirks and every muscle in my body tightens. “If you’ve never aced a class, you wouldn’t know how good it feels.”
I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make it sound as sensual as it does. Maybe it doesn’t sound sensual at all, and it’s really my conscious craving her that adds the sultry tone to her voice.
Regardless, I dig my nails into my forearm and focus on her assignment.
“You’re still proving my point. You finally get the grade you want, and you continue to doubt yourself?”
She straightens, and the hair I spent a week thinking about falls off her shoulders.
“If you want to get into specifics, this is technically below the grade I want. There’s still room for improvement.”
“But you did improve.”
“But I can improve further.”
“Do you ever give yourself time to celebrate your wins before chasing after the next finish line?”
