“Venus, I’m confused.What haven’t you told me?I want to help.”
“You helped when you sent me away,” I say, my hands flexing.“Trust me—it was the right thing.”
“I trust you,” he says after a beat.“But perhaps you could elaborate further?”
“There’s no point.It’s done.Over.I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Venus, I love you, and I want you to be happy.”His green eyes lock on mine, and he offers a small smile.He says it like it’s easy.
Happy.It’s such a vapid word.Simple and biting, yet just vague enough for the masses to toss it around like a delightful beach ball.No—it’s more of a dodgeball.Some people have it and slam it into the faces of those who don’t.
The tension grows, electrifying through me, making my legs wobble on the tightrope.Needing to do something, I yank the cornflower-blue scarf from my hair and wrap it around my hand, pinching my bracelets and rings into my skin.“I’m not like you and Ivy.Happiness isn’t an achievable goal—not for me.I don’t belong anywhere with anyone.”
“Yes, you do.You did.Once.Don’t you ever wish you’d stayed?Wonder what could have been?”
My eyes shut tightly, tears stinging.Henry appears in my thoughts, approaching the fairy house with a big bouquet of white, yellow, and pink daisies, the same flowers I had inked over my heart soon thereafter, always to remember that moment, not that I could forget.
The sweetness and the agony.
My eyes flutter open, and Iseehim.A gasp escapes as my heart rams against my chest.My boots scoot forward but stop against the edge of the bench.I squint as a figure rushes across the street and down the line of academic buildings.A tall, broad frame.Glasses.Brown hair, messy.Hands in his pockets.His purposeful stride.He’s too far away—specific features are indeterminable at this distance.He’s a blurry stick figure,resemblingthe Henry I imagine.In my distress and irritation, I’ve conjured him like a ghost through a mental Ouija board.
I refocus on my father.“There’s no point to wondering.Look at Ivy.Look at you.I’m sure Henry’s… thriving, too.Leaving was best for everyone.Best for me, especially.”
Dad opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t hear another word about regrets.I don’t realize I’m running until I’ve put acres between us.
CHAPTER7
Henry
Long blonde hairwaves in the distance, catching my eye.Across the quad near the turtle pond, a woman stands beside a bench.Loose, almost wild-looking hair surrounds a tall, athletic, and flustered figure.Her hands ball at her sides.Is that Venus?She’s too far away to confirm it.
But my feet scrape against the concrete, coming to a complete stop.My chest aches with immediate tension, layered with bitterness at the possibility.
Bitternessandthis nonsensical, agonizing hope.I step toward her, my feet moving before my brain catches up.But I stop suddenly—why would I go to her?
Fuck me.I run a hand through my hair.The only thing Ishouldwant when it comes to Venus is never to see her again.That was her final gift to me—absence.
The woman storms off, her hair like a cape behind her, reminding me of Venus again, but ending my debate.It can’t be her, and why should I care, regardless?
I’m late to meet my academic advisor—a meeting she called.What this could be about has me spinning with possibilities—none good.
I check my watch.Five minutes is forgivable, but I’m edging closer to fifteen.I take the stairs two at a time up to the front doors of the education building and race through the halls to Dr.Kwon’s office.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up as I spill into her office.
“Sorry.”I plop into the chair in front of her desk.“Busy morning.A student stayed behind after class.Thanks for your patience.”
She softens, tapping her hands on a thick folder that I instantly recognize as the teaching portfolio I turned in months ago—one of the final requirements for my specialty in Academically or Intellectually Gifted students, or AIG.Nerves swell in my gut.
“Is there… a problem?”I ask, eyeing the file with my name printed over an image of a wilted sunflower.
Her head tilts with scrutiny before she beams with a salesperson’s smile.“Not a problem.An opportunity.”
She flips the folder open, revealing red-penned notes covering the front page and colorful tabs peaking out from the rest.She clears her throat.“I have a confession.”
“Okay…”
“It’s your paper, Henry.I can’t stop thinking about it,” she says with an anguished sigh.“The Problem with Sunflowers…it’s just so angsty and beautiful.It’s not just that the stories are incredibly well-written; it’s how they made me feel.That’s why I… well, I passed it along to my agent.”
