“Yes, sir. We do,” I answer for the both of us as we follow him to his office.
“Please, take a seat and let me print off the schedules I have for you. I know in your email, you gave me the classes you’d like based on your individual majors or what you’re currently thinking of declaring. I know that you’re uncertain at the moment, Mr. Stoll.” He gestures toward the seats in front of his desk and we each sit down.
“That’s right, sir. I figured I’d take the first couple of semesters doing required courses, while I decided on my major. I’d rather not waste money, then figure out three years from now it’s not what I want and have to start from scratch,” Jacob states nervously, as if admitting he’s not sure what he wants to do with his future makes him a failure.
“That’s a smart choice, young man. I wish more of the students would use that logic. It’d save me a lot of headaches.” Mr. McStevens laughs at what I guess was a joke as the printer comes to life behind him, dispensing papers into the tray. He reaches back and pulls them out, handing one to each of us. “Here are your schedules. Just take a moment to look them over and then tell me about the housing issue.”
I take a glance at my schedule, happy with the courses listed. Speech, English, Psychology, and Art. Yep, a couple of hard courses and a few easy ones. Just like I wanted—especially with having practices.
“Jacob also needs an adjustment to his tuition. He won't be needing housing. My parents have a house here and we’ll be living in it and commuting.”
“Jacob, you’re wanting to give up the housing that came as part of your scholarship?” He raises his eyebrow in question. Does he think I’m lying? Coercing Jacob to live with me against his will. Suddenly the counselor I liked is ticking off a mark in theI hate his gutscolumn.
“Yes, I do. I’m not much of a dorm person and it will be quieter so I can focus more on my studies.”
“Very well, I’ll let the Finance Department know and they’ll get the correction made. You should see an update on your account within the next twenty-four hours. Is there anything else?”
“No, I’m good. Jacob?”
“I’m good too. Thank you for your help, Mr. McStevens.” Jacob stands and reaches out to shake his hand.
“My pleasure, boys. I look forward to seeing you in action on the field.”
“You won’t be disappointed.” I smile as I stand and head to the door. I’m already pulling out Dylan’s schedule I copied last night so I can compare it to ours. I didn’t want to do it in front of the counselor. I’d be too tempted to have him rearrange my whole schedule to match hers, and I know I can’t do that. I have to pursue my education path the same as she and Jacob do.
As soon as we’re out the door and it’s closed behind us, I stop.
“What did you get?” I ask Jacob.
We compare our schedules first, no classes together, and then we look at Dylan’s. I have Speech with her and Jacob has Calculus. Each of us has one with her, which is better than nothing.
“Let’s go home. I miss Pickle.” Jacob smiles and starts walking away, not even waiting for me.
Chapter 24
Dylan
The cursor blinks at me from the screen of my laptop, the document I’m working on empty. My hands rest on the keyboard, but the words I need for this stupid speech refuse to come. How am I supposed to write aboutwhat this scholarship means to meif I’m not even sure of that myself yet? Sure, it got me to the school of my dreams, but other than that, it let me stay with my three boyfriends. I don’t think the donors want to hear that.
I lean back, cracking my neck, and glance at the clock. The dinner’s in two days, and the university wants me to give this speech since they gave me a full ride. Maybe I can change the trajectory and write something inspirational about overcoming setbacks, working as a team, blah blah.
My phone vibrates on my desk, and I groan when I see the name flashing on the screen:Mom. I debate letting it go to voicemail, but it’s like she has this sixth sense when I ignore hertoo long. She’ll just keep calling until I give in. So, with a sigh, I swipe to answer.
“Holly.” My voice is flat as I switch the phone to speaker and half-heartedly stare at the blinking cursor again.
“You didn’t come to the wedding.” No hello, no how are you—just straight to the guilt trip. Classic Holly.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Really?”
“Dylan!” she snaps. But I swear I hear a crack beneath her usual cool tone, something she’s trying to hide. “Yes, really. I thought you’d stop throwing this tantrum by now. You weren’t actually serious about not coming. I thought—”
“You thought wrong.” I lean back in my chair, the corner of my mouth tugging upward in a grin that isn’t kind. “Did you seriously think I’d misscollege lacrossefor your big white-dress fantasy?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of a sniffle. My grin falters.
“We canceled it,” she says, her voice small now, like a balloon slowly losing air.
That throws me. “Wait... what?”
