“I have a feeling we would have beat the odds,” she whispers and picks at her sandwich.
Hope flares sharp and stupid in my chest.
She turns suddenly, one of her braids smacking me in the face. The glint of her nose ring catches the light. “I’m still annoyed with you.” She tries for mad. The corner of her mouth betrays her.
I grin. “I’d rather you be annoyed with me than nothing at all.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you would.”
The anger in them isn’t gone. Just warmer. Softer.
She tosses the crust over the side of the truck and stares out at the field like it might give her answers.
I watch her for a second. I don’t think I’m the only thing giving her stress today. “Anything else on your mind?”
“Just trying to figure out my life before my mom picks me up tonight.” She glances at me through her lashes. “She gave me an ultimatum. Have a plan by eight or she’ll ‘help me make one.’”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“She wants me back in school next semester. Something practical.” She picks at one of her cuticles. “I don’t even know what that means anymore. Or what I want.”
I turn toward her without thinking. Our knees barely brush. The contact snaps my attention sharp and sudden, like my body clocked it before my brain did.
Don’t push too far, Shaun.
“Well,” I say, keeping my tone light even as my pulse kicks up, “you’ve got about six hours to invent your destiny. No pressure.”
She snorts, finally looking at me fully. “Wow. Comforting.”
For a moment, the tension eases. The sun does its job. So does the sound of her laugh.
She looks past me toward the cornfields. The stalks stand tall and still, reaching skyward like they’re asking for more than they’ve been given.
“I just want to be happy with whatever I do. I want it to matter.” She glances back at me. “Only fifty-seven percent of people under twenty-five are satisfied with their jobs. I want to be in that fifty-seven. That shouldn’t be impossible, right?”
I watch her when she says it. The hope. The doubt. The way she waits, like my answer might tip the balance.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’d think.”
She shifts, and our knees touch again. Neither of us moves away.
She keeps talking, softer now. “I don’t get why we’re supposed to decide the rest of our lives before we’ve even lived. Why can’t we just exist for a while before we lock ourselves into something permanent?”
It hits close. Too close. I glance at my hands, then back at her. The world loves neat boxes. Pick a lane. Stay useful. Break quietly if you don’t fit.
Val’s eyes look lost, and I hate it. I hate seeing the girl who used to walk into every room like she owned it look unsure.
I reach out and hook my fingers gently under her jaw, guiding her to face me. I don’t let go. Her pulse flutters under my thumb.
“I’m sorry you feel unsure,” I say, firmly. “But you’re forgetting one major thing.”
She lifts a brow. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”
“You’re Valerie fucking Andrews.”
My thumb brushes her bottom lip before I drop my hand. Her cheeks pink.
“You don’t get stuck. You don’t settle. You decide what you want, and then you bulldoze your way toward it.” I hold her eyes. “You’ll figure it out. But you’re allowed to take your time figuring it out.”
