Page 15

She fiddled with the box. “I have a very nice card for you in my car with all sorts of encouragement, but is it wrong of me to secretly hope that you flunk the test and have to wait … like, a couple of years to go to college?”

“That does seem wrong, yes.”

“Wrong, but sweet.” She was still waiting for assurances. “Also, there may have been a few prayers thrown in that you suddenly get sick during the test or that all of your college applications get lost.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re making me worry about eating anything you put in your care package, you know that, right?”

Was he being purposely dense or was he just unconcerned about their separation? She took a step closer to him and would have liked to take his hand, but they were still in his hoodie pockets. “I’m going to miss you when you leave. Aren’t you going to miss me?”

“Of course,” his voice turned softer and his gaze held hers, “but we’ve both known it would happen. I imagine you’ll get over me quickly enough. I bet I’ll see pictures on your social media of you out on dates long before I post anything with another girl.”

An icy feeling ran through her chest. “You’re going to date other girls at college?”

He shrugged like he wasn’t sure why she was asking. “I mean, eventually.” He cocked his head. “After I leave, you’ll still have two more years of high school. Who knows if you’ll even go to the same university. I don’t expect you to put your life on hold on the chance that we’ll be together again.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. The box of protein bars suddenly felt ridiculously heavy. “So you’re just planning to break up with me on the day you leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You kind of did.” Her heart was pounding. “You’ve already emotionally packed your bags and ghosted me from a college campus.”

He ran a hand through his hair and made a grumbling noise. “That’s not fair.”

She gulped. Her throat had gone dry. “No, what’s not fair is dating me if you’re counting down the days until you don’t have to anymore. If you can’t wait to go off and flirt with college girls, then why not just break up with me now?”

He looked at her like she’d grown another head. “Is that what you want?”

“No, but it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want, and apparently, I’m not on that list.” Her heart was still pounding out a frantic tempo. How had the morning turned so horrible so quickly?

“Marlowe,” he said like she was being unreasonable. “I wish things were different. I wish you were a senior and we were taking this test together, but you’re not.”

She didn’t want to hear more, didn’t need to listen to a bunch of reasons why he was going to dump her. Her eyes burned. “Forget it,” she said. “Good luck on your test and your life.”

And then—because standing there crying in Safeway was not on her Saturday plans—Marlowe spun and practically ran toward the door.

“Marlowe.” Jace trailed after her and caught up while she waited for the stupid electronic doors that didn’t open fast enough.

She looked straight ahead and refused to respond to him. Anything she said at this point would just show how close she was to tears, and she didn’t want Jace to see that. She’d planned out their life together, and he’d only ever considered her a stopgap girlfriend before he moved on to the next stage of his life.

She stomped outside with quick steps that didn’t worry about ice on the sidewalk. She’d forgotten she was still clutching the box of protein bars until she heard Mr. Copley’s voice shouting at them from behind.

“Hey! You two! Stop right there!” He’d left the store and was coming after them.

Oh no no no.

Marlowe’s heart stopped. Jace’s gaze swung to her, and he spotted the box in her hand.

Mr. Copley had already called the cops on her once. Walking out with unpaid merchandise—this wasn’t going to end in a kindly warning and a slap on the wrist. This was a probation violation. Could she be sent to juvenile detention?

Her breaths came too fast. “I’m dead.”

“Give me the box,” Jace said, taking it from her hands.

“Why?”

“Just trust me.” He turned around as Mr. Copley marched up.

The manager was an overweight, middle-aged man with the sort of hairstyle that made him look like he was trying to be a medieval monk. His eyes darkened with outrage and his cheeks flushed either from indignation or exertion.