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A little twinkle in his eye danced as he waited for her response. “It’s not exactly known for it,” she said.

Mr. Farrow reached into the inside of his jacket, pulling out a notebook. It wasn’t the kind of notebook she would imagine a professor in a tweed jacket to have on hand, though. Actually, it looked like something she would carry in her own backpack. The cover was an abstract painting with bold colors and gold, glittering letters that read I AM A HOT MESS.

“Five years ago, a talented painter at our school started a canvas series to reflect the crippling anxiety attacks she’d experienced her entire life,” Mr. Farrow explained. “One of her tactics to feel settled from her anxiety was to simply write out her unedited thoughts in a notebook. But she complained about how neat the notebooks were—she wanted something as messy as she felt in those moments. And so she decided to combine the two, using her paintings to create her business, Hot Mess Notes. She has dozens of designs and sells hundreds of notebooks every day.

“Is she the next Van Gough? No, but that was never the goal. The goal was not only to reach people through her art, but also offer it in a way that makes sense in the world we live in.

“Now tell me, Ms. Michaels, in what ways have you experienced art in our world? And do you think it is still a necessity?”

Her mind immediately drifted to Happy As a Clam and the exquisite animation she obsessed over. Then to the yearbook, and how the art they’d been working on for months would live on as history for the rest of her classmates’ lives.

Mr. Farrow reached into another pocket and pulled out a business card, interrupting her roaming thoughts. “If you decide, Ms. Michaels, that maybe this world does need more artists, I would love to see your work. Give my office a ring and we can set up an appointment.”

Rory thanked him, watching him walk off before glancing down at his business card.

He wasn’t just a professor. Roger Farrow was the dean of the school.

Chapter Twenty

Rory was sitting on her front porch staring at the business card in one hand, a hot cup of tea in the other, as an early spring rainstorm breezed past. She still wasn’t sure what to make of Dean Farrow’s offer. It had been almost a week since he handed her that card, and she had yet to make a decision whether she should call him or not. The only “work” she had to show him was her spreads from the yearbook, and even that felt like a stretch.

But…could she see herself at an art school like Baybrook? While she wished she could deny it, the answer was yes. Being around other artists who actually enjoyed sharing their ideas and interpretations, debating artistic choices of famous works around them, being on a smaller campus that focused on craft rather than taking required classes she didn’t care about…it seemed a little too good to be true.

Yet she knew it was far more complicated than that. She couldn’t just apply to art school and go. Gabi had been working to save for college, and she was still under the impression that Rory had applied. She had a feeling as soon as she told her that she wanted to go to a small art school instead, it would crush her.

Plus, it was close to home. Did she really want to stay in Haverport? Baybrook didn’t have dorms, and it would probably be cheaper for her to stay here. But would Gabi even let her after that kind of disappointment? Would she have to get an apartment, and another job to pay her bills?

Her mind was racing through all of the complicated details when she saw Tyler’s Jeep pull into his driveway next door. He glanced over at her from inside the car, the rain coming down hard now. Her face flushed, thinking about the last time they were in the rain together.

He raised an eyebrow at her—a challenge. Would she let him approach her? Would she finally talk to him?

She nodded, motioning for him to join her. He scrambled out of the car and almost tripped over himself as he jogged over to the porch. She noticed the way he was trying to contain the smile on his face.

Rory shoved the card into her pocket. “Look at you jogging over here. It’s like you have a whole new leg!”

Tyler grinned, bending slightly. “I can jump, too. Want to see?”

“Don’t hurt yoursel—”

He jumped on her porch, causing the wood underneath to rattle from his strength. They both laughed as Tyler took a seat next to her, swinging an arm around her shoulders and giving her a tight squeeze. The comforting familiarity made her heart patter in her chest.

“So does this mean you can play again?” she asked.

“It does,” Tyler answered. “My PT says I still need to take it easy this spring, though.”

And after the summer? Rory thought. Did this mean he was planning on playing this fall? The two of them had yet to talk about college and what was happening after graduation. She sighed, her mind drifting again to the card burning a hole in her pocket.

“Hey…can I get your opinion on something?” she asked.

“Always, Ry.”

She pulled the card out and held it up to him. He took it, holding on to it like it was precious.

“How’d you get this?” he asked once he’d read it.

“I went with Melanie to Leila’s exhibit for her sculpture class last week, and I spoke with the dean for a few minutes.”

“And he just…handed you his card?”