Page 74

He looked back into her eyes, and for an excruciating moment, he just stared at her, the thunder booming in the distance. She took a step back, knowing what was coming, that he was going to shatter the heart she just handed him into a million pieces. But he reached for her instead, cupping her face with both hands, pulling her close to him.

“You are the person I’ve always desired most, since the day I met you,” he confessed. “Not being able to talk to you these past few weeks has been excruciating, because I want to share everything with you. I wanted to tell you how my recovery was going and wanted to vent to you when Bea spent an entire week only speaking in French. I wanted to watch Disney movies with you when my brain was feeling too fried from homework, watch your sad attempt at playing football in the backyard, or even just approach you in the hall when I was having a rough day. You are the person I share my deepest secrets with, the person who knows all of my flaws.”

She waited for it, waited for him to say he was ending this thing with Zoe and wanted to be with her. That he would choose her, too.

But he didn’t. He didn’t pull her close or brush his lips against hers. He just looked at her with sad eyes. “But I’m going to leave for school, and that will break your heart. I can’t do that to you, Ry. You deserve better.”

Before she could respond, he let go of her and jogged back to his house, not looking back as he closed the door, the sound of the lock similar to the crack that just reverberated through her heart.

* * *

Rory had wanted to wallow in bed the rest of the night, but her mind was plagued by Tyler’s words, how he so easily told her what she meant to him, yet in the same breath turned her down. His confession ran like a ticker tape in her mind, and she needed something to ease her thoughts. Something to hope for.

So she opened her laptop and sent an email.

Now, days later, she was sitting in a tufted leather chair that she was pretty sure was about to swallow her whole.

Roger Farrow placed the printed sheets on his desk and leaned back in his own chair. “Ms. Michaels, I’m really glad you called.”

Rory shifted uncomfortably in her seat, pulling at the hem of her skirt. She hadn’t been sure what you wore when you visited the dean of a college, so she settled for a navy skirt and a sage green button-up cardigan with a pair of loafers. She crossed her legs as she squeezed her hands together, trying to calm herself. “You like them?”

“Yes, these are clever. I think your classmates will enjoy having such a unique yearbook to look back on.”

“That was our goal,” Rory said, beaming with pride. She was anxious to see what the final result would be, but that would come after adding all of the prom pictures, and prom wasn’t for another month and a half.

“Tell me, Ms. Michaels. If you were to attend Baybrook, what kind of art would you want to focus on?”

She took a moment to think it through, staring out the window to their left, watching students walk through the small courtyard. What classes would excite her the most? “I’ve always loved design and animation,” she admitted, looking back at him. “Maybe digital art of some kind.”

He nodded. “Based on your work, I feel a graphic design major would be something you could thrive in.”

She felt her body soar at the sound of it. Something you could thrive in. She never really thrived in school, always coasted by, her grades just good enough to pass. But thrive? She never imagined that for herself.

The dean leaned against his desk, folding his hands together in front of him. “I do have to be frank with you. We want our students to have a well-rounded education in the arts. All students are required to take a variety of core classes. You saw the results of the sculpture program, and students are also required to take classes in drawing, painting, and illustration. Many of the students coming in have ample experience with this type of art.”

She felt flattened by this after soaring high above. “Does this mean I won’t be accepted?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied. “The graphic design program is still really new for Baybrook, and as you can see, we’re actively recruiting to find students who don’t just apply for our core fine arts programs. I think you would be perfect for the graphic design program, but I just wanted you to know that it’s going to be a lot of work. It may feel like you’re having to catch up.”

She twisted her hands in her lap, wondering if it would be worth it. Would going to a normal college be easier? Or was she just afraid of doing things that felt too hard?

“If my opinion matters at all to you, pardon my boldness when I say that you’d have no trouble being admitted to our program,” he continued. “And based on our discussion at the exhibit, I have a feeling you will succeed at whatever you set your mind to here.”

She looked into Dean Farrow’s eyes, noticing the way they twinkled with excitement, just like they did at the exhibit. This man was passionate about his students and their success.

“Why did you approach me at the exhibit?” she asked.

He smiled, leaning back in his chair again as he crossed his arms. “It’s part of the grading process. I help out the professors at every exhibit by talking with guests to hear about their interpretations of the art around them, and those comments are taken into consideration for final assessments.”

“But isn’t the purpose of art to have different interpretations and opinions, to have discourse with one another? What if someone’s interpretation doesn’t match the artist’s purpose?”

He grinned. “We don’t look for correct interpretations. If a piece isn’t sparking that kind of intellectual discussion, we bring that to the artist and ask what could have been done differently. With the way you were taking in We Found Love in a Hopeless Place, I had a feeling I was in for a good discussion.

“This right here, Ms. Michaels,” he continued, pointing between them. “This level of deeper thinking is what we look for in our students. You may not have all of the skills, but you strike me as someone with curiosity and drive. That’s why I’m confident you will succeed.”

She liked the idea of succeeding, of being a student with ideas and thoughts that really mattered, where getting good grades wasn’t all about getting the right answer. At some point she’d stopped fidgeting. It felt like everything was clicking into place, her mind finally at ease from the anxious energy her chat with Tyler had sparked. She asked for an application.

* * *