He barks out a laugh, holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You don’t like her. You just happened to kiss her, and now you have to spend sixty hours doing community service together.” He gives a low whistle. “Good luck with that, buddy.”
I don’t reply, which only makes him smile more.
“Oh, and don’t forget Troy will kill you when he finds out!” he calls out as he runs upstairs.
I glare at his disappearing form, but he’s not wrong.Sixty hours with Tara Hawkins. Sixty hours of trying not to remember how she’d smiled against my mouth.
Part of me – the part I’ve been trying to ignore – is already counting down the minutes until I see her again. It’s terrifying how much I want to be around her, how she’s gotten under my skin like no one else has. Usually, I can go days without thinking about someone. Keep them in neat, controlled boxes in my mind. But Tara? She spills out of every container I try to put her in, colors outside every line I draw.
The community service hours stretch ahead of me like both a gift and a curse. More time with her means more chances to slip up, to let her see too much, to fall deeper into whatever this is. But the thought ofnotbeing around her feels wrong now, like trying to ignore gravity.
Fuck. When did I start thinking like this? Like some lovesick idiot writing bad poetry about her smile?
But if I’m honest with myself, this didn’t start with that kiss. That just broke the fucking dam. The truth is, I’ve been fighting this since that first party, when Troy practically dragged me downstairs to join in and meet his freshman sister and there she was – standing on a table, leading an enthusiastic, if slightly off-key, rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Hair wild, cheeks flushed, absolutely electric. I knew then she was dangerous. Knew she could break through every defense I’d carefully constructed.
So, I did what I do best – buried it. Locked it away. Told myself she was just Troy’s enthusiastic little sister who talked too much about fossils and wore too much pink.
But that kiss changed everything. Now I can’t stop thinking about how she felt in my arms, the little sound she made when I pressed her against that display case, how perfectly she fit against me. Every time I close my eyes, I see her – breathless, wanting,mine.
5
TARA
The day after our meeting with the dean, I stare at the framed acceptance letter from UMS on my wall. The one my mom insisted I display because “It’s a prestigious achievement, darling.” And it is. University of Mountain Springs is a top school, which meanseveryonehere seems to have their life figured out. Like Alex, already planning how she’ll change the world at her GSRI internship. And me? I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be. What if I never figure it out? What if everyone else moves forward while I stay stuck, trying and failing at everything I touch?
The pile of PhD program brochures on my desk (courtesy of my mother) mock me with their promises of “academic excellence” and “research opportunities.”
The thought of spending my days locked in an office writing papers makes my skin itch. Give mepeopleover publications any day. It’s why I’m so excited about my new job at Luzia, even if my parents think it’s “beneath my potential.”
There’s something exciting about a busy night, about reading people, anticipating what they need before they ask. About making connections, even if they only last the length of a cocktail.
Last week, I almost kept it together during a FaceTime with Mom. Almost.
I kept my smile in place as Mom talked, nodding at all the right moments. Because that’s what a daughter with a promising future does. She listens. She takes mental notes.
My fingers tapped against my coffee cup, rhythmic, steady, like a heartbeat I was trying to control. The ceramic was warm against my palm, grounding me. Just keep it together. Stay agreeable. Show her you’re handling things.
But then she said it. “You’re wasting your intellect”—and my grip tightened until I felt the burn of hot ceramic.
“Mom, I swear to God, if I hear the word ‘potential’ one more time…” The words had come out sharper than intended, but I wastiredof hearing about what I should be.
What about what I actually want?
If only I knew what that was.
I smoothed it over like always. A quick apology, a compliment on her outfit—it’s a well-worn script. Mom is easy to charm when I play my role right.
Everyone else seems to have these big, world-changing dreams. Alex with her environmental activism. Troy’s going to become the world’s greatest engineer. Even Ethan knows that he wants to develop video games. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out why I took that Anthropology elective last semester (besides the cute TA).
The truth is, I love learning abouteverything. One week it’s ancient civilizations, the next it’s marine biology. I’m majoring in environmental science because I love fossils and it made sense at the time. My room is a graveyard of abandoned hobbies. A ukulele from my music phase, watercolors from when I decided I’d be an artist, three different language learning apps on my phone. “You need to focus,” Dad always says. But how can I trust him now?
I don’t even know who I would be if they hadn’t lied to me about Dad. If I’d grown up knowing he chose to leave us.Would I be stronger? Or would I have shattered into something unrecognizable? The thought coils tight in my chest, pressing, heavy, like a weight I never knew I was carrying. Maybe they were right. Maybe I couldn’t have handled it. Maybe I’d have crumbled under the weight of the truth, dragging us all down with me.
My job at Luzia gives me something besides my own uncertainty to think about. If I can prove to my parents—and to myself—that I’m capable, maybe they’ll stop pushing academia so hard. Maybe I’ll finally stop feeling like a failure in waiting.
My phone buzzes. Probably Alex with updates about California. I try not to let the jealousy creep in. Alex has her path, her purpose. Everyone does. And me? I’m still fumbling in the dark, hoping I’ll find my way before I fall too far behind.
Alex the greatest VBFF
