Page 48 of Within These County Lines

“I’d try to get these applications submitted as soon as you can,” she said as she printed me out an application checklist.

My phone bounced on my knee as I tapped the screen, watching the seconds change. The only thing standing between my and Whitley’s football pregame party with Murray was this meeting.

“I’ve already sent your transcripts and test scores to some of the schools,” she added.

My spine stiffened. “Wait . . . really?” I held up my hand. “This is actually happening?”

She grinned. “As long as you do your part. This time next year you might be a far cry from Penango.”

A squeal burst from my lips as I bolted from her office, down the hall, and toward Murray’s locker.

He looked me up and down as I slid to a stop. “Was cross-country practice early or something?” he laughed.

I shook my head, panting. “Sorry. I just met with the guidance counselor again. I think I’m going to apply to college after all!”

“That’s awesome, Stetson.” He kissed my forehead. “You’ll be the smartest guy at Penango College.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to apply to Penango College. I still don’t want to go there.”

His hands froze as he shoved a notebook into his bag. “UPitt?”

“No, somewhere outside of Pennsylvania.” I unfolded the checklist and held it up. “She gave me this list of schools to apply to.”

His face drained of color.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly. “You’re going to live in Pittsburgh and I’m going to Penango College.” His eyes scanned the paper. “These are all so far, Stetson.”

“I never really thought I had a shot,” I said. “And I told you I’ve been thinking about Ohio too. I want something new.”

“What about what I want?” Murray wrinkled his brow. “How long have you been meeting with her about this?”

I took a step back. “It doesn’t matter.” I forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s just an idea.”

“I didn’t know about this idea.”

“It’s not like it was a secret.” My voice was sharper than intended. “I’m bringing it up now.”

Murray licked his lips and nodded. “Okay, well . . . have fun in . . .” he glanced at the list. “Nevada.” Then he slammed his locker shut and turned away from me.

“Wait—I wanted to talk about it,” I said quickly. “Aren’t we going to Whitley’s house before the game?”

He spun back around, arms outstretched, his history textbook still clenched in his right hand. “Sorry, I have other plans for the game tonight.”

“Since when?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t a secret. I’m just bringing it up for the first time.”

An invisible fist punched me in the gut.

Now I’m standing in front of the same doors Murray walked through after the first crack in our relationship.

The guidance counselor emailed me back within an hour of my SOS message, telling me I could come by after work to figure something out.

I never thought I’d actually want to return to Stillwell Trail High School. I used to roll my eyes at alumni who returned to catch up with teachers on a random Tuesday afternoon. Wasn’t four years enough?

But right now, it’s the only place in town where I might find some hope.

Weeds creep up the sides of the school building, unchecked, like nature is reclaiming it after some long-forgotten apocalypse. I knock on the glass, and my counselor hurries toward the entrance juggling a large set of keys. The smile tucked between her plump cheeks sends me back to senior year, before everything changed, before Penango started feeling like a trap.