Page 50 of Within These County Lines

“Do not let another boy make you miss this deadline like the last one.” She points at me. “I know more than you think.”

I sigh. “I don’t think this new boy could stop me . . . even if he wanted to.” My nose wrinkles. “If that makes sense.” She narrows her eyes. “No one can see . . . uhh . . . never mind.” I grab my things before she can press me. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Something shifts in my chest once I’m outside.

For the first time in days, the odds of getting out of Penango—of actually making it to college—feel possible again.

24

The first person I meet after seeing the guidance counselor is Xander.

I swear I won’t let another boy make me miss out on a college application again. Lesson learned. July is nearly here, and August is creeping closer. But if I end up becoming invisible to more people than just Murray, if I freeze at the age of eighteen forever, then getting out of Penango won’t mean a thing.

On my drive to the Bean, I think through my options for a letter of recommendation.

My cross-country coach and my mathletes advisor wrote the first ones for my college applications last fall, but I haven’t spoken to either of them since December. Plus, every other applicant will probably use teachers or coaches. I need an edge. Someone whose letter will stand out.

Victor might not seem like the smartest person in Penango, but his credentials say otherwise. An environmental health specialist has a nice ring to it. I doubt most people have ever even met one. If he knows how to write, maybe impressing him wouldn’t be a total waste of my time.

The Bean is mostly empty in its final hour before closing. Xander sits in a corner booth slurping a strawberry milkshake. He waves with a grin.

The waitress, the same one who witnessed my fight with Murray, nods at me from behind the counter as I make my way toward him.

“Seat yourself, I guess,” she says.

I hesitate, unsure how to tell her that my friend already has a table. I pop in my earbuds so if anyone sees me talking to Xander—or myself, in their view—I can pretend I’m having a conversation on the phone. Although I doubt that will be convincing.

This whole situation has me acting more bizarre as the days stretch on.

Sliding into the booth, I glance at Xander. Something about him looks . . . different. Then I realize—he’s wearing a shirt. Maybe for the first time ever. And not just any shirt. It says STHS 2014 Mathletes.

“Where did you get that shirt?” I ask.

“Hello to you too,” he says. He slides me a second pink milkshake across the table.

I blush. “Sorry. I’m just surprised to see you clothed.”

“I got you that shake. Hope you don’t mind.”

I eye the cup. “How did you order these?”

“I made them myself in the kitchen.” He winks.

“Are we just doing dessert?”

“Who says dessert can’t be dinner?”

I shrug, then take a sip. The second the liquid hits my tongue, my eyes water. I force a swallow, then break into a coughing fit.

“Oh my gosh, this is so sweet. What did you put in here?” I turn the cup in my hands.

“Oh, just triple the strawberry syrup and extra maraschino cherries.”

I tap my chest, still recovering. “You’re insane.”

“It’s good. I’ll finish yours if you don’t want it.”

“No, I want it,” I say, forcing another sip. “Back to your shirt.”