Or maybe it’s terrible because you’re terrible and no amount of education or practice will change that.
I take a deep breath, put up a shiny shield around my budding new hope, and watch the bullshit bounce right off of it.
“Jordan,” I say, “I think you might be a genius.”
“What do you mean think?”
We talk for another ten or fifteen minutes, long enough for the tension of the day to uncoil itself from around my spine. By the time I get out of the car and unlock the front door, I almost feel optimistic. I’ve made a decision. I’m happy with it, even though I’m nervous. Nothing can stop me now.
Except I’ve got to find a way to tell my parents.
I remember the last time I mentioned to my dad that maybe I didn’t care about law. Remember the way his face fell, the way he was concerned, like I must’ve lost my mind, and dread thuds in my stomach—but I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s really no guarantee an English course would accept me in the first place. So maybe…I should take this one step at a time? Apply first, then worry about the rest?
I don’t know…
The house is warm and noisy. Mum pops out of the living room as I put my shoes away, all wrapped up in one of her woolly blue cardigans because she feels the cold every winter, even with the heat on. “Hey, baby!” She’s shoved her long, dark curls up into an enormous bun, but it’s slipping down as we speak. “We’re playing some game on your brother’s Switch. Come and join us.”
I swallow my apprehension. “Okay.”
“How was the meeting? How were your friends?”
“Friends are good. Me and Celine had chocolate orange cookie dough.” And then I put my tongue in her mouth and broke my own heart, but I keep that part to myself as we walk into the living room. “The meeting went well.”
Our Christmas tree is huge and sparkly in the corner, the main lights turned off, so all focus is on the TV screen. Dad and Mason are running on the spot in front of it, but Dad still manages to grin over his shoulder. “That’s my boy! You got that scholarship in the bag.”
“Maybe.”
Mum laughs and puts an arm around my shoulders, kissing my cheek. “Cheer up, Eeyore. It doesn’t matter if you get the scholarship or not. Student loans never killed anybody.”
This is the part where I joke, “No, but law might,” and it is so smooth and charming everyone’s too busy laughing to freak out over my sudden and abrupt change of life plan. Except I clearly don’t have the guts God gave an eel because instead, I smile and hug Mum back and decide I’ll mention it later.
Later, as in months from now when （if） I get acceptance letters. Time fixes everything, right?
I’m halfway to the sofa when I freeze, that last thought bouncing around the walls of my brain like a squash ball. Time fixes everything.
“Brad?” Mum says. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply. I’m not. I’m having a holy-shit, jump-out-of-the-bath epiphany. If time fixes everything, it could fix me and Celine.
All I have to do is be patient, right? She thinks I’m gonna leave, so I won’t. She thinks nobody stays, so I will. It’s really that simple. I won’t tell her I’m trustworthy, I’ll prove it.
The storm cloud above my head drifts away in the face of this genius plan. I sink into the sofa, my mood officially transformed, and announce, “I’ll play Mason next.”
“I’m gonna obliterate you,” my little brother pants.
I grin. “Bring it on.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CELINE
SUNDAY, 6:56 P.M.
Minnie: soooo I got into Edge Lake
Celine: WHAT???
Celine: I KNEW IT!!!
Minnie:
Celine: A SWAN, MICHAELA. YOU ARE AN EDGE LAKE SWAN
Minnie: thank u babe
Celine: pizza party when I get back
Minnie: well, who am i to decline pizza
Minnie: but in the meantime
Minnie: are you gonna be okay spending the week alone w ur new boyf?
Celine: we won’t be alone
Celine: + why wouldn’t I be okay???
Minnie: idk your animal lust might bubble over and you could lose your v card in the woods
Celine: virginity is a social construct and I have opted out
Celine: wait.
Celine: HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND MICHAELA
Minnie: hahahaha ok celine
I roll my eyes and close our chat because we’re on the bus to Glen Finglas for the final expedition in Scotland—and after the last few months of normal life, I need to get back in the BEP zone. I need to be at my Breakspeare Explorer best. I need to not have a heart attack, and if Michaela keeps accusing me of a relationship I can’t have, it’s highly likely cardiac arrest will follow.
The fact is, Brad and I are not dating. We have been hanging out a lot, and touching a lot, and it’s true that I am unfortunately in love with him, but that doesn’t make us dating. I decimated any chance of that. It’s February, which means I have a mere seven months to get over this teeth-aching obsession with him, take my frankly ludicrous feelings of love down the much safer avenue of loving friendship, and get used to the fact that come October, we’ll be too far apart for our secret, 100 percent platonic make-out sessions to continue.
Minnie fantasizing about things that will never happen really doesn’t help.
Aurora’s sitting next to me drawing a scary-good picture of a thistle in a leather-bound notebook with thick, creamy pages, so I open my camera app and turn my attention to her. “Hey, Rory.”
She clocks my phone and holds her open scrapbook in front of her face. “Celiiiiine.”
“What? You look cute!”
“No, I don’t. The presence of any camera within a ten-meter radius makes my facial muscles freeze in a very awkward position. This is a fact,” she says firmly. “It’s been scientifically tested.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, then duck down so I can get a shot of the Great British countryside passing us by.”
“Of course,” she says. “I live to serve you. My spine is foldable anyway, for your convenience—”
I snort and push her back against the seat. The idyllic view from our window involves a potholed main road, a traffic queue that consists mainly of red Ford Kas and gray Vauxhall Astras, and a fenced off, barren field in which a single skinny goat gnaws on what looks like a large pair of knickers.
I grimace and let Aurora sit up. “Never mind.” And then, like an incredibly dim moth to an incredibly bright flame, I turn toward the seat across the aisle. Toward Brad.
“Hey,” I say casually. “Smile.”
He cuts off his conversation with Raj, looks at me, and lights up like a bulb. Soft lips, strong teeth, eyes dark like a secret. Something swoops in my stomach, which is a completely normal occurrence; sometimes my stomach swoops around Minnie too. Usually with dread, after she tells me about a joint Halloween costume or a new makeup technique she wants to practice on me, but still. Swooping happens.
“What are you doing?” Brad asks, all innocent, while twinkling at my phone like a professional sparkler.
“I’m going to make a BEP TikTok.”
“Oh yeah,” Raj says, leaning forward. “You’re internet famous.”