The Story Of Us Part 15

"I'm sorry. They're still doing that, huh?"

"Every. Single. Night."

Twenty-five months ago "Alieya!" my sister screams from the kitchen. "You have mail!"

d.a.m.n that girl has lungs.

I pad into the kitchen. "Yell louder next time, okay? Only one of my ears is bleeding."

She throws me a letter, which I don't catch. It slides under the table. Great.

"Catch better next time, okay?" My sister does a horrible imitation of me.

I crawl under the table. The envelope is facedown, probably an extended warranty notice on my Intrepid. As I flip the envelope, J. Vernon's Gopher insignia freezes me in place. Immediately, I tuck my legs under me and rip it open.

I feel my smile widen as I read.

Accepted.

For both computer science and visual art.

"Why are you under the table?" Mom asks, bending so her head is upside down.

"Dropped something." I wave the papers. "Got it."

I get up and clear my throat. "Hey, Mom. Can we talk?"

"I have an appointment in an hour."

"Won't take that long."

She pulls out a chair. "All right."

I sit down, turn the papers over in my hand, then push them toward her.

"We're not buying an extended warranty on your car, Alieya. It's not worth the money. If it breaks down, we'll-"

"It's not that." I crack my knuckles. "I'm transferring schools. To Illinois."

Her eyes widen. "You are? When did this happen?"

"Uh, Cancun."

"I a.s.sume this is Finley's idea."

I can't tell her I'm moving to another state for a guy. Especially for a guy I met during spring break.

"Yes. But they have a great art program there. Brand new facilities. Contracts with a couple of Chicago-area galleries. Interns.h.i.+ps."

She looks at the acceptance letter. "J. Vernon University." Her eyes flick up to me. "Private school?"

And here's where it gets tricky...

"Read the second page. I sent my portfolio, and they're considering me for a scholars.h.i.+p. My current grants and local scholars.h.i.+ps still apply in Illinois. And they're giving me more for academics than West K. And I'll get a job. On campus. Or somewhere. I'll help pay for it."

Mom holds up a hand to silence me. I lean back against the chair and wait for her to finish reading. Tuition, room, and board at J. Vernon is more than twice what it is at WKU, and I can see Mom's mental calculator going crazy.

"You'll still be short," she finally says.

"I know. I'll take out a student loan."

"Jobs and loans are extra responsibilities."

"I know," I repeat. "I'm ready, though. I can do it."

Mom smiles. Bobs her head. "Yeah, Alieya. You can." Her smile grows, and there's a glisten in her eye too. "I think it's a great idea. I never wanted you to stay here in Bowling Green anyway. And if this J. Vernon place is as spectacular as you say, we'll make it work."

I spring up and throw my arms around her neck. "Thank you, Mom."

Finley thumbs through a magazine, her legs crossed and meeting my headboard. "You call Maverick yet?"

"Last night. He can't wait until August." I reach over her and grab the pen off of a nightstand. "You're going to take this quiz."

"I hate quizzes." She puffs out her lower lip. "What's it called?"

"Not telling. First question: When you think about your current beau, what color do you imagine? A) Jet Black, B) Lime Green, C) Lipstick Red, D) Pineapple Yellow, or E) Mocha."

"I don't have a current beau."

"Liar. Jake."

"Not my beau."

I twist to look at her. "Oh, really? Who was your last bed buddy?"

"Bed buddies aren't beaus." She says the last word all nasally.

"Just answer the question."

"Fine. Jake, okay?"

Smug, I turn back to the magazine. "What color?"

"Lipstick red, I guess."

I draw a heart around C. "Did you call Jake yet?"

"This morning." She doesn't elaborate.

"Uh-huuuuuuh. And..."

"And." She accentuates the word. "He's making some s.p.a.ce in his room for me until we can move into our dorm."

I smirk, sticking my tongue out, because she can't see me. "Question two: Your last phone conversation ended with A) Go to h.e.l.l, B) See you later, C) Kissy noises, D) A game where you go back and forth about who hangs up first, or E) Bye."

"F. None of the above."

"Kissy noises are close to o.r.g.a.s.mic noises. I'm going to mark that one."

"Whatever."

"Question three: The famous couple that best describes your relations.h.i.+p. A) Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, B) Taylor Swift and Zac Effron, C) Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, D) J.T. and Jessica Biel, E) Joseph Gordan-Levitt and Tasha McCauley."

"How am I supposed to know the answer to that?"

"Just pick one."

"B."

Finley reluctantly finishes the quiz, and I flip around on the bed to read her results for "Is it Love?" "You've got it baaaaaaaad. You might not be ready for a ring yet, but you're headed for the jewelry counter. Love is in the air, and the two of you are breathing it in like Cupid himself is offering the fumes. You're hot and heavy in the bedroom (and out!), and even when you're not together, you can't keep your minds to yourselves. Enjoy it. Love like yours is only once-in-a-lifetime."

"Give me that!" Finley grabs the magazine and scans the answers.

"Jake and Finley sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," I whisper. "First comes love..."

Finn glares at me. "Shut up. It's not love."

"Whatever you say."

A couple of weeks later, another letter from J. Vernon arrives in the mail. I'm the only one home, and I tear it open.

I read it three times- Because oh. My. G.o.d.

We'd like to offer you a renewable visual arts scholars.h.i.+p in the amount of $15,000 a year.

It's enough to avoid loans.

I can't breathe.

Twenty-four months ago On August first, Finley and I board the train from Kentucky to Illinois. We take our seats, and my knee immediately starts to bounce, even with Finley attempting to hold it down.

"Girl, you're like a Disney princess on acid. Stop it, or I'll have to shove a Prozac down your throat."

"You didn't bring enough for the both of us."

"I'll sacrifice one. d.a.m.n. Relax."

"Ugh, I can't!"

"Why not? It's Maverick, it's art school, it's not Kentucky." She throws her arms out, eyes wide.

"Because it's Maverick, it's art school, and it's not Kentucky!"

"Here." Finley presses a newspaper to my chest. "Read something."

I flip through the pages, but nothing holds my attention. Finley dozes off, her head propped back on her neck pillow. I clack my nails against my teeth and check my receptionless phone.

When the announcement is finally made over speaker, a s.h.i.+ver races up my spine. I'm giddy and nervous and the people across the aisle can probably hear my heart pounding.

After the second announcement, I nudge Finn. "Wake up. We're almost there."

She opens her eyes, groggy. "Already? That was quick."

"b.i.t.c.h."

"Wh.o.r.e." She grins. "I'm sure you're well-rested for tonight."

"What's tonight?"

Finley blinks. "Sometimes I don't know whether to smack you or hug you. You haven't seen Maverick in months. What do you think you're doing tonight?"

Oh...

The train comes to a stop, and I grab my bag. I'm smiling so big, people probably mistake me for a clown. I shuffle out behind Finn, trying to peek around her to find Maverick. When I spot him, my heart speeds up.

G.o.d, he's gorgeous. More so than months ago when I watched him get into a cab for the airport. The Caribbean tan has worn off, but the Midwestern sun has been just as kind to his complexion. Golden caramel skin stands out even under the shaded platform. His hair is a bit longer, his eyes s.h.i.+ning, and I can't wait to kiss those delectable lips that beam back at me.

"Ahhh!" Finley squeals, racing toward Jake. They're making out as soon as her body clashes with his.

I want to do the same with Maverick, but I'm the reserved one. I'll save my excitement for later, when we're alone. Besides, Finley dropped her bag right in front of me before she took off. The thing weighs a freaking ton.

I hoist it up and make my way toward Maverick.

"I can't believe you're actually here," he says, meeting me halfway.

"I can't either."

"I'm dying to kiss you, but once I start, I won't want to stop."

"Then we'd better get out of here."