Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Are you calling me flat?” I scrunch my nose.
“I’m calling you gravity.”
“Sounds like a stripper’s name.”
He laughs so hard, his dad thinks he’s choking.
I urge him to go celebrate with his friends and promise him a thousand times that I’m okay, that I don’t mind we’re not spending time together, that I have homework to do anyway.
But as I drive home, for the first time, a selfish thought pops into my head.
The idea of him partying it up with hot girls right now makes me nauseated.
And the fact that this bothers me is a huge red flag. I cannot afford to be jealous.
Jealousy leads to impulsiveness. Impulsiveness to chaos.
I do my homework, clean my room, read a book, and glance at my watch every two seconds. I do that until two in the morning, which is also when I check my phone.
No texts from Lev. Still out, partying.
I’m not sure if I’m more worried or jealous about it.
Let him be. He literally just won the state championship.
Trying to keep busy, I go outside to get the mail.
I pull out a fat envelope, my heart racing in my chest.
Could it be?
How long has it been sitting there?
Holy best news ever.
I rip it open in the stark darkness, aiming my phone’s flashlight at the words.
And there it is. The acceptance letter I’ve been waiting for since I learned how to walk.
Juilliard.
I’m in.
One of the seven percent of applicants who actually gets accepted. Up against the most talented people in the world.
A piñata of emotions bursts inside me. I want to announce the news, but Mom and Dad are asleep and Daria and Penn are in Paris, doing hot-couple shit.
I could call one of my friends, but it feels wrong sharing this important news with someone random.
My fingers quake when I type the text message.
Bailey: Guess what?
Lev: Chicken butt.
Lev: So apparently I Benjamin-Button into a six-year-old after a few beers. Sorry about that. What’s up, B?
Bailey: Can I call?
Lev: I mean, it’s super noisy here at Finn’s. I’m about to head back home in about an hour though if it can wait.
Bailey: It can’t.
Lev: Uh-huh. What is it?
Bailey: I GOT ACCEPTED TO JUILLIARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
My grand announcement is followed by big, fat nothing.
One minute turns into four, which turns into fifteen. No response.
I go back into our chat to see if maybe my last message didn’t go through. It did.
I stare at the screen until it dies. Then blink, realizing for the first time, I’m still outside my house, engulfed by the night.
Weird things are happening in my body right now.
The piñata that just burst inside me? It was full of rusty nails.
A century and a half later, a reply finally pops up.
Lev: That’s great news. Proud of you, B.
I don’t know why, but his message sinks into my skin and spreads like a lethal injection.
After my undying support, my undivided attention, serving as his human alarm clock every morning so he’d never miss practice, cooking his chicken breast the way he wanted because he was superstitious about eating it before big games, when it was time to be happy for me…he wasn’t. He isn’t.
My big life news, my celebration isn’t even worth a FaceTime…
I take the stairs back to my room and curl inside my bed, facing the wall and closing my eyes. I really don’t feel like waiting for him in his bed tonight.
Hot tears roll down my cheek and into my mouth. I cry myself to sleep.
Sometime later, I feel my mattress dipping under familiar weight.
A muscular body presses against mine from behind. He’s warm and delicious and smells like home. That unique Bailev scent we both carry, mixed with a tinge of alcohol.
His arms circle around me and I’m helpless against his pull. I curse my inability to resist him when Lev nuzzles his face into the crook of my shoulder.
Tears sting the backs of my eyeballs. Is there such a thing as loving someone too much?
I suspect there is. I think he steals my sunshine. Swallows my light.
I might be feeding myself mean stories to convince myself to leave for New York and not stay here with him, but seriously?
Maybe we both need to find out who we are without each other.
“Dove.” He burrows against my skull, sending shivers down my spine. “Fuck. What am I going to do without you? I need you. You’re not supposed to leave. You’re supposed to…I don’t know. Be a good girl and stick around for me. Put me first.”
He is drunk and I’m heartbroken and this is not a good combination for either of us.
He also thinks I’m asleep, which is the only time the truth tumbles out of his mouth so easily.
“I should be happy for you, getting into Juilliard. I always knew you would. But my selfish ass can’t see past the idea that you won’t be close to me anymore.”