Jesse’s grandmother was buried two days later in a small, yet tasteful, service attended by her family and several close friends. Surprisingly, Jesse’s dad flew in from North Carolina to attend the funeral and stayed an additional week to help Jesse’s mother and aunt sort the estate and tie up any remaining loose ends.

Jesse and I talked when we could, and for the most part it seemed that he was coping with the loss well—or at least as well as can be expected.

The months bled into one another, and before I could blink it was almost the end of spring semester.

I’ve maintained most of the positive changes I implemented after my breakdown in February. I still attend parties, but I rarely—if ever—drink. In a way, it works to everyone’s benefit. My friends are grateful to have a reliable designated driver, and because of this, no one ever pressures me to do something I don’t want to do.

Occasionally I’ll let loose, but only with a close group of friends: mainly Liza, our mutual friend, Kara, or (when I see him) Jesse. I trust myself to never get that out of control again, but there’s no harm in being extra cautious. Besides, ever since that terrible night, alcohol, in general, is a touchy subject for me.

The first week of May finals are in full swing, and I resign myself to the fact that I’ll be spending every waking minute in the library for the next week so I can cram all the necessary information into my brain. I’m an interior design major, but my math class—I was assigned calculus based on my high school transcript, even though I only needed a general education credit—is kicking my ass. This past month alone, I filled up three notebooks with class notes and problems.

Studying in the library has always been my refuge. I have a special spot, a little table wedged in the corner that is hidden from view by three, tall, wooden bookcases that house the reference materials. It’s my secret place. Students rarely venture up to the fourth floor—why would they, when they have Google?—but even if they do, they never cross to the back wall, to my corner. And that’s exactly how I like it.

My phone buzzes alongside my calc notebook. A smile tips the corners of my lips as I read the text.

Jesse: Whatcha doing?

Riley: Studying calculus.

Jesse: Srsly? How do you even study for math?

I snap a picture of the three pages of notes I’d just completed and send it to him.

Riley: That’s one problem.

Jesse: Shoot me now. When you coming home?

Riley: May 7^th Dad’s picking me up.

Jesse: Cool. I’ll be home May 10^th. Tree house?

My heart does this weird flutter thing when I think about seeing him. Alone. In our tree house. At night. But I ignore it. I’ve just started “talking” to this guy, Dave, who Liza introduced me to from her speech class. We’ve hung out a couple of times and I’ve had fun. He’s sweet and has a dry sense of humor that cracks me up.

I type back my response, deleting the kissing heart emoji that I normally send in our texts, but at the last minute I tack it back on.

Riley: Sounds like a plan. *kissing heart emoji*

Jesse: Can’t wait to see you.

Riley: Me, too. Good luck on your finals.

Jesse: Thanks. I’m gonna need it. See ya May 10^th Riley Ann.

* * *

The timber plank creeks as I pull my weight onto the last rung of the wooden ladder. The sky is a dusky mix of oranges and yellows as the sun shifts behind the clouds and the moon winks in the night sky. I settle against the wall, the tiny splinters of wood pricking my bare shoulders and upper back. A cool breeze whips through the open window, and I wrap my arms around my chest. Dammit. I forgot to bring a jacket.

I’m debating whether or not I want to go back to my house to grab my hoodie, the entire time knowing full well I’m too lazy to do so, when Jesse’s head appears over the top of the ladder. He pulls himself up and walks toward where I sit. I drag myself up to stand and he wraps me in a hug, lifting and twirling me around. “Riley.” He smiles as he sets me back on my feet. “It’s so good to see you. It’s so good to be home.”

I nod as we both plop onto the threadbare carpet that we pilfered from Mrs. Kennedy’s trash years ago. “How have you been?” I ask, the question laced with meaning.

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad to be back at my mom’s. She’s having a hard time. My gram’s house still hasn’t sold, so it’s a lot for her and my aunt to take care of.”

“It will,” I say optimistically, even though the house is in the middle of nowhere and needs upgrading. “Are you really doing okay?”

“Yes.” He smiles. “I promise.”

“Good.” I poke his stomach. “Now, fill me in on everything, Jesse.”

“Lily and I broke up.” He exhales once.

“What happened?” Truthfully, I’m not surprised. For one, Jesse doesn’t do long-term relationships, and after their rather awkward goodbye before his gram’s funeral, I’m shocked they lasted this long.

“Nothing. It’s just…” He shakes his head. “How about you? How’s Dave Thomas?”

“Stop!” I swat his chest. “That joke was funny the first five times.”

He smiles. “I’m gonna start calling you Wendy.” My eyes widen but he continues, “You do have red hair.”

“Seriously?”

He laughs again but then becomes more serious. “How are you really?” The sincere way he speaks the words tells me exactly what he’s asking.

“I’m okay.” I squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back. “I worry about you.”

“Same.” I stare into his eyes that begin to cloud over with emotion. I’m unable to tell which emotion exactly; maybe it’s worry, or conflict, or something else entirely. “So, tell me. How did you finish this semester?”

He pulls back, rests his arms on his bent knees. “I don’t know yet.”

I make a face. “Jes, grades post online almost immediately.”

He shrugs.

“We can check?” I lean forward to pull my phone from my back pocket.

He snatches the phone from my hands. “No.”

I turn to face him. “What aren’t you telling me?” I nudge his shoulder. “We said no more secrets.” He’s quiet, but I persist. “I know when you’re lying to me.”

He scoffs. “Really?”

“Fine.” I huff, voice angry. “Let’s not talk about it.

There are several moments of strained silence before he finally speaks. “I failed my classes.” I suck in a breath, and he glances at me before dropping his gaze. “That’s why I was a little later getting home. I had to meet with my advisor and Coach.”

“How many did you fail?”

His voice is sullen. “Four.”

After the words settle, after the initial shock wears off, I switch into fix-it mode. “It sucks, but you can make up the credits. Did they talk to you about enrolling in summer school?”

“Yeah.” He pulls at a loose thread on the carpet.

“Well, that’s a start.” I bolster my inner optimist. “I mean, your dad might be a little disappointed that you’re not spending the summer with him, but I’m sure he’ll understand. And if you need help, I can—”

“I’m not doing it, Riley.”

I gasp. Loudly. “What?”

“I’m not going back to college.”

“Jes.” I push myself to stand and begin pacing the small square of space to dispel some of the nervous energy. “You can’t be serious.”

He stands, shrugs off his zippered hoodie and hands it to me. “Here.”

I stare at him as though he’s grown two heads, but he shakes the jacket in indication for me to take it. “You’re cold,” he says, matter-of-factly.

I’m about to argue, but I watch as his eyes fall to my chest, to my hard nipples poking through the thin tank top. I snatch it from his hands and push my arms into the sleeves. It’s huge but warm and smells like him, woodsy, like fresh-cut cedar mixed with earthy pine.

We stand, facing each other, a challenge in our stares daring the other to speak. I cave first. “Have you thought about this?” I tug the sleeves over my hands. “Really thought about this?”

He exhales. “I don’t know. What’s there to think about, really? I failed.” The way he says the word failed rips my heart in two. He sounds tired. Miserable. Defeated.

“So, what?” I counter. “Millions of people fail classes.”

“You don’t.”

I give him a look that says I’m a nerd. “You can make up the credits and start fresh your sophomore year.”

He shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but…I don’t belong there. I enrolled because it was the right thing to do and because I got a kickass scholarship for basketball, but…” His voice trails off. “With my gram passing away, it’s like life’s too short to invest time and money into something I don’t care about. I’ve never been good in school, you know that.”

I think about the truth in his words, about how we never really had a choice regarding our future. Everyone—from our parents, to our counselors, to the college admissions reps who set-up tables every lunch period during senior year—it wasn’t a matter of if we’d go to college, but a matter of where.

I never really considered the alternative, mainly because I liked school. I liked learning. But if I’m being one hundred percent honest, Jesse never did. He always scraped by doing the bare minimum, even though I knew he was capable of more. He cut classes, ignored homework assignments, and never took notes. Maybe he had thought about this decision more than I gave him credit for. Maybe he was finally doing something that was right for him, even though the decision seemed counterintuitive.

“What will you do?” My eyes search his.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to your mom yet?” It’s a loaded question and we both know it. Ms. Collins is a single mom who started as a nurse’s aide and paid her way through night classes to become a registered nurse. She has an incredible work ethic and currently supervises an entire team of nurses in the cardiology department at our local hospital.

Jesse’s decision to quit school would gut her.

He shakes his head. “No.” He toys with the zipper on my hoodie—his hoodie, but whatever. “She’ll understand. My dad didn’t go to college, and he does all right.”

Because I met Jesse after his parents divorced when he was five, I don’t know his dad well. I’ve seen his dad, Ray Collins, a few times, most recently at his grandmother’s funeral, but our conversations were limited, at best. Ray Collins was a man of few words. At fifty-three, he’s never remarried and has devoted his life to the small motorcycle shop, Ray’s Rides, he owns and operates in Outer Banks, North Carolina. I looked it up online once, and it seems nice enough.

Jesse spends his summers with his dad working at the shop but has never really said much about it, other than the south is “hot as balls” and that the mosquitos are “fucking ridiculous.”

A cricket chirping in the distance pulls me back to the present. “I guess,” I agree half-heartedly. “If you go through with this, you’ll have to figure something out.”

“Creysto Plastics is hiring.”

My nose scrunches. “You want to work in a factory?”

He shrugs. “Just until I can figure out what the hell I want to do with my life.”

I nod.

He slides the zipper up and then down, his eyes tracing the movement.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

He avoids my gaze as he asks, “You’re not disappointed in me?”

“What? No!” I halt his hand. “Why would you think that I’d be disappointed?”

He shrugs. “Because you’re so smart and I’m…”

“Stop it.” My voice is strong. “We’re both smart in our own way.”

He grunts.

“I’m serious. You’re good with your hands.” His eyes flash to mine, burn with heat, and I continue on, flustered. “You know every basketball play imaginable. And don’t get me started on the crazy player statistics you rattle off out of nowhere.”

He cracks a smile.

“We’re different. That doesn’t make one of us better than the other. Different is different. Different is good.”

His voice is quiet when he says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He grins as his fingers grab the zipper once more and tugs it all the way up to my neck. He nearly catches my hair in the teeth of the metal, but I pull away just in time.

“Stop!” I knock his hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Covering you up.” A sexy smirk tips the corners of his lips. “Your nipples are seriously distracting.”

I’m thankful that the darkness disguises my blush. “God, you’re such a guy.”

“I like tits.” His voice is proud, as though he just solved a global crisis and not just declared his love of breasts.

“Not mine,” I retort.

“Especially yours,” he answers back, and I tell myself that I’m imagining the desire in his voice, the heavy weight of his stare.

I shrug to diffuse the tension. This is our new normal. The teasing banter, the sexy flirting, the playful touching. “Then I better keep ’em covered.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on.” I climb down the ladder and he follows. “Let’s go for an ice cream, and then you should talk to your mom.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats, this time adding a salute.

I shake my head at the silly gesture. “Let’s move, soldier. My treat.”

“In that case, I’m getting a double.”

I fish for the twenty dollars I found in the pocket of his hoodie and wink. “You can get whatever you want.”

“Hey!” he scolds, and tries to snatch the bill from my hand, but I pull it away.

“You want it?” I tease. “Come and get it.”

Laughing, we both take off running down the street.