MasukBeckett“Congratulations.”That’s it.One word.One fucking word, and Ella doesn’t move.Her phone is in her hand. Her mom is leaning over one shoulder. I’m practically breathing down the other.“Ella?”She blinks.“I got in.”Her mom screams.Ella jumps.Then her mom grabs her, and suddenly they’re both crying.I stand there smiling like an idiot.She got in.North Ridge.The school she wanted before she ever thought about where I might go.The school eight hours away.Eight.Fucking.Hours.I shove that thought down so hard it should require medical attention.Ella looks at me over her mom’s shoulder.Her smile wobbles.I know exactly what she’s thinking.So I don’t give her time to ask.I grab her.“You fucking did it.”She laughs against my chest.“Language,” her mom says while crying.“Sorry.”“No, you’re not.”“No.”Ella pulls back.“You’re happy?”There it is.I hate that she has to ask.“Are you kidding me?”“Beckett—”“You got into North Ridge.”“I know.”“The school you’ve b
Ella“What is your greatest weakness?”I stare at Beckett.“You.”He lowers the sheet of interview questions.“Seriously.”“I am serious.”“You can’t tell them your boyfriend is your greatest weakness.”“Why not?”“Because it sounds sexual.”My mouth falls open.Across the kitchen, Mom makes a choking sound.“Beckett!”“What? It does.”“You are never helping me prepare for anything again.”He looks offended.“I’ve been doing great.”“You asked where I see myself in five years and then argued with my answer.”“You said graduate school.”“Because I might want to go to graduate school.”“That’s more school after college.”“Yes, Beckett. That’s generally how graduate school works.”“Sounds excessive.”Mom walks past us with her coffee.“Remind me what you’re planning to major in, Beckett?”I grin.His eyes narrow.“Everybody in this house can go to hell.”“Language.”“This isn’t even my house!”“Still my rules.”I laugh so hard I have to put my head down.My interview is in forty-five min
EllaThere is an envelope on the kitchen counter.A big one.I know what that means because every senior in America has apparently agreed that big envelopes are good and small envelopes are emotional devastation.I stop in the doorway.Mom is standing on the other side of the counter pretending she isn’t watching me.“You opened the mailbox.”“I do that most days.”“You saw this.”“I did.”“You’ve been waiting for me.”“I have.”I put my backpack down.The logo belongs to State Central.Forty-five minutes away.My safety school.Except calling any college a safety school feels arrogant when my brain is currently screaming that they probably mailed me a brochure about campus dining.“Open it,” Mom says.“What if it’s not an acceptance?”“Then we burn it.”I look at her.She shrugs.“I’m supportive.”I laugh nervously and tear open the envelope.My hands shake.That’s ridiculous.I wanted this.I applied here.It’s a good school.I pull out the letter.Dear Ella James,I make it exactly
BeckettI wake up with Mason’s foot on my face.Not near my face.On it.His heel is pressed against my cheek while the rest of him is sideways across the hotel bed like he spent the night fighting demons.I shove his leg away.He doesn’t move.Dad is asleep in the other bed, peacefully unaware that his youngest child is trying to murder his oldest.I check the time.6:42.Fuck.I roll over.Mason’s arm immediately smacks me in the chest.That’s it.I’m going to college.⸻Breakfast is downstairs, and Ella is already there when I arrive.She’s sitting with Mom, hair piled on top of her head, wearing leggings and one of my hoodies.I stop.She looks up.“What?”“My hoodie.”She looks down.“Oh.”“You stole my suit jacket and now this.”“You left this at my house.”“That doesn’t transfer ownership.”“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”Dad walks past me.“She’s right.”“Whose family are you people?”Ella smiles over her coffee.I sit beside her.“Sleep okay?”“Your mom doesn’t kick.”
EllaSix hours is a lot longer when you’re actually driving it.I knew this intellectually.Six hours is six hours.Three hundred and something miles.A number Beckett and I have tossed around like it wasn’t particularly threatening.But somewhere around hour four, when Mason asks for the twenty-third time whether we’re almost there, six hours starts feeling like another country.“No,” Beckett says from the passenger seat.“How much longer?”“An hour and forty minutes.”Mason groans from beside me.“That’s forever.”“You asked nine minutes ago.”“I thought maybe we went faster.”I look out the window so nobody sees me smile.I’m in the back of the Cross family’s SUV with Mason because Beckett claimed he gets carsick in the back.I don’t believe him.I think he just didn’t want Mason kicking his seat for six hours.Smart.Laura looks at us through the rearview mirror.“Everyone still alive?”“No,” Mason says.“Good.”I laugh.Then Beckett turns around.His eyes find mine.“You okay?”T
EllaThere is something deeply satisfying about watching Beckett Cross lose an argument to his mother.“I have plans.”Laura doesn’t even look up from the tray of flowers she’s unloading from the back of her SUV.“So do I.”“My plans don’t involve dirt.”“Mine involve you putting those mums by the porch.”Beckett looks at me for support.I take a sip of my coffee.“Don’t drag me into your family problems.”“You’re supposed to be on my side.”“I am.”“Then help me.”“Oh, absolutely not.”Laura smiles at me.“I like her.”“Everybody likes her better than me.”Mason appears from behind the garage wearing gardening gloves that reach halfway to his elbows.“I don’t.”Beckett points at him.“Thank you.”“I like dinosaurs better.”“Never mind.”It’s Saturday morning, and what was supposed to be Beckett picking me up for breakfast somehow turned into Laura announcing that since football season is winding down, her oldest son can finally contribute to the household he lives in.Personally, I t
Beckett “Uh… hello?” I close my eyes and let my head fall back for a second. Fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic. Across from me, Ella looks just as horrified. Another knock rattles the door. “Some of us actually have to pee!” I recognize the voice immediately. Amber Fields. Of course it’
Beckett I should look away. I’ve been telling myself that for the last ten minutes. Look away. Stop staring. Go talk to somebody. Jump back in the pool. Do literally anything else. Instead, my eyes keep finding her. Every single time. Across the backyard, Ella sits at the edge of the pool
Ella By lunch, everybody knows. Of course they do. News travels through our school faster than wildfire, especially when it involves someone people actually care about. Or in this case, someone people definitely care about and someone they usually pretend doesn’t exist. I know before anyone say
Ella “Hey, James. Did your closet finally lose a fight with a dumpster?” Laughter broke out behind me. I didn’t turn around. That was rule number one. Actually, it was the only rule that really mattered. Don’t react. Don’t engage. And whatever you do, don’t let them see it hurts. The hallwa







