teful smile before sitting back in my seat and scribbling halfway coherent notes across the page.
The persistent blond next to me sighs and murmurs, “Watch out for that one. He thinks because he’s the new quarterback he can charm his way into anyone’s pants.”
I stiffen. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested.” There’s a heavy pause between us. “In anyone,” I add in vain.
My seat neighbor shakes his head, tapping his pen against my hand. “Griff told everyone to back off. He normally doesn’t care who we go after. Take that for what it’s worth.”
I slide my focus to him. He’s staring at the front of the room, acting like he cares about what the professor has to say for once. His profile doesn’t give much away. “What did Aiden say?”
A shoulder lifts. “To keep our hands to ourselves and give you space. Got to be honest, though, not sure you’ll get far with him when you decide to stop pretending you don’t like him.”
My eye twitches. “And why is that?”
Exhaling, he rolls his shoulders and finally glances at me with sorrow in his eyes that makes my anxiety curdle my stomach. “He’s going pro, Ives. Don’t know if he told you or not, but he’s supposedly leaving after this semester is over. I know you don’t go to games, but you pay attention when someone brings up our stats so you know he’s good enough to be snatched up by a major team.”
Though the news about his future career is far from surprising, my heart clenches over the confident statement of his departure. I’ve heard people talk on campus and at the bakery, even if I try tuning out news of Lindon’s best player. Aiden deserves to go pro from everything people have said. It’s what he’s always wanted. Still, I wish he would have hinted that our reuniting was short lived if he’s leaving Lindon in a matter of weeks.
Forcing a smile, I shrug as if the news doesn’t squash what little hope remains inside of me. “Good for him.”
He looks like he wants to say something, his lips parting and eyes focused on me for a moment too long, before shaking his head. Scratching his jaw, he faces forward again. “You two drive me nuts. Always fighting what other people would just let happen if you weren’t both in your damn heads. Do something about the tension before he goes if nothing else.”
Chest tightening, I stare at my notes absentmindedly. “You’re being kind of an ass.”
“I’m just saying you might regret not doing something about it while he’s around. Who knows what will happen when he leaves.”
I grip my pen a little too tightly until my fingers hurt. “It doesn’t matter because Aiden and I aren’t even friends, much less anything else. Drop it, DJ.”
I wonder how many times I have to say that out loud before I’ll start believing it. Because acquaintances don’t act like they care when you’re sick, much less take care of you, and they certainly don’t have your back without motives.
But friends do.
DJ hums out a noise but remains silent the rest of class, and his doubt bothers me more than his words do.
What does he know that I don’t?
The irritating voice that likes to pop into my head at the worst times speaks up loud and clear, offering me an answer I can’t ignore no matter how hard I try.
He knows how to be honest with himself.
The faceoff I have with my mother ends with a long sigh as she sets down the checkbook and shakes her head. “I can’t give you more money.”
“It’s only $30,” I tell her, shoulders dropping at her firm decision. She used the voice. The one that says her mind is made up. “If I don’t come up with it by the end of the week, I can’t go on the trip.”
Mom rubs her makeup-less eyes before standing and walking over to the coffee pot. When she realizes it’s empty, she grips the counter for a few seconds before searching for the grounds in the cupboard. “Ivy, I don’t know what to tell you right now. I already gave you some money I scrounged up so you could get those baking supplies. Maybe if you managed your allowance better you could have saved for this trip instead.”
Her reasoning is logical, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up. “Porter got all new sports equipment last week even though you guys just spent a ton of money on him for other things. Way more than the money I’m asking to go to New York City.”
Mom turns to me, filter full of fresh dark roast grounds in her hands and says, “Your brother’s situation is different. We’re investing in a hobby that could lead him somewhere.”
My lips part. “My baking—”
Her laugh is abrupt. “You’re only baking because the woman next door got it through your head that you can make it work as a career. I’m sorry, Ivy, but I don’t see it happening. Most of the things you make end up in the trash anyway. That’s perfectly good food wasted, not to mention money. A trip to New York City with your class isn’t going to get you any further with the silly dream of yours.”
Swallowing down the hurt, I fall back into the seat at the table and watch her finish prepping the coffee and turning on the machine. When her eyes meet mine, her head tilts in exasperation. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say that to upset you, I’m being realistic. Porter is good at what he does. He loves football and your father agrees he could get a scholarship someday to a good college.”
“How come you don’t believe in me like you do in him?” I ask, unable to keep our gazes locked in fear of what I’ll see. “Mrs. Griffith says I can do whatever I want if I believe in myself.”
My mother grumbles as her slippers shuffle around the kitchen to grab a coffee cup from above the sink. “Mrs. Griffith obviously doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle. People who have the means can do whatever they want, but we are not those people. The sooner you realize that the quicker you’ll understand that life is not a Hallmark movie. You’re fourteen, Ivy. It’s time you start thinking about an honest future for yourself that way you don’t end up—”