Sweet Dandelion

I open the box with four muffins from a local bakery, grabbing a blueberry one for myself. Sage picks the banana one.

I pull a piece off, popping it into my mouth. “Mmm, that’s yummy.”

Sage chuckles. “It should be, they make them fresh. I had to wait in line for fifteen minutes, and that was a short wait compared to the usual. But that’s why it took me so long to get back.”

“Where exactly are we taking this cooking class?” I ask, taking another bite. Sage surprised me with the news this morning when I woke up that he’d scheduled it for today but forgot to tell me. He tacked on that he hoped I didn’t have plans with Ansel I had to cancel. His dislike for my friend is funny to me since Sage was kind of a player when he was in high school, and Ansel truly is only a friend to me. I wonder what he’d think if I told him I had a crush on my guidance counselor. Something tells me he’d kill Lachlan, even though Lachlan is innocent and probably not aware of my scandalous thoughts.

“It’s at the Salt Lake Culinary Education. They offer one-time classes for adults and kids, so that seems like what we need.”

“I think we might need more than one.” I tear the rest of my muffin apart stuffing some in my mouth. Sage eats his like a cupcake, gulping large bites down.

“We probably will, but I figured we’d start with one. My schedule is about to get even busier and I’ll have to work on the weekends a lot.” He looks down at the counter, his shoulders tight.

I wish he would quit, figure out something that makes him happy, but he feels like this is what he has to do. Maybe it is. After all, I’m eighteen and still in school, so I can’t really relate to being in his position. I know I miss his smile, his real smile. But he probably misses the same thing about me.

“You work too much.” I brush the crumbs left on the counter from my muffin into my hand and throw them away.

“I have to.” He rests his head in his hand, every bit of his muffin gone. He sips at his coffee, watching me.

“What?” Something tells me he’s going to ask me something I don’t want to answer.

“Have you thought about where you’re applying for college? Applications need to go out in, what, six weeks?”

“Something like that.” A heavy sigh wracks my body.

“You didn’t answer the question.” He raises a brow, but doesn’t sound accusatory about it.

“I haven’t given it much, thought.” Leaning my hip against the side of the counter, I look down, drawing idle designs in the granite top.

“You need to make up your mind. You could … you could go back to Portland, if you wanted.”

My head shoots up. “I’m not going back there, Sage.”

My heart speeds up at the very thought of it. I can’t go back to that city, that state, and not think of what happened. I know our mom and dad are buried there, but I can’t even think of going to visit them. That whole place holds too many bad memories now. I can’t look at anything the same way again.

His lips turn down sympathetically and he shoves his right hand roughly through his wavy hair. It’s getting a little long and he needs to get it cut.

“I’m sorry, D. I shouldn’t have suggested it.” He looses a long breath.

“Maybe I won’t go to college,” I whisper, hopping up on the counter. I twist my fingers together, swinging my legs back and forth.

“Dani, you have to go to college.”

I glare at him. “I don’t have to do anything, Sage. Maybe I want to roam the world, discover who I am, I can’t do that in a classroom.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want!” I shout, tears pricking my eyes. “Don’t you get that? I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know who I am or how I fit in this world.”

Sage’s face falls. “Dandelion.” It takes him three steps to be in front of me. He wraps his arms around my shaking body, hugging me tight. Resting his chin on top of my head, he says, “I didn’t know this was bothering you so much.”

“A year ago a track scholarship was in the bag to pretty much any school I wanted to go to,” I sniffle, letting him go so I can dry my face. “You know I was set on a path toward law school, but I can’t do that anymore. I would hate it. Our justice system sucks and I would be miserable. I don’t want to spend every single day hating my job and my life. Life’s too short for that.”

He presses his lips together and I think maybe I’ve offended him. “I won’t pressure you to do something you don’t want to do. But please, send out applications, that way when the time comes you can make the choice to go or not.”

“You’re not mad?” My voice shakes slightly.

“A little,” he admits, his eyes softening. “But not for the reasons you think.”