“They didn’t call Brady’s, so they didn’t call mine.”

I sighed. “Well, I’m glad. I guess they didn’t give you detention, either?”

“Nope.”

I nodded. “Why did I even ask?”

He laughed once, without humor.

“When I got home, after practice, my dad had an acceptance letter in his hand. He was smiling from ear to ear. I wanted to puke.”

“Why?”

“Because it was from his alma mater. Duke University. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good school. My sister loves it there.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Another acceptance was in his other hand, from the Art Institute of Dallas.” I waited while he took a sip of his Cherry Coke. “He didn’t know I’d applied, and I tried to beat him home every day to check the mail so he wouldn’t find out what I’d done.”

“But today you didn’t beat him, because you were standing on the corner with me.”

“It’s not your fault. He didn’t even mention it. He didn’t even care. He was too amped about the football scholarship, and even if I didn’t get one, his mind was made up. It didn’t even matter that I applied behind his back.”

“What are you going to do?”

Weston pulled a wadded-up piece of paper from his letter jacket pocket. “I fished it out of the trash can.”

I felt my eyes light up. “You’re going to go?”

He stared at the paper. “I worked my ass off getting that application together.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

He looked at me. “What do you think? My parents won’t help me with the tuition, much less an apartment.”

“So you work and go to school. You’re not the first student in the world to do that.”

“I’m not scared of doing that. I’m just . . . that’s a pretty big slap in the face to my parents. It’s a big deal.”

“It’s your life.” Those words were simple and overused, but that was always true of the truth. “What would your thirty-year-old self say?

“If he’s sitting in an office pushing legal paperwork, he’s probably cussing me.”

I shrugged and looked up at the sky. “Sounds to me like you know the answer.”

“It’s a difference between want and should, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You should do what you want.”

He looked over at me and smiled, and I met his eyes. He watched me for a moment, and then his gaze fell to my lips. “You smell like ice cream.”

My breath caught. “So?”

“I’m just kind of wondering if you taste like it.”

After a short pause, I choked then burst out in howling laughter.

He grinned. “What? What’s funny?”

I couldn’t stop the ugly cackling bubbling up from deep inside of me, like it had been waiting there my entire life to be set free. My eyes watered. Weston quietly chuckled, too.

“Man,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad it’s dark.”

“Why’s that?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

“Because my face has got to be bright red right now.”