“Everything okay, Bay?”

We broke apart. Panting. My heart leapt doing crazy flips in my chest.

He grinned at me, a winning-the-big-game kind of smile that had me searching for pom-poms.

My mom’s footsteps hit the stairs.

He backed up, putting some space between us.

“Wow, what happened in here? Was something on fire?” My mom walked in, waving her hand in front of her face.

I ducked my head and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“Bay let my try my hand at a round of pancakes and I screwed it up. Sorry, Molly.”

“Don’t worry one bit. Did you two already eat?”

“Only a nibble for me, so I’m starving now.” Dare took the plate my mom held out to him and peered over at me.

Rippling waves of yearning rushed through me. What would’ve happened if my mom hadn’t come down?

Our feet brushed against each other’s under the table. Each time, my gaze shot to my mom.

Dare finished at least eight pancakes before heading home.

I walked him out to the end of my driveway. Our hands brushed with each step that was beyond an accident. I wanted to reach out and grab his, interlacing my fingers with his, but I kept them at my side, not bold enough even after the blistering kiss that still lingered on my lips.

“Where do you go at night, Bay?” He rested his arm on the top of his car.

“You want to know?”

“I want to know everything about you.” His fingers grazed the front of my t-shirt so the fabric barely brushed my skin.

“Come here at ten and I’ll show you.”

His nostrils flared and his gaze intensified.

I ducked my head and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You can drive me there and see for yourself.”

He nodded, letting his hand drop away from me. Even the absence of the barest of touches hit me like a loss. His gaze flickered to my house. He dipped his head, bringing it closer to mine. “I’ll be here at ten.”

I stood outside until his figure retreated around the corner.

My afternoon turned to evening. Schoolwork finished, I picked up the guitar and gently strummed the strings, scribbling down the words that poured out of me whenever my pen got close to paper.

Mom stopped in the doorway in her scrubs.

“Mail for you.” Mom slid the letter onto the bed beside me.

Under her watchful eye—even though she was pretending to look elsewhere—I ripped open the envelope with the UCLA logo in the top left-hand corner.

My hands shook, making the lines difficult to follow, and my eyes could barely track each sentence. The dollar sign in the break between the paragraphs sent my head swimming.

I held the paper out to her.

Her eyes scanned the paper and a huge grin broke out across her face. “You did it!” She squeezed me tight, rocking me back and forth. “You’re sure?” Her gaze was riveted to mine. Pride and happiness brimming from the corners of her eyes.