Page 66 of High Hopes

“Let’s get out of here. We can’t sit around and let my dad’s bullshit ruin your night. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere you want.”

“What about your ‘at least edible’ dinner?” I ask, my words falling out in a flat, hollow tone.

He grins softly, his hand still extended. “There’s this new invention called a microwave. We can heat it up when we get back.”

I hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand like it holds the answer to all the conflicting thoughts swirling in my head. A big part of me wants to stay right here on the couch and let the disappointment settle—feel every ounce of it, let it wash over me until it passes.

Because that’s what I usually do. I dwell. I overthink. I replay every decision, every word, every moment, searching for where I went wrong.

But another part of me—the softer, squishier part—wants something else. Wants to be distracted, even just for a little while. Wants to be anywhere but here, with Liam’s hand in mine, pretending for a night that things don’t hurt as much as they do.

Tomorrow, I’ll let myself wallow. Tomorrow, I’ll replay every second of this and let the weight of it crush me if it wants to.

But tonight, I’ll let myself be with Liam.

I slide my hand into his, and his fingers close gently around mine. He pulls me to my feet, his grin widening just a fraction as he tugs me toward his room.

“Wait here,” he says, disappearing for a moment. When he comes back, he’s holding a big, baggy Dayton Soccer sweatshirt. “Here. It’s cold out.”

He helps me pull it over my head, and it smells like him—clean and faintly woodsy, with a hint of detergent. The sleeves swallow my hands, the hem hanging well past my hips, but it’s comforting in a way I can’t explain.

“Better?” he asks, his voice low, his smile softer now.

I nod, letting him lace his fingers through mine again. Together, we walk to the door, hand in hand, and I let myself believe—just for tonight—that things might still be okay.

23

BIRDIE

Liam confidently leadsme across campus. We weave between darkened buildings and quiet walkways, steady but unhurried. The chilly air nips at my cheeks. It’s nearly winter, and though we’re in the south, the cold still finds its way in, curling around us like a quiet reminder of the season’s end.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.

“You’ll see.”

We turn a corner, passing the glow of the main fountain, where students are gathered. A few late-night dwellers, who laugh as we walk by. But Liam doesn’t stop us there. Instead, he veers toward a cluster of older buildings, the kind with faded plaques and ivy creeping up the sides.

When we round the last corner, he slows, gesturing ahead. “Here we are.”

At first, I don’t see it. Then, the faint trickle of water catches my attention, and my eyes adjust to the dim light. It’s a small fountain, tucked between two engineering buildings, almost forgotten by the rest of campus. The basin is shallow, and the stone is worn with age.

And there’s something living in there, too.

A small turtle, lazily swimming in circles, its small head breaking the surface every so often.

“There’s a little turtle in there,” I whisper, crouching closer to get a better look.

“Yeah,” Liam says, settling beside me. “Found this place my freshman year. I come back every now and then. Figured you’d like it.”

I watch as the turtle pauses, floating near the edge before paddling off again. “Do you think he’s always been here? Like, is this his only home?”

Liam tilts his head, considering. “Maybe. Or maybe he wandered in when he was older. Got lost and decided to stick around. I’ve been calling him Otis. Seems like an Otis, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Do you think he got separated from his mom when he was little?” I ask softly, my voice catching in a way I don’t expect. “And now he’s here. In this fountain. Just . . . living.”

He leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. “You okay?”

I wipe at my eyes quickly, but it’s no use. A tear slips down my cheek, followed by another. “I don’t know.”

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