Page 40 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
I give a small shrug. “Yeah, in a lot of ways I am ready. It’s the next step, you know, but it’s scary, too.”
Meredith walking a few feet in front of us says, “I’m shocked to hear a guy say that.”
I snort, my brows furrowing. “What? We can’t have feelings and worry about things too? This is a big thing. College. Work. Adulthood. I don’t know about you guys but I feel sorely unprepared. Like, how do I know how to do taxes? Or balance a checkbook? Or … loads of other shit.” I run my fingers through my hair, getting worked up. “There’s a lot to think about.”
Harlow eyes me, tilting her head to the side. In her soft pleasant voice, she asks me, “Have you decided on a college?”
“Santa Monica University,” I answer. It’s the school I’ve wanted to go to for years now and I got my acceptance recently. “I don’t want to leave home. I love it here too much.” Santa Monica, the beach, the people, the vibe … all of it feeds my soul. “I can’t imagine living somewhere else, even for only a few years. What about you guys?” I address Willa and Meredith since Harlow will only be going into her junior year.
“I’m not sure.” Willa answers first, her eyes—a similar hazel shade to her sister’s—seeming a bit lost for a moment. “I got into several places, some here and some where I’d have to leave, but I honestly don’t know if I’m cut out for college. I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life, so going to college scares me. I don’t want to be trapped doing something I hate, but I don’t want to not get an education either. I’ll have to decide what I’m doing soon, though.”
She lets out a deep breath after her long-winded ramble.
I shrug, giving her a sympathetic smile because I understand how complicated it is.
“You could give yourself another year, you know? You don’t have to decide anything right now. It’s a big decision and it should be what you want. Do what your heart tells you.”
She smiles in obvious relief. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” I flash her a smile, turning to Meredith. “And what about you?”
“I’m planning to go to UCLA.”
“Really?” I blurt a little too quickly and nearly wince when I realize how disbelieving I sound.
“What?” She snaps cuttingly, clearly not having missed my slip up. “Do I not look smart?”
“No, it’s not that.” I’m quick to try to fix my mistake. “It’s just … that’s a tough school. I’m not surprised, but I am impressed.”
She smiles widely and I thank my lucky stars that I dug myself out of that hole.
“Do you skateboard a lot?” Willa changes the subject before I can shoot myself in the foot again. “I don’t think I could ever do that. I’d fall flat on my face.” She squishes her eyes shut like she’s already skinned her knee and is wincing.
“It’s not that hard, I promise you,” I laugh, wiggling my fingers in the pockets of my cargo shorts. “You might actually like it. If you guys ever want to try it, my friends and I would be happy to teach you.” I meet each of the girl’s eyes.
I swear there’s the tiniest hint of a pink blush on Harlow’s cheeks, but she looks away, facing the street and I can’t be sure. The wind whips her blond locks around her shoulders; her eyes squinted from the brightness of the sun.
I’m staring and I shouldn’t be. Clearing my throat, I force myself to look away.
“That might be … fun.” Meredith is the first to respond, but her tone implies she thinks it would be anything but fun.
“We’d go easy on you,” I assure her. “No crazy tricks.”
Harlow shrugs. “Sounds fun to me.”
I can’t help but grin at the genuine enthusiasm in Harlow’s voice.
Reaching the beach, we continue on to the pier. Since it’s the weekend, it’s crowded with tourists and locals. I don’t mind it, though. It’s just how it always is. I don’t think the pier would be the same if it wasn’t packed.
I spot one of my favorite games—the kind where you play against an opponent, trying to score the most points by getting the basketball in the net. “Anyone want to play?” I pause beside it, eyeing the three girls to see if any of them will volunteer.
Harlow gives a tiny smile, and I can’t help but grin when she says, “I will.”
I’m quickly becoming a pathetic loser when it comes to this girl.
I pass money to the dude working it, not about to let Harlow pay—not because I’m prideful and think she can’t, but it feels like the right thing to do since it was my idea.
The game resets and a bell sounds. Harlow stands beside me, throwing balls at her net. I shouldn’t be paying attention to her, but I can’t help it. Suddenly watching her, the way she stands on her tiptoes in her white converse, her tongue poking out of her mouth with every shot she makes, is far more important than winning or even playing the game.
