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“Best of both worlds. Your mum will be happy. And your dad.”
“Gotta keep the parentals sweet.” Nick stripped a curl of floss off the paper cone. “How ’bout you, how’s school? What is it, two years of exams down, one to go?”
“Yep.” Evie watched the pink fluff disappear between his lips. “I’m so close to finishing I can taste it.”
“What universities are you considering?”
“Goldsmiths and the University of East London. Me, Sun, and our mums visited both last December.”
“You escaped Scotland! Finally!”
“Yup!” And was scared witless. For most teenagers, traveling far from home and staying in a hotel would be thrilling, but it was terrifying for Evie. Sat far from the toilets on planes, eating unfamiliar food around London, and locating public washrooms were all substantial worries. The longer she was there, however, her fears calmed somewhat, only to ramp up again flying home. She didn’t relax until she’d stepped through her door. “London was eye-opening. The people, the traffic!”
“Like another planet, eh?” said Nick.
“Yeah, but I liked it. Christmas decorations were up, and we saw Hairspray.”
“Your first West End musical?”
She smiled like a lottery winner. “I KNOW! We also saw Big Ben and St. Paul’s, shopped in Camden, ate a Big Mac—my first ever.”
Nick did a double take. “And?”
My Crohn’s wasn’t happy. She shook her head. “No contest. Orkney burgers are way better.”
“That’s because the cattle are locals,” said Nick. “You probably wave to them each morning.”
Evie laughed. “There is that.”
They swung past the queue for the ice cream van. “How were the schools?”
“Massive—but cool. Now I need the final grades to turn their conditional offers into guaranteed places.”
“You got offers from both?!”
Evie nodded. “So, unless I screw up majorly, I’ll be an English and creative writing undergrad next year.”
“Holy shit!” His voice rose. “You’re a writer?”
“Sorta. I have notebooks filled with stories, but”—she tore away a large plume of floss—“it’s not like I’ve been published or anything.”
“Published or not, you’re still a writer. What’s your genre?”
“Fiction.” She lied through omission, worried Nick might re-evaluate his praise if he knew the truth. Romance owned her heart, but in Evie’s experience people weren’t always kind, calling it cheesy or lowbrow. She knew romance was neither of those things, but she also wasn’t quite ready to have her soul crushed if Nick thought otherwise.
“That’s so cool.” Smiling, he licked his lips. “I think writers are super hot. Anyone with that passion and creative fire? Huge turn-on.”
Evie bit back a grin. “Really?”
“I would love to read your stuff.”
The horror. Evie waved him off. “Honestly, most of it is total rubbish.”
“Says the girl with not one, but TWO conditional uni offers for creative writing.”
“Key word: conditional.”
“Semantics!” exclaimed Nick. “You’ll be writing up a storm in London before you know it.”
