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“I need some air,” I say, pushing back from the table.
“I’ll come with you,” Mom says, hurrying after me.
The outside air is only a few degrees cooler than in the tavern. My skirt swirls around my heels and it occurs to me that this ridiculous dress is the problem. I stride toward the hotel, determined to get out of this monstrosity ASAP.
Mom doesn’t say a thing as we trudge up the stairs. She’s silent as we push open the door to our room. She doesn’t even make a peep as she sits on the edge of my bed, watching me pull a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from my duffel bag.
“So, we just found out there’s a bit of a hiccup with your school registration,” she says.
I pull off the bonnet and toss it onto the bed next to her. My matted hair is itchy against my scalp and I run my hands over it for some relief. “Like, my transcripts didn’t arrive?” I’m still hotter than hell, so I pull up the sash on the window to try to get some airflow going.
When I turn back to face her, Mom presses a finger to her temple and sighs. “No, they arrived. Unfortunately—”
Here it comes. My breath catches in my chest.
“Some of your classes won’t transfer for credit, because the graduation requirements are different in the school district we’re moving into.”
“Okay. How many classes are we talking?” I say, cautiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Three.”
I think about the classes I selected and what my schedule was supposed to look like senior year, already packed full with science classes and art electives. A seed of panic takes root in my lower abdomen but I force myself to stay calm. “I’m not sure how I can fit in three more classes this year, even if I drop my electives.”
“You’re right.” Mom nods. “You can’t. If you want to graduate on time, you’ll have to enroll in summer school.”
My ears are ringing so loudly, I couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “I’m sorry. Did you just say summer school?”
“Yes.”
“School that happens over the summer?” I say.
“Yes.”
All the breath leaves me like I’ve been sucker punched.
“The summer semester starts in two weeks,” she says. “You can take the three classes you need and maybe an art elective for fun, and then you’ll be on track to graduate with the rest of your class in June.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. I start to shake uncontrollably. I hate this. I hate how Mom can sit there so calmly and tell me I’m being punished yet again because she and Dad decided to uproot our family and move to Nebraska. “I was forced to give up an internship at the marine center and spending a last carefree summer with my friends. Basically, my entire life. And now you expect me to go to summer school?”
“Riley,” Mom says. “You don’t need to be dramatic. We all knew there would be challenges going into this, but your father and I felt that this was too good an opportunity for our family to pass up.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” I say, tossing my hands in the air. “You’re the one who decided to move us to Nowhere, Nebraska, with next to no warning. Maybe if I’d known you and Dad were considering a move, it wouldn’t have hit so hard. I know that it’s a great opportunity for you. But it’s also a bunch of lost opportunities for me. No one asked me what I wanted. You wouldn’t even consider letting me stay in California. And now you tell me the rest of my summer is destroyed.”
I had just started to come to terms with the move. I thought maybe I could spend the summer with Colton. Maybe apply for the artist-in-residence at Fort Bellows. Work on my art portfolio. But with three classes, there won’t be time for any of that. My breath comes in shaky gasps. My heart aches for all my ruined plans, new and old.
I pull out the application I picked up at the museum and stare down at the words. They blur as tears fill my eyes. The paper crinkles into a tight ball in my hands.
“How could you do this to me?” I rage as I toss it into the trash can.
CHAPTER 32
Colton
“CARRIE MAE’S STILL holding out on me.” Jake leans against the wood planking in Chance’s stall and crosses his arms over his chest. He drags the heel of his boot across the floor in a slow arc.
“Hard to believe,” I mumble as I run a brush over Chance’s flank. It’s impossible to feel bad for a guy like Jake, who rarely strikes out with anyone and who skips around from one girl to the next like a frog hopping across lily pads. “You have more luck with college ladies?”
I don’t miss the way Jake cringes at my question, and I wonder if the women there are more discerning. In Darby, Jake was always the big fish in the small pond, but his new pond is a lot larger. He doesn’t answer my question. “Riley seems to be sweet on you, though. You gonna go for it?” he asks, changing the subject.
