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SHAE

Nine days later, my ass and hips still hurt from the date Storm took me on three weeks following what I call Sofagate.

I was a little concerned when Storm picked me up on the Saturday after Thanksgiving and started navigating the Porsche toward Englewood—especially when he wouldn’t say a word about where we were going. But after a few turns, we stopped on the outskirts of Bronzeville in front of a place I hadn’t been in a solid eight years.

I laughed and asked Storm, “Roller skating?”

He snagged brand new, thick white socks from the center console, waving them in the air.

We spent three hours at the roller rink, going around and around as songs from my parents’ generation and some new hits piped through the gigantic black speakers nailed to the wall.

All was going well…until I decided I could whipandNae Nae while wearing skates when Silentó’s song came on.

I laughed when I hit the ground with a resounding boom, barely avoiding cracking my head on the polished hardwood.But then I tried to get up and fell again, pulling Storm down on me as I crashed onto my side.

Ouch all-around.

“Yennifer, this isn’t a party,” I say, walking into my kitchen—and better than I have over the past few days. “In fact, this may not be a thing to celebrate at all.”

It’s six p.m., a week before winter break; I received an email from Harvard at six a.m. telling me my admissions decision was ready for me to view in the portal.

I’ve been on edge, feeling like I’m going to vomit all day. For some reason, I couldn’t make myself open the results alone. I know I need someone with me when I get the news.

I need Storm, and I try not to count down the minutes until he arrives.

Yenn and Ezra, noticing I’ve been off all day, decided to be here for moral support…and party snacks, if the pizza boxes, chip bags, and Jell-O shots are any indication.

“Every day we’re above ground is a day to celebrate, sis,” Ezra throws over his shoulder as he stirs what smells like hot buffalo sauce.

“Listen, Shae,” Yenn says, coming forward to clap both hands on my shoulders. “For better or worse, you do understand how much of an accomplishment this is? You’re almost done with your last year of undergrad, and you successfully took the GMAT twice. Whatever the outcome, I know you will be great, becauseyou’regreat.”

Her words have me teary-eyed, and I pull her into a tight hug, breathing in her patchouli scent and sending up a prayer of gratitude for my best friend.

“Plus,” she says when we separate, “You’ve finally decided to bring your boyfriend around and stop hiding the fact that you’re Storm Sandoval’s boo. I’m hurt, by the way, and I don’t know if or how I’ll ever forgive you for keeping thisvitalinformationfrom me, but I’m sure we’ll find a way.” She walks over to Ezra, who taps his spoon on the side of the pot before putting it in the holder. They both face me with identical crossed-arm stances.

“It wasn’t— It’s not— I haven’t been hiding him, and he hasn’t been my…” I try to find a damn word to describe what Storm and I are and come up short. The easy title is “boyfriend,” but it feels too…simple.

If we’re anything, I think we’re more than that.

I’ve decided there’s no harm in me admitting to myself that Storm Sandoval makes me hot. Hell, the man saw my girl up close and personal in a way only my gynecologist has.

And damn if I didn’t feel worshipped.

But Storm stays true to his word. He’s letting me be the one to decide—to make the next move.

He’s laid all his cards out on the table. Now it’s time for me to pick them up.

“He’ll be here soon,” I say, pulling out my phone to look at the time. Meet-ups with Storm have become more relaxed these days, but we’re always at his place. It’ll be nice to have him in my domain for once.

The text icon shows I have one new message, and I open my phone all the way, only to have a rock settle in my gut.

It’s from my dad.

I’m rooting for you, baby girl! Call me when you know.

Pain settles like a shelf at my brow bone, stress causing me to want to bend over and wince.

He wants to see me succeed in a place where he couldn’t, and since I was the reason why his dreams didn’t come to fruition, a big part of me feels like if I don’t see this through, his whole sacrifice will have been for nothing.