Page 6

Epigraph

When newcomer Adeline enters this tight-knit community, it’s impossible not to take notice. She absolutely blossoms in this small town. Our MMC, Hank, has no chance. He’s a goner from the get-go and everyone knows it. Isn’t that the charm of small towns, though? Everyone knows their business, and thus it felt like the whole town was cheering for their HEA.

—@irene.loves.love.books

One

small-town romance

After weeks of suffering through all the “fun events” planned before high school graduation, after months of summer break where I kept myself busy by leading an online read-along of the Lisa Kleypas backlist, after days of packing my newly curated college wardrobe, and after hours of being in a car with my mom and dad as he regaled us with story after story of his glory days at college, it’s finally here... move-in day.

My entire body buzzes with excitement. Or that could be the iced caramel macchiato I had on the way.

“Well, the room is a lot more charming than I expected,” my mom says.

“I wonder if these are the same desks from back when I lived in the dorms,” Dad says in a reverent almost-whisper. He runs his fingers along the wood, reacquainting himself with every knot and scratch, and then presses down withboth hands as if proving the bland furniture’s sturdiness. “Yes, exactly the same. Same closet. Same bed...”

Oh god, I hope not. I donotneed thoughts of all the yucky buildup on said bed from students past. They deep clean these beds, right?

I applied, was accepted, and eventually decided to attend Brighton College, a tiny private liberal arts university, for two reasons, both of which are standing right in front of me. One, this is my dad’s alma mater, and if you think I’m going to disappoint him by declining their offer to come here, you’d obviously be wrong. And two, Brighton is known for their Contemporary Literature program. My mom’s dream was always to be a book editor. And though she was never able to fulfill that, choosing to be a stay-at-home mom raising three kids instead, she’s passed her dream down to me. We share a love of books. It makes sense, I guess.

I’m not actually the most organized person. And I’ve never really gotten into the craft of writing and the literariness of books. I read for vibes, not structure. But they’ll teach me all of that here. I’m sure I’ll make a fine editor one day.

I’d originally hoped to go to the much, much larger UCLA. I graduated from a big high school and there’s something nice about being able to hide in a crowd, without everyone knowing or caring about your business. But when the rejection letter came, and the ones from every other schoolI applied to after that, Brighton became my only choice. I didn’t tell anyone about my rejections. I wanted to make my dad feel like I’m here because it was my top choice, not just my only choice.

Anyways, I’m finally the kid that’s making my parents’ dreams come true for once.

I look around at my very small, very standard-issue dorm room. It’s split in half so that both sides are symmetrical. Neither side has been claimed yet, so I’m assuming I’ve arrived before my roommate, Jeannette.

We’ve FaceTimed a handful of times since we were randomly assigned to live together for the entirety of our freshman year at Brighton College. Jeannette was raised by a single dad, is the older sister to five brothers, a psychology major, and she’s alwayshmming me when I say something she wants to mull over and think about. She also uses the term “we” all the time: “We should figure out who brings what and just share,” “What meal plan are we getting,” “We are going to have the best year ever.”

I’ve never been a part of a “we.” I’m not quite sure how I feel about it yet. But she’s clearly excited about living with a female for once, instead of a house filled with boys and the various scents and sounds that come with them. Most important, she’s readSix of Crowsand believes Kaz and Inej’s HEA is canon, so she’s all right by me.

Mom lets out a sigh. “Look at our Irene, all grown up,” she says, clasping her hands at her chest, her lip quivering.

“Mom, please don’t cry,” I beg.

“We’re just really proud of you. Our first child to go to college. And following your passion and your dreams. It’s quite admirable,” Dad says. It doesn’t sound that impressive compared to what my siblings do. But if it makes my parents happy, if it makestheirdreams come true, I’ll take it.

Cybil didn’t make the trip to Brighton to see me off. She couldn’t miss her weekly facial, needed to maintain her glasslike skin for photos. Eugene is staying with my uncle Peter, who will likely stuff him with orange mac ’n’ cheese and play video games with him all weekend. Good. He deserves a weekend off, not practicing or thinking about golf.

“Let’s just drop everything off here and go look around the campus,” I suggest.

We place everything on the bed farthest from the door. I hope Jeannette doesn’t mind. At least she gets the window. I just want as much wall space as possible for hanging up my reference charts. My to-be-read-this-week whiteboard along with my corkboard of all my fan castings for my favorite book boyfriends. Inspiration.

... for my plan.

“Oh, hi, you’re already here!”

I look over my shoulder and see Jeannette walking in, arms full of clothes on hangers. Behind her is someone I assume tobe her dad, carrying some boxes and a laundry basket filled with toiletries.

Jeannette is tall, almost six feet is my best guess. And with her striking red hair and tiny facial features, she reminds me of a fae queen. Regal. Noticeable. But it’s when she smiles that I swear to god the entire room lights up and it suddenly feels ten degrees warmer. I’ve never met anyone whose presence impacts me physically, like taking my breath away. But that’s the best way to describe my new roommate.

“Hi, Jeannette,” I say. I stand awkwardly, as do my parents. My mom’s mouth is open like she can’t quite believe the majesty of the teen girl who stands before us. None of us move forward. We’re not good with in-contact pleasantries, apparently. But Jeannette drops the clothes on the empty bed, rushes over to me, and wraps her arms around me tightly. No such struggle with this one.

“Can you believe it? We’re in college! We’re roomies! We’re gonna have so much fun!” Did I also mention she’s very excitable? “And look at you! You cut your hair. And you decided to go with the bangs we discussed after all. I’m obsessed. So stylish.”

“Um, thanks,” I say. It was Jeannette’s suggestion, the full bangs and blunt bob, made on one of our FaceTime calls—one where she got especially animated over the new persona we were crafting. She even suggested I add blue hair color to the underlayers of my all black. I wasn’t sure I could pull itoff, but she was right. It’s a whole new me.