Page 18 of I Would Stay Forever (Parkhurst Prep #2)

"Dean?" Emma asked from behind me, and he lifted his head, his brown hair flopping into his face.

It wasn't as styled as usual, and I briefly wondered whether he had woken up late and didn't have time to get ready.

And then I wondered why I was wondering anything about Dean or noticing his stupid hair.

"That's me," he said. He started to get up, but Emma waved at him.

“Give me a moment to finalize some things. I'll be with you within five minutes."

Dean didn’t seem bothered. He nodded and sat back down in his chair, pressing one arm on the back of it and sticking his other leg out, looking way too relaxed.

I tried to head straight for the door, but I only got five steps across before he lazily asked, “What's your hurry, Novak?”

"Class," I said. "You know, the reason we’re at school?”

Dean glanced pointedly at the clock above the reception desk. It was only then that I realized the receptionist was gone, leaving Dean and me alone in here.

“Only ten minutes left in the period,” he said. “What's the point of even showing up?”

I glanced at the clock as well, as if I thought that he would have had the time wrong, but he was right. There was no point. By the time I got down there and had my books out, it would be time to pack up again. But that didn't mean that I wanted to hang out here with him.

"Well, I guess I should stop at my locker then. Get my stuff for my next class."

“You don’t already have it in your bag?”

I internally sighed because I really just did not have a good excuse for where I needed to be when I should have been in class.

Because, of course, I packed my stuff for both classes.

That was what you did if you weren’t one of the lucky few with a locker perfectly positioned between your classrooms.

"Well, I..."

"Sit down.” He patted the seat next to him.

I looked at it distastefully, already knowing that I would not be joining him.

Instead of chairs, it was more like a couch that was attached to the wall.

It meant that I couldn’t really control the distance between us if I was sitting, because even if I perched on the very end, I was sure he would end up sliding closer just to annoy me.

"I'm okay standing.”

A small grin pulled at the corner of Dean's lips. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I would think you didn't like me."

“Oh yeah? What was your first clue?”

He snorted. "Okay, don't pull any punches there."

“I don’t see the reason to lie to you, especially if you already know the truth.”

“Maybe not to me, but I do think you’re lying to yourself.”

This should be good. “Because?”

"Because it's very obvious that you do like me—but you don’t want to let yourself, you know?”

"No," I said flatly. "I don't."

I reached a hand out to push the door open, but before I could make contact with it, a teacher opened it from the other side.

I waited for her to step in so I could leave, but she just stood in the doorway, facing down the hall and yelling at someone for running inside.

She didn’t even seem to notice me standing there, which meant my exit was blocked unless I wanted to awkwardly tap her on the shoulder and ask her to move.

I sighed and glanced at the seat next to Dean.

I guessed it wouldn't be so bad to sit there just for a minute.

That way I wouldn't be awkwardly standing in the way of this teacher whenever she walked in.

But I looked at Dean, sitting with that way too smug look on his face, and wondered if I was better off just having an awkward run-in with the teacher where we both did the sidestep thing trying to get around each other.

It might actually be better than sitting with him.

"What are you even doing here?" I asked. And though I didn't sit down with him, I did inch forward a little bit so that I wasn't standing right behind the door.

He held up a small pink slip of paper between his fingers. “I got called down.”

“Well, obviously. But you’re just going to go to whatever school gives you a football scholarship, right? What do they need to talk to you about?"

“Maybe I won’t,” he said. I raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. “What? Maybe I want to go to a school based on their academics instead of just the sport. I won’t be playing football for the rest of my life, you know. I’d like to have a good degree.”

That caught my attention. I always associated Dean with football, like I was sure everyone at the school did, so it didn’t even occur to me that he wouldn’t take a scholarship.

Now that he mentioned it, I’d never thought about his life post-football either, just like I’d never thought about what Sebastian would do when he couldn’t play soccer anymore.

In my mind, the two of them were so intertwined with their sports that they would never be able to step away.

I glanced out the door again, where the teacher was now talking to another teacher who had walked up in front of her, and decided I might as well just sit down.

I threw my bag on the floor and sat down on the very furthest end of the black padded bench, just daring him to come near me.

He didn't, and I wasn't sure why I felt a little twinge of disappointment at that.

"Fine. Tell me, where do you want to go?”

"I thought you had to get back to class," he said mockingly.

"Well, my exit is currently blocked, and I guess you are mildly more interesting than Mr. Thompson. So, talk."

It was clear that I had played right into his hands, but strangely, I didn’t mind too much. Sue me for being curious.

“I want to go into sports medicine,” he said. “I haven’t decided what exactly, but something where I work with injured athletes. I’ve seen how much damage it can have on the body and I’d love to be able to help people stay in the game without ruining their bodies for life.”

“That does sound really interesting,” I said slowly.

Somehow, it had never occurred to me that I could work with athletes.

I wasn’t sure why, given that my whole life revolved around volleyball, but I’d always been so focused on academics.

And even if I’d considered the medical route, I’d always imagined working in the hospital like Mum.

“What about you?” Dean asked. “What are you thinking you’ll do?”

I sighed and shook my head. "I have no idea. I told her I was going to study psychology."

Dean laughed deeply, and the sound warmed my heart. It shouldn’t have mattered to me that he laughed at something I said, and yet it did. It felt like I’d done something right.

"Why would you choose psychology?" he asked through his dying laughs and I couldn’t help but laugh along a little too.

"Because almost every girl in my grade wants to study it.” I made a swooping motion with my hands. "I figured it would help me fly under the radar."

He just laughed even louder. I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing how stupid I sounded, but it was the truth.

I didn’t want to stand out by saying that I hadn’t thought about university at all, which would probably end with me coming in here for many more meetings that wouldn’t help, but I also didn’t want to commit to applying to some insane programs. Psychology was right in the middle—a useful degree without me needing to make any big commitments.

And I still had time to change my mind before applications started or even to change my major after a year at university.

"Okay, okay," Dean said, through his laughter. "Well, did you at least pick some good schools?”

“We were just chatting about them generally. University applications don't start until early October.”

“Sure, but what ones did you talk about? Any that stuck out to you?”

My fingers tightened around the pamphlets of universities in my hand, causing the one on top to bend up like it was reaching for me. The University of British Columbia—pretty much as far away from here as I could get without leaving the country.

Dean's eyes landed on it, and something in his face shifted, the laugh dying down in his throat.

"Wow," he said, his voice deeper than usual. He cleared his throat. “B.C., that's pretty far."

I chewed on my lip as I looked at the navy blue pamphlet. “Yeah, I’m just considering it, that’s all.”

I could practically feel his eyes boring into my head.

“For their psychology program?” His voice almost sounded pleading, like he was begging me to say yes.

To tell him that I was only considering it for the major that I didn't even care about and would likely be tossing the idea aside before applications came around. How could I explain to him that it wasn’t that at all?

That I didn’t care what major it was that got me there as long as I could just be somewhere else?

I hadn’t tried to tell anyone about how desperately I wanted to get out of here, away from the pain and the memories, but I was sure I wouldn’t be able to make anyone understand.

Not even Dean, who was the only person who had been there that night.

Who had really seen me afterward, as hard as I tried to push him away.

I wished I could tell him, but I knew that I couldn’t.

“Just because,” I said simply, glancing back up at him.

His face fell at my words and I felt guilty for a moment until I remembered that this was Dean that I was talking to.

Sure, he looked upset, but there was no reason for him to be upset about what I’d said—he wouldn’t care one way or another where I was.

In fact, he would probably end up being relieved to get a break from me once I was gone.