Page 6 of Brodie

“You need to go back. I’m sure a lot has changed in the lastthirty years.”

“Thirty?” He grins.

“It’s just a guess.” I can’t help my smile.

“So, you think I look old.”

“Mature.” I lift my feet behind me. “I think you lookmature.”

“I’m only thirty-two.”

“Oh, so you are old.” I grin as he laughs.

“How old are you?”

“I turned twenty-five a few weeks ago.”

“You’re a baby.”

“Compared to you, yeah.”

“She’s got jokes,” he mutters with a smile that makes mystomach feel weird. “So, you’re twenty-four and starting the marine veterinaryprogram here. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Hoping to start. I haven’t been accepted yet,” I remindhim.

“What is your grade-point average?”

“Four.”

“Jesus, you’re smart. With that average, you’ll get in.”

“I hope so,” I mumble, ignoring the warmth in my cheeks.

“What is your plan if you don’t get in?” he asks.

I freeze, every muscle locking up. I haven’t thought aboutthat once. I should have. I should have applied to other schools and thoughtabout what I’d do if I don’t get accepted. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he calls, and my gaze goes to him. “You’ll get in.”

“I should have applied to other schools.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because this is the best program, and I...” I shake myhead. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I sit up. “Maybe it’s not too late toapply to a few other places.” I dig through my bag for my phone so I can checkand see when the cutoff date is for some of the other schools. When I finallyfind my cell in one of the side pockets, the screen lights up with a fewnotifications. Some for my email, one for my single social media account, andanother a text from Kirk.

Kirk: Reese I’m heading to New York in two weeksto move into my new place then training camp in July. Please message me backwhen you have time.

I don’t respond. I never do. But that doesn’t mean the partof me that has been his best friend since we were kids isn’t proud of him.Before I left Minnesota in April, it was all over campus that he got drafted bya team in New York. And from his message, it’s obvious he’s getting ready tomove and start training for the NFL. Part of me wants so badly to hear hisvoice and share in his excitement, but there’s still too much anger wrappedaround what happened between us for me to take that step.

After I delete hismessage, I go to my email and scroll through the list. Not surprisingly,they’re all spam. I delete them and am about to exit and open the browser, butI freeze when an email from Miami pops up.

“No way, they just emailed me,” I whisper to myself, feelingthe guy on the lounger next to mine move. His shadow falls over me.

“Who? The college?”

I lift my head, and our sunglass-covered eyes lock. “Yes.”

“Open it.”

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