Page 87 of From Now On

EVE

“Home sweet home,” Harlow announces as Conor brakes in front of our house.

I cover a yawn with the back of my hand, then rub at my gritty eyes. I dozed off and on during the drive back to Holt.

We made the most of our final night of spring break. I don’t think anyone went to bed before two a.m. last night, and we left at nine to arrive back at campus at a decent hour.

I drove back with Conor and Harlow, while Rylan and Aidan went in Hunter’s car. Harlow suggested it—saying it made the most sense since she and I were headed back to the same place. And, as much as I love my best friend, I had to fight the urge to say we could keep the same seating arrangement. I wanted more time with Hunter.

I haven’t had a chance to talk to him alone since we went hot-tubbing in the middle of the night, and it bothers me how it feels like the end of a chapter. Like I lost something I was never even certain I had.

He’s single. Hunter Morgan—who I’ve had a crush on for as long as I’ve known him—told me he was single while we were barely clothed in a hot tub.

And what did I do? I froze. I blurted out “Good” and then something absurd about Jell-O shots.

Ipanicked. Because the possibility of kissing Hunter—of more than kissing Hunter—was nothing like the reality of kissing Finn. It would have mattered. It would have meant something. Not just in Calaveras, where we were two fifth wheels. In Somerville, too, where the distance between us feels more than physical. There’s a reason our paths rarely cross on campus.

“Eve!”

Based on the tone of Harlow’s voice, it’s not the first time she’s said my name.

“Yeah?” I reply, covering another yawn.

“I was asking if you were awake, but I think I got my answer. You know what they say—it was a good spring break if you come home sleep-deprived.”

“Do people say that?” Conor muses. “Because I’ve never heard that phrase before.”

Harlow smacks his arm. “Are you saying it wasn’t a good spring break, Hart?”

“Not saying that at all, Hayes. Especially last night. I might owe Morgan an apology, because the Jell-O shots were pretty good.”

The mention of Hunter’s name wakes me up more than Harlow calling mine did.

I hadfourJell-O shots last night, solely because Hunter smiled every time I took one.

My liver is going to need alonghiatus after spring break. But even drinking too much feels like it was part of the experience. I don’t often allow myself to make mistakes outside of art. On a canvas, it’s called creativity. In life, it has consequences. Some necessary, some scary.

For the first time in—ever, maybe, I feel like I seized some moments.

In one week, I changed more than I have in months. Maybe years. Since the adjustment of coming to college, I’ve spent most of the time looking ahead to graduation. I’ve viewed moving to New York as the “official” start to my life, and I’m belatedly realizing how often that mindset resulted in me playing it safe. In placing limits on myself.

I stuff my sketchbook into the backpack resting in the footwell, then pop the door open. “Thanks for driving, Conor.”

“No problem, Eve. Glad you came.”

“Thanks,” I say, touched by the comment he didn’t have to make.

“I’ll be inside in a bit,” Harlow tells me.

“Okay.” I grab my suitcase out of the trunk of Conor’s car, and then start toward our little house.

It hits me, stepping inside, that this is likely the final time I’ll come back here after any extended time away. That was our last break before graduation.

I shut the door behind me, leaving it unlocked so Harlow doesn’t have to use her key. Hang up my winter coat, which I only wore so I wouldn’t have to pack or carry it. It’s nearly sixty in Somerville today, making spring feel well on its way.

My room has the stale feel of stagnancy when I enter it. I leave my suitcase by the end of my bed. Walk over to my window, unlock it, and crack it open a couple of inches, allowing some fresh air to seep inside. Slowly, I spin and survey my bedroom. The drawings and posters on the walls. The heap of clothes I sorted through packing for spring break. The stack of New York guidebooks on my dresser.

I head over to my desk. Open the top left drawer.

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