Page 17 of Until Forever Falls

Holland Construction—Dad’s pride and joy—is waiting for me. Everyone assumes it’s set in stone, like I was born to lay bricks and manage crews. It’s not what I want, but then again, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s paying attention.

“If expectation wasn’t a factor, what would you do?” she asks, and her lashes flutter as she looks back at the photos, fingers grazing her necklace, like she’s contemplating her own answer.

“I’d leave,” I admit. “See what’s out there beyond this little town. Take my camera and fill it with places most people here will never step foot in. Paris, maybe—I’ve always thought about photographing the light spilling over the Seine. Or somewhere like the Scottish Highlands, where the mist cloaks the hills.”

I laugh a little, feeling awkward. “It’s probably stupid.”

She lights up, her entire demeanor shifting. “It’s not. I’ve always wanted to see Paris,” she says, her voice humming with excitement. “I mean, I’d love to wander through all the galleries, just let myself get lost in the art. Maybe even try painting something while I’m there—let the city’s colors flow onto my own canvas. I don’t know, it feels like everything I’ve ever wanted is just waiting for me there.”

It’s easy to get caught up in the way her words flow so freely, like she’s already halfway there. I feel this sudden pang of something I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s envy, or maybe it’s the realization that I’ve never really had a dream like that. Not in the same way. Not one that feels so solid, so sure.

“It sounds amazing,” I say before I can overthink it. “Why don’t you just go for it?”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. “My mom doesn’t think it’s practical. To her, it’s just a hobby, not something worth chasing across the world.”

It’s a sentiment I understand too well, but I don’t let it settle. “Maybe our parents are right. Maybe it isn’t practical. But I’d rather fail chasing something real than stay stuck in a life that isn’t mine.” I pause, not sure if I’m saying too much. “I mean, it’s kind of brave, really, to have that kind of vision of yourself.”

She tilts her head, studying me for a beat, as if she’s reading something between the lines of what I said. Then she shrugs, offering an innocent smile. “I think we all have our own way of figuring out where we’re supposed to be. It just takes time to figure out how to get there.”

Neither of us rush to fill the silence that falls after. We’re comfortable being two people balancing between obligation and ambition, trying to find something real in the middle. And suddenly, that makes all the tension and teasing feel like smoke over a fire neither of us wants to name.

Her fingers graze the opening of my flannel, tugging just slightly before she releases it. “We should head back,” she says, biting down lightly on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

Then, without another word, she turns and walks away.

For once, Rockport doesn’t just feel like a place I’m trapped in—it feels like somewhere that might actually hold something worth staying for. Exhaling, I give a tight half-smile before shaking my head and following after her.

The bell rings as we return, signaling the end of our free time together. I catch the faintest flicker of disappointment in Dylan’s eyes—a shade of blue so soft it reminds me of morning frost—the subtle crinkle at the corners giving her away. But then she blinks, smoothing her expression just as quickly.

“Thanks for the escape,” she says, shifting her books from one arm to the other. “I can’t remember the last time I felt that normal, to be honest.”

“Glad I could help,” I reply, stuffing my hands into my pockets, unsure what else to say. Funny how something as simple as lunch—as sandwiches—could feel like the start of a bigger story.

A subtle lift of her fingers, a barely-there goodbye, and then she’s gone—pulled into the tide of bodies moving in every direction.

I square my shoulders, pressing my lips together as I refocus and head to AP History. Just outside the classroom, I spot my best friend, Miles Davenport, leaning against the lockers. His eyes flick between me and the hallway Dylan disappeared down. With a quick push of his glasses—something I almost never see since he refuses to wear them at practice—he tilts his head, a smirk creeping in.

Miles has a way of always being two steps ahead, and judging by the look on his face, I can tell he’s already piecing something together.

“You gonna fill me in, or do I have to guess?” he asks, matching my pace.

“It was just lunch. The way I see it, she had two options, she could either trust my sandwich or whatever’s been sitting under the cafeteria heat lamps all morning.”

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly, dragging out the sound. “Totally not because you wanted to spend more time with her?”

“Miles you’re reading into this,” I say, taking my seat. “She’s new. I was just being friendly.”

He grins like he’s already got the end of this story figured out. “So you’re just out here making friends now? With our new teammate’s twin sister? Can’t imagine how that might backfire.”

I give him a pointed stare, daring him to keep going, but he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not judging—just surprised, is all. I can’t remember the last time you put in this much effort for someone—actually, never mind.”

I shake my head and flip open my binder as the teacher launches into a lecture about historical figures we’re supposed to know for the exam. Something about Alexander Hamilton and his never-ending string of bad decisions. Fitting. I try to focus, but Miles isn’t done yet. He leans in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “One more time and then I’ll drop it. You’re telling me there’snothingthere?”

I don’t take the bait, keeping my tone even. “Dude, I don’t know. Okay? It’s not like it means anything. Just drop it.”

“Alright, B, keep pretending. If that helps you sleep at night. But I’m not blind.”

I grip my pen, trying to keep up with the notes, but all I can think about is the way Dylan spoke about painting in Paris—the ache in her words, the way her aspirations reached far beyond one place. The girls I know are all about appearances, the latest gossip, and making sure everyone’s watching. She’s a world away from that. She doesn’t let others’ judgements define her, and her ambitions are a whole lot grander than the tiny, shallow goals most people chase.

---