Chapter Thirty-Seven Keely
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Keely
Keely called in sick to her shift at the shelter that Sunday. In her head, three things would have happened.
She’d show up, and Max wouldn’t, which—fair.
She’d show up, and Max would too, but he’d look devastated, which—ouch.
Or she’d show up, and Max would too, but he’d be fine.
That last one did her in. The idea that he wasn’t as destroyed as she was, that he could continue with his days like his entire world hadn’t been upended the ways hers had.
The only thing propelling Keely forward was the end of the semester, the looming deadlines, the absolute necessity of not failing. She simply couldn’t, not when so many people depended on her.
Like the smiling, shining faces of her students the following Friday. April thirtieth. It was her last day here. The scholarship was due tomorrow at midnight, and it was a compounding fracture, a one-two punch.
She knew these children by name, by voice, by face, and had prepared individualized print-outs for each of them, a take-home list of children’s science books geared at their individual interests.
Dinosaurs for Mateo, animals for Evelyn.
Weird facts about bodily functions for Dallas. There was a whole chapter on boogers.
She stifled tears, but the kids didn’t, because they were kids and they hadn’t mastered emotional regulation yet. Keely hoped they never would. It really hurt, holding everything in.
She handed her visitor’s badge in for the last time and sobbed all the way home.
Which was sort of how she existed all the time now.
If she wasn’t crying, she was checking her email. The last thing Keely needed while prepping for finals was to be on her phone, but it was the only thing her brain would focus on with any regularity. She was a machine: refresh email, check texts, repeat.
Both apps remained empty, echoing Keely’s stomach, and bed, and heart.
She missed Max. Missed him filling the chair across from her at the library or sitting on the couch in her living room. Texting her bad science puns, texting her how pretty she’d looked earlier in the day.
All of this over a damn scholarship she didn’t know if she wanted anymore. Not even the thought of new school supplies or grad school-level textbooks sparked her passion the way teaching did.
More than that, if she won the scholarship, it meant Max had lost, and his shot at racing toward the finish for his dad was over.
Him losing his dreams hurt almost as much—honestly, probably more—as losing her own, and it was the last sign she needed that she’d gone and fallen headfirst into love with him.
She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much. Then again, he hadn’t been here to catch her this time.
She toggled between her thesis paper and the Pursue Your Passions essay. Every line bled passion now—especially the ones Max had helped with.
She still hadn’t submitted it, and she didn’t know why. It didn’t matter now, did it? She could just. . . send it out into the ether, forget about it and hopefully focus on something important. Like her finals, mere days away.
But something was holding her back. Her dreams and responsibilities were at war in her chest, her heart, her mind. The dream she’d always planned, the new one she wanted now. Teaching or Caltech.
She’d sent that teaching application through on a whim a few days ago, mostly to keep her options open. She wasn’t Keely Sinclair without a contingency plan or two. But she could have all the contingencies in the world and she still wouldn’t know what to do.
More than anything, Keely wanted to talk to Max, work through the what ifs with him. She could half-imagine exactly how he’d guide her, the low rasp of his voice, the little furrow in his brow he always got when he was wholly focused on something, like running. Like her.
Max wasn’t an option anymore.
She sighed, picking her phone up from the table and starting her refresh cycle again.
To her surprise, it vibrated in her hand, an incoming call dimming her still-empty inbox.
“Hello?” Keely didn’t sound like herself. Was she smiling? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d meant one of her smiles.
“This is Jordan with the Virginia Teachers’ Association. I’m calling to speak with Keely Sinclair.”
“Yes?” She physically tasted her heartbeat, iron flooding her tongue and throat.
“I was calling about your application. Is now a good time to talk?”
They needed time to talk; a rejection would have been an email. She agreed, flipping to a random blank page in her planner and grabbing a pen. Red for SUPER IMPORTANT, FUTURE-DEFINING NOTES.
And then the woman on the other end of the line decimated Keely’s dreams with three simple words. “I’m so sorry.”
If there was more to that sentence, it was drowned out by a high-pitched ringing deep in Keely’s brain. She let out a soft, oh, but the woman on the other end heard anyway.
“Your application was very strong,” she continued. “Unfortunately it came down to timing, and we’re unable to offer you a spot this fall.”
Capping her pen, Keely blinked away tears. “Right. Of course.”
“We encourage you to reapply next year. If you’d like, I can send some application tips and guidelines? Or I can refer you to some other programs that may still be accepting applicants. Whichever you prefer. Are you sold on staying in Virginia?”
“I. . .”
This had to be a sign. Grad school was her only option. Caltech with Zoey, and vitamins, and hiding her true self away to appease everyone else, always everyone else, never herself.
She’d just tuck those dreams deep in her heart, right next to the ones she’d cultivated with Max. She’d pull them out when she wanted a shot of pain to keep her grounded, the way you couldn’t help but press on a fading bruise.
This was the ideal scenario for everyone involved: Zoey, her parents. . . Max, who had made it crystal clear he wanted to stay as far away from her as possible.
Hopefully California was far enough for him.