Chapter 5
TARA
The day after our meeting with the dean, I stare at the framed acceptance letter from UMS on my wall.
The one my mom insisted I display because “It’s a prestigious achievement, darling.
” And it is. University of Mountain Springs is a top school, which means everyone here seems to have their life figured out.
Like Alex, already planning how she’ll change the world at her GSRI internship.
And me? I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be.
What if I never figure it out? What if everyone else moves forward while I stay stuck, trying and failing at everything I touch?
The pile of PhD program brochures on my desk (courtesy of my mother) mock me with their promises of “academic excellence” and “research opportunities.”
The thought of spending my days locked in an office writing papers makes my skin itch. Give me people over publications any day. It’s why I’m so excited about my new job at Luzia, even if my parents think it’s “beneath my potential.”
There’s something exciting about a busy night, about reading people, anticipating what they need before they ask. About making connections, even if they only last the length of a cocktail.
Last week, I almost kept it together during a FaceTime with Mom. Almost.
I kept my smile in place as Mom talked, nodding at all the right moments. Because that’s what a daughter with a promising future does. She listens. She takes mental notes.
My fingers tapped against my coffee cup, rhythmic, steady, like a heartbeat I was trying to control. The ceramic was warm against my palm, grounding me. Just keep it together. Stay agreeable. Show her you’re handling things.
But then she said it. “You’re wasting your intellect”—and my grip tightened until I felt the burn of hot ceramic.
“Mom, I swear to God, if I hear the word ‘potential’ one more time…” The words had come out sharper than intended, but I was tired of hearing about what I should be.
What about what I actually want?
If only I knew what that was.
I smoothed it over like always. A quick apology, a compliment on her outfit—it’s a well-worn script. Mom is easy to charm when I play my role right.
Everyone else seems to have these big, world-changing dreams. Alex with her environmental activism.
Troy’s going to become the world’s greatest engineer.
Even Ethan knows that he wants to develop video games.
Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out why I took that Anthropology elective last semester (besides the cute TA).
The truth is, I love learning about everything.
One week it’s ancient civilizations, the next it’s marine biology.
I’m majoring in environmental science because I love fossils and it made sense at the time.
My room is a graveyard of abandoned hobbies.
A ukulele from my music phase, watercolors from when I decided I’d be an artist, three different language learning apps on my phone.
“You need to focus,” Dad always says. But how can I trust him now?
I don’t even know who I would be if they hadn’t lied to me about Dad.
If I’d grown up knowing he chose to leave us.
Would I be stronger? Or would I have shattered into something unrecognizable?
The thought coils tight in my chest, pressing, heavy, like a weight I never knew I was carrying.
Maybe they were right. Maybe I couldn’t have handled it.
Maybe I’d have crumbled under the weight of the truth, dragging us all down with me.
My job at Luzia gives me something besides my own uncertainty to think about. If I can prove to my parents—and to myself—that I’m capable, maybe they’ll stop pushing academia so hard. Maybe I’ll finally stop feeling like a failure in waiting.
My phone buzzes. Probably Alex with updates about California. I try not to let the jealousy creep in. Alex has her path, her purpose. Everyone does. And me? I’m still fumbling in the dark, hoping I’ll find my way before I fall too far behind.
Alex the greatest VBFF
Hey T, how’s it going? I just topped my fro-yo with Oreos and Nutella and it made me think of you.
I call her straight away.
“I miss you already,” I whine into my phone, flopping backwards onto my bed like the dramatic best friend I am.
On the screen, Alex is practically glowing, California sun already working its magic.
She looks so different from the girl I met freshman year.
She’s confident, radiant and I couldn’t be happier for her.
“When’s your first shift at Luzia?” she asks. “Thursday, right?”
“Yeah, Thursday night. I’m kind of nervous actually.”
“Please.” Alex scoffs. “I’ve yet to discover something you’re not great at. You’ll probably be running the place by next week.”
I laugh, faking confidence I don’t quite feel. “Obviously. I’ll be making more tips than I know how to spend.”
“That’s my girl. Just don’t make any new best friends. You can make new friends but that spot is mine or I’ll have to fly back and defend my position.”
I roll my eyes but promise not to fill that spot.
“How is the work? Is it what you imagined?” I ask her.
“The lab is amazing,” she gushes, “and everyone here is so passionate about environmental justice. Seriously, they make me look like a small-time protestor and—” She stops, squinting at me through the screen like a disapproving mom. “Are you wearing my UMS hoodie?”
“Maybe.” I tug at the worn fabric, grinning like the thief that I am. “You left it here, and I’m claiming it as mine through best friend privileges. It’s basically a law. Like gravity, or the fact that chocolate is an acceptable breakfast food if you’re alone.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You can keep it. At least someone’s getting use out of it. Freddie keeps texting me pictures of him at the gym looking all sad and alone. Yesterday he sent me a photo of his toast with a sad face drawn on it in ketchup.”
“Gross. You guys are disgusting.” But I’m smiling too, because watching Alex and Freddie figure their shit out last year was better than any rom-com. And trust me, I’ve watched them all. Twice. Three times if Robert Pattinson is involved.
“Speaking of disgusting couples,” Alex’s eyes get that dangerous glint that usually precedes me doing something embarrassing, “how is the community service going?”
I groan, pulling a pillow over my face like it might protect me from this conversation. “We haven’t started yet. I’m trying to coordinate schedules with Mr. Moody McMoody, but he’s being typical Alfie about it.”
“You mean mysterious and attractive?”
“I mean impossible!” My cheeks are heating up. “And we are not talking about this. Tell me more about California.”
Alex laughs without hiding her face. When we first met she was so freakin’ shy it was painful.
God, I remember that first week of classes like it was yesterday.
Alex was hiding behind her textbooks like they were a shield against the world, brilliant but so unsure of herself.
It was like looking in a time machine, seeing myself from five years ago.
“Tara, are you listening?” Alex’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You zoned out. Thinking about a certain grumpy geology major?”
“No! I was thinking about high school, actually. About how we both used to be shy.”
“You? Shy?” Alex looks skeptical. “I can’t picture it.”
“Oh my god, I was the worst. I wore matching outfits from the mall and tried to laugh at the right jokes. Then I read this book that basically said, ‘screw fitting in’ and it was like”—I wave my hands, trying to find the words—“like permission to be weird.”
“Is that when the fairy wings happened?”
“Troy told you about those?”
“Freddie told me. Apparently, Troy has a picture somewhere of small you in wings and combat boots?”
I sit up so fast I almost drop my phone. “He what?”
Alex’s grin turns wicked. “Oh yeah, from some high school football game? Troy was playing, you were cheering—”
“That was my protest against traditional cheerleader uniforms!”
“Actually, I’m going to ask him for a copy of it…”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“But we haven’t talked about your sixty hours of sexual tension yet!”
“Goodbye, Alex!”
“Use protection during your community service!”
I end the call on her cackling, but I’m smiling despite myself.
I check my emails out of habit, and see a new one from Luzia. More information about getting paid and work regulations.
Troy still disapproves of the job. He sent me a few more messages about being a tour guide instead which I ignored.
And my parents? They acted like I’d announced I was joining the circus.
“Darling,” Mom’s tone signaled an impending insult, “you shouldn’t work in a bar. Come home for the summer! We’ll pay you to help with the garden renovations.”
Right. Because nothing says ‘independent adult’ like being paid to mow your parent’s lawn.
Plus, I’ve not spent summer here yet. It’ll be cool to see.
Mountain Springs isn’t your typical college town.
While UMS anchors the west side with its red brick buildings and manicured quads, the rest of the city belongs to wealthy tourists who drift in and out with the seasons.
They own sleek mountain homes that sit empty most of the year, dropping in for weekend hikes or summer kayaking trips.
The skiing is decent enough to justify their winter cabins, but everyone knows the real draw is the exclusivity – the boutique hotels with their infinity pools overlooking the valley.
Places like Luzia cater to that second crowd, the ones who want artisanal cocktails after their guided nature walks, who’ll drop hundreds on wine without blinking.
It’s a strange balance, you might find trust fund kids slumming it at college bars while their parents sip expensive bourbon three blocks away. But that’s Mountain Springs for you, a melting pot of all different kinds of people.
Getting up to sip on my tea, I remember that I haven’t told Alfie about the meeting tomorrow.
I stare at my phone, trying to compose the world’s most casual text to Alfie.
I type and delete three different versions before settling on.
Alfie Spencer
Hey! How are you? I arranged a meeting with Janine tomorrow. Yay! It’s at 11 to sort out our punishment schedule. Lol! That work for you?
Too enthusiastic? Probably. Is lol lame now? But before I can overthink it more, he replies.
Ok
One word. Of course, he responds with one word. What was I expecting, a sonnet?
I type again
Great! Meet you at the admin building? We can grab coffee after and figure out when we’re both free to start our hours
Send. Wait. Was the coffee suggestion too much?
We’d just had coffee today. Very awkward coffee.
Coffee where we’d discussed our hallway incident.
Sort of. Maybe coffee was a bad idea. God, I don’t even drink much coffee.
He probably thinks it’s weird that somebody who prefers tea would offer a coffee date.
can’t do coffee.
Right. Because obviously he doesn’t want to spend any more time with me than absolutely necessary. Which is fine. Totally fine. Did I possibly get a little excited over our one-time kiss? Absolutely.
The truth that will surprise nobody is…I have a crush on Alfie Spencer. There! I said it! I have a huge, fat, gigantic, mega crush. If I was still a teenager, I would probably be writing Tara Spencer all over my notebook with little hearts around it.
But I am now very aware that the feeling is not reciprocated, so I’m going to have to take that crush, and pop it in a little box. Lock the box. 50 times. And throw that box down a dark well in my mind never to be opened again.
Besides, I don’t want a relationship with Alfie, I don’t want a relationship with anyone, especially not my brother’s best friend who basically has emotionally unavailable written on his forehead.
I’ve had my heart broken once before and I swore to never put myself in that position again.
That’s why I go for flings, hookups, easy things.
With guys who make it clear they won’t get involved emotionally. Perfect.
What I had possibly imagined with Alfie was a hot, secretive friends-with-benefits type situation. Some excellent love making, a few fabulous orgasms and no feelings.
I type back:
No problem! See you at 11!
You don’t need to use exclamation points in every text
I stare at my phone, heat creeping up my neck. Great.
Sorry!
I mean sorry
Force of habit.
…
The three dots appear as he types, disappear, appear again. Finally:
It’s fine. Just very you.
Very me. As he keeps on saying. What does that mean?
Very me? Is that good? Bad? Why am I analyzing this like it’s a coded message?
I have never before cared if somebody thinks something is “me” or not, but for the second time Alfie has described something as “me” and I am embarrassingly desperate to figure out what that means.
“Very you,” I mutter to myself, falling back onto my bed. “What does that even mean?”
My phone buzzes again.
Alex the greatest VBFF
Don’t forget to wear something cute to your meeting tomorrow
I grab my pillow and scream into it.
Sixty hours. I just have to get through sixty hours with Alfie Spencer, his one-word texts, his mysterious comments about my personality, and his stupidly perfect face.