Page 177 of Wild Card 13

He glanced over at me.

“You’re staring,” I said.

“I know.”

“At least deny it.”

“I’m trying honesty tonight.”

I smiled down at my hands.

My joy had been waiting beneath my ribs since the moment I opened the letter, pushing up against my restraint, asking to be let out. I had planned to wait until after prom. Or during a slow dance.Or maybe tomorrow, when the night would not have to hold both glitter and gravity.

But I was eighteen.

And in love.

And the boy beside me had written my initial on his tape before the biggest game of his life.

“Ty.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah?”

“I got in.”

His brow furrowed for half a breath. Then he understood. Betsy drifted slightly toward the right side of the lane before he corrected it with a sharp little jerk. “Aldenmere?”

I nodded, and the smile broke across my face before I could make it smaller. “I got in.”

“Lucy.” The way he said my name nearly undid me. He pulled the truck to the side of the road so quickly I grabbed the edge of the seat.

“Ty.”

“What? I’m not hearing major life news while operating heavy machinery.” He shoved the gearshift into park and turned toward me fully, blue eyes wide and bright in the dim cab. “You got in?”

I nodded again, laughing now because his face, his whole face, had opened with joy. “I got in.”

“Shortcake.” He reached for me, then stopped because of the dress, apparently uncertain where he was allowed to touch. “Holy shit.”

Then he leaned across the space between us and kissed me. It was not careful enough for lipstick. Not dramatic enough to ruin anything. Just his mouth on mine, warm and smiling, one hand cupping my jaw while I laughed against him because I could feel his happiness. It moved through him like sunlight. Unreserved. Uncomplicated. Entirely mine for that moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

My breath skipped. Everyone had said it. Dad. Naomi. Arlo in his own emotionally stunted way. “You are?” I asked.

His head lifted. His expression changed. “Luce.”

“I know. I just?—”

“Of course I am.” He brushed his thumb across my cheek. “You’re brilliant. And terrifying. And you write things in notebooks like a tiny secret genius. Aldenmere was lucky you applied.”

I smiled, but something inside me wobbled. The future pushed softly against the windows, asking to be acknowledged.

He studied me for a second. Then he looked away toward the road ahead, the smile still there but changed around the edges. He put Betsy back into drive and pulled carefully away from the curb.

We were not going the direct way to prom. I noticed after the second turn. “This is not the school,” I said.

“Nope.”