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got back to
work.
    I was feeling even more excited for Spring Break. If I was going
to be punished for it, I was going to make sure every second was worth it.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Eight
    Weston’s truck was parked directly behind the Dairy
Queen. As if he already didn’t look happy enough, I brought him an extra tall
Cherry Dip Cone. His grin spread from ear to ear.
    “Do I have time to go home and change?” I asked.
    “Nope. I’m too excited to show you something.”
    We drove to his house. The windows were dark, and when he pressed
the garage door button, his parents’ vehicle wasn’t in its spot. Even though it
was a weekend, the entire town seemed to be closed down. With all the
upperclassman traffic gone during Spring Break and so many families away for
vacation, Blackwell would be on a week-long sleep; it was that way every year.
    “Your parents already left?” I asked.
    He nodded. “This morning.”
    “What did they say about you staying home?”
    He held open the door for me, and I walked through to the
hallway. “It was a little weird. They were confused, and Mom’s freaking out
about Alder, but they also seemed relieved. I think they were letting me go
because I’m eighteen, but they were going to be worried about me the whole
time.”
    “Makes sense.”
    “They asked me if I wanted to go skiing, but it’s their first
adults-only vacation since they had me, so they were kind of glad I said no.”
    I chuckled. His life was so fascinating to me. The way he was so
close with his parents, how they understood each other and cared for each other
was foreign to me. But mostly I liked that they were sober and could solve
their issues without yelling at him.
    We went to the main stairs, and Weston flipped on the light. I
followed him up the spiral, wooden staircase. There was a polished wooden
banister with intricate iron instead of spindles. I loved his house. It was so
clean, and decorated with such care that it could have been featured in a home
design magazine. Hanging from the clay-colored wall were canvases of Weston and
his older sister Whitney, posing together and individually, from grade school
to senior year.
    When we reached the top of the stairs, Weston walked down another
hallway, and then opened the last door on the left, sweeping his arm across his
body, signaling for me to come in. The room was still dark, but when I stepped
inside, Weston flipped on the light, revealing his bed, a dresser, and a desk.
Like the rest of the house, everything had its place. It was all dusted and
smelled fresh. The midnight blue comforter was tucked under the pillows, and
smoothed out just right. The desk was organized and dusted, and his brand new computer
was off.
    Above the desk was the charcoal he’d drawn of me. Its frame was
black and looked like rope. It didn’t really go with the brown-stained wooden
frame of his bed, or anything else in his room.
    “What do you think?”
    I realized then that my mouth was open and I snapped it shut.
    His eyebrows pulled together. “I went to Hobby Lobby in Ponca to
get it framed. It wasn’t the frame I wanted, but they would have had to order
the other one, and I wanted to show it to you today. I couldn’t wait.”
    “Are you really going to fail Art?”
    He shrugged. “Who cares? What do you think?”
    “The Art Institute of Dallas might take issue with you failing
Art.”
    His shoulders fell. “I’m not going to Dallas, Erin.”
    “Why not?”
    “I tried to tell my parents, but I can’t look them in the eye and
say it to them.”
    “Do you want to go?”
    He held out his hands then let them fall back to his thighs with
a slap. “Yeah.”
    “Then you’re going. We’re going to figure out a way to get you
there, even if I have to hold your hand when you tell them. They love you,
Weston, and above all, they want you to be happy, right?”
    He nodded slowly. “But . . .”
    “No buts. We’re going to get you there.”
    He watched me for a moment.