{WATTYS 2021/2022 SHORTLIST}{Editor's Pick} {Featured Story}
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One girl. Two boys. An impossible choice.
Stella LaFever, a theatre student from California, can't wait to spend a summer in Newport, Rhode I...
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Chapter Song: Black by Dierks Bentley
Monday morning, I woke an hour before scheduled—unable to sleep. I flicked on the light to find a manilla envelope waiting on my desk. A yellow post-it read, sign and return to LT Raske.
Lieutenant Courtney Raske was my father's flag aide. I didn't envy her job at all. She kept his schedule and dealt with all the logistics and pomp that came with being a four-star admiral.
I opened the envelope and slid out a thick stack of papers. My forehead fell into my hand.
My contract for the Navy stared back at me. Submarines. Nuclear power school. Years and years of my life all planned out in black and white. It looked so neat on paper. So easy.
A little sign here sticker was placed beside the signature blocks.
I picked up a pen, staring down at the blank line.
Adding my name meant I'd be working on a submarine for the rest of my life.
No dancing or singing. No acting under the bright stage lights. No seeing Stella as she twirled and laughed.
I had no idea how to reconcile these two parts of my life. The expectations that came with being a Tenney and my desire to be something more.
I shook my head. Tapping the pen.
Were bright lights and the stage and acting all part of this last summer of freedom? My last gasp of air before everything in my life collapsed into a seabag?
Was I reaching too far? I wasn't smart or strong or cutthroat. I was just West.
A hopeless dreamer.
The desire Stella had awoken in me—the one I kept hidden away—was trying to bury itself again.
Seeing this contract made me feel like my dreams were drifting away.
Just like Stella.
My future had always been charted out. And Stella...well, she had Spencer.
I added my name to all the signature blocks then shoved the papers back inside the envelope. It was done. I shouldered my backpack, grabbed the envelope, and made my way downstairs. LT Raske had an inbox for correspondence down in my father's office, so I made my way towards the door—but found it locked.
Then I heard something. It was early—not quite four in the morning—and I knew no one was scheduled to be up yet. Barely daring to breathe, I pressed my ear to the door.
