Avery Turner, a perfectionist with a double life, and Kyran Drake, a charismatic boy with secrets, find their fates intertwined when their secrets threaten to unravel their dreams-will they overcome their differences to protect their futures, or wil...
It's interesting to see it all unfold in front of me. Instead of turning a blind eye, I watch. I watch her discomfort when she looks at her phone, the way she bites her lips as she quickly types a message. Her hands tremble slightly when she takes a picture of her surroundings to send to her mom, and for the first time, I notice how much she worries about getting things just right.
She types away at her laptop, her fingers moving at a speed I can barely follow. And that's saying something because I basically live on my own computer. She's in her element but still carries this weight on her shoulders, like every letter she types has a deadline attached to it.
Then there's her smile. It's there, but it's small, fleeting, like a flicker of light in a storm. It's the kind of smile you'd miss if you weren't paying attention—but I'm paying attention now. I notice the way it lifts her face for just a second before it vanishes, replaced by that focused frown she always wears when she's worried or anxious.
A week ago, I wouldn't have noticed any of this. A week ago, I was too busy being selfish, too wrapped up in my own ego to see what was right in front of me. But now, sitting across from her, I realize how much I've missed.
"Avery," I say quietly, unsure if I'm interrupting her work.
She looks up, her eyes slightly wide like she's surprised I'm even speaking. "Yeah?"
I pause, not wanting to ruin the moment with the wrong words. "You okay?"
She blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. "Uh, yeah. Why?"
"You just seemed a little stressed. Is it your mom again?" I ask, lowering my voice to a whisper.
"Maybe."
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to meet her gaze. "You want to talk about it?"
Avery glances at her laptop, then back at me. Her fingers hover over the keyboard as if she's debating whether to keep typing or close the screen. After a beat, she sighs and shuts the laptop with a soft click, pushing it aside.
"Why do you care?" she asks, her eyes burning into mine with an intensity that almost makes me cower. But, I decide to keep at it.
"You know why."
Her eyes search mine, and I can see the walls she's built flickering. She wants to pretend she doesn't know, to brush it off, but the way her breath hitches for just a second tells me she does know—she's just not sure if she can trust it yet.
