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Dots appeared, so I knew that Drew was typing back.
I’m surprised Theresa didn’t tell you. Are they still on their honeymoon?
When I didn’t immediately reply to his question, he continued, Fine. Be difficult. You were accepted into UCLA’s Creative Writing program under the tutelage of famed author Emily Alsobrooks. You should have received a special courier with the acceptance letter.
None of that made sense. I hadn’t even applied to colleges yet. Sure, all my dream colleges were registered on the College Board website. I was getting a million emails from college admissions offices because I’d done well on the SATs. I could see my national rankings in SchoolLinks, but actual college submissions would not occur until after summertime. Like Raj had, I’d written and rewritten my admissions essay a hundred times already, but nothing had been submitted.
What special courier was Drew talking about?
Oh, wait… My eyes popped to the dresser.
The white envelope.
Miss Paulina brought a white envelope into the room this morning. After she’d caught me and Matty in a compromising situation, I’d completely forgotten why she’d come into the room in the first place.
She’d placed it on top of the tallboy dresser near the door. It was so thin that I didn’t see it when I came into the room after taking my shower.
Stalking to the tallboy dresser, I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open.
I ended up tearing the top part of the letter, but sure enough it was a congratulatory letter from the Creative Writing Dean, accepting me into the program as part of their early acceptance cycle. I had enough AP credits to satisfy the first semester of classes and they were admitting me not just early, but early enough to start taking dual enrollment classes while in my last year of high school.
I’d never heard of something like this happening.
I hadn’t even submitted a scrap of writing to the university.
Why would they admit a student who hadn’t yet applied into a creative writing program when they hadn’t read anything they’d written? It wasn’t like I had any publications to my name. Just a few short stories with a few thousand reads on Wattpad.
Even I knew that wasn’t enough for UCLA to admit me into their Creative Writing program.
I replied to Drew. Is this a joke?
Because that’s all it could be. Drew was playing a cruel joke on me. He knew UCLA was my dream school, my dream program, my dream professor. Professor Alsobrook’s long-running collection of stories about the Wise Owl Priestess Persephone who counsels the young Baron Barry Claymourn in the Claymourn Chronicles literally changed my life when I first read them. I knew at the age of six I wanted to be a writer when I grew up.
And now Drew was drawing upon my childhood dreams to crush me mentally and emotionally.
I’d never forgive him for this.
Instead of texting back, Drew called.
I picked up before the first ring ended.
“Are you trying to fuck with my head, Drew?” I asked.
I didn’t even try to hide my agitation. I used to be so careful around him. I wanted to be perfect and compliant when we were together.
Not now.
Not tonight.
“Ciaran,” Drew started, his deep, masculine voice weaved into my brain like delirium-laced fog. Confusing feelings came rushing back. My stomach squeezed into a tight knot. I didn’t know how to turn it off. How did I get Drew Jones out of my bloodstream? “Why would I fuck with you? Did you get the acceptance letter or not?”
Before answering, I took a fortifying breath. “I received a letter but it can’t be authentic. You know as well as I do that I haven’t applied to UCLA. I haven’t applied to any college.”
Drew tsked and it felt like he’d slapped me in the face.
“Use your brain, Ciaran,” Drew replied smoothly. Did nothing bother him? Did he not care that he was affecting my life? “I’ve never known you to be this dense. Who did your mom marry? Might that have something to do with the situation?”
Drew’s insinuation clicked into place.
