Chapter 212
Summer's POV
The April morning air tasted like hope and cherry blossoms when I woke up, though my stomach was already in knots. Kieran had three days of closed training before the IPhO qualification exam—three days of complete radio silence.
I pressed my palm against the cool window glass, watching the sunrise paint the Charles River gold and pink. Somewhere across the city, Kieran was probably already awake, already reviewing equations in that methodical way of his, left hand moving steadily across practice problems while his damaged right hand rested on the desk.
My phone buzzed. Mia: You okay? I know today's the day.
I smiled despite the anxiety. Me: Define okay. Breathing? Yes. Functional? Debatable.
Mia: He's going to crush it. You know he will.
Me: I know.
But knowing didn't make the waiting easier. I dragged myself through my morning routine on autopilot, barely tasting the breakfast Victoria had laid out. She glanced up from her tablet when I sat down.
"Big day," she said, her tone carefully neutral, the way it always was when Kieran came up.
"For him, yeah." I poked at my yogurt. "I won't see him until Monday. Maybe Tuesday if the exam runs long."
Victoria set down her tablet and studied me for a moment, the way she studied quarterly reports—assessing, calculating.
"If he can qualify for the IPhO, that's quite impressive," she said slowly. "That kind of academic credential does carry weight." She paused, then added with practiced lightness, "Just don't let worrying about him affect your own performance. The Spring Arts Festival is next week, Summer. That's what you should be focused on."
"And sweetheart—" Victoria reached for her coffee, her manicured nails clicking against the porcelain. "Mrs. Sterling mentioned her son just got accepted to an Ivy League university. I could arrange a dinner, very casual. You deserve someone who matches your world."
Something snapped inside me.
"Mom." My voice came out sharp, trembling. "I don't understand. You used to support me and Kieran. You said he was 'refreshingly genuine,' remember? But ever since you actually met him—you haven't said a single supportive thing about us. Why?"
The tablet lowered an inch. Victoria's smile didn't waver, but her eyes cooled.
"Summer—"
"No. Tell me why."
A beat of silence. Then Victoria set down her coffee with a precise click.
"He's a good person," she said quietly. "But you are my daughter." She met my gaze, and for once, the corporate diplomacy fell away. "His family background is too far beneath ours, baby. That's just the truth."
The words landed like a slap. I shoved my chair back from the table.
"Beneath us?" I laughed, but it came out cracked and ugly. "Do you hear yourself? You sound like a character in a soap opera."
"I sound like your mother." Victoria's voice hardened. "A mother who built everything we have from nothing, who knows exactly what happens when love meets reality and reality wins. You think I'm being cruel? I'm being honest. The world will be far crueler."
"This isn't about the world. This is about you and your obsession with—with pedigree, like we're breeding racehorses—"
"That's enough." Victoria's palm came down flat on the marble countertop, the sound ringing through the kitchen. Her composure cracked for just a second before she smoothed it back into place. "Eat your breakfast. You look thin."
I stared at my yogurt, appetite gone for entirely different reasons now.
---
School felt surreal that day. I kept checking my phone even though I knew it was pointless.
"You're going to wear a hole in your phone screen," Mia whispered during physics.
"I know. I can't help it." I slumped lower in my seat. "This is stupid. It's only three days."
"Three days without talking to your boyfriend is basically a geological era when you're seventeen." Mia's voice was dry but sympathetic. "Want to come over after school? We can watch terrible movies and eat our feelings."
"Can't. Mom's taking me to look at that new office space she's considering."
"At least it's a distraction."
She wasn't wrong. But as the day dragged on, I became more acutely aware of Kieran's absence—his empty seat in homeroom, Logan glancing at it like he also felt the gap, the blank screen on my phone.
By the time the final bell rang, I was practically vibrating with nervous energy. I gathered my things slowly, giving myself one last chance to maybe run into him before he left, even though I knew he'd probably already been picked up.
I was halfway to the parking lot when I heard footsteps running behind me.
"Summer, wait!"
I spun around so fast I nearly dropped my bag. There he was—Kieran, slightly out of breath, his worn Nike backpack slung over one shoulder and his hair still damp from what was probably a very rushed shower. He looked tired already, dark circles under his eyes, but when our eyes met his whole face softened into something that made my knees weak.
"I thought you'd already left," I managed.
"Bus doesn't leave for another twenty minutes. I wanted to—" He stopped, seeming to search for words, which was unusual enough that I stepped closer. "I wanted to see you. Before."
I reached for his hand without thinking, our fingers tangling together in a way that had become second nature over the past few months.
We stood there in the lengthening afternoon shadows, neither of us willing to let go first. Around us, the school was emptying out, but we might as well have been alone.
"I brought you something." I fumbled in my bag one-handed and pulled out a Tiffany-blue paper bag. "It's not much. For luck."
Kieran took the bag, his expression doing that complicated thing where he looked touched and uncomfortable and pleased all at once. He opened it carefully and pulled out a bag of Kinder chocolate cookies and two cans of Red Bull.
"Summer." His voice had gone rough. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to. And before you start with the whole 'I don't need charity' thing, it's not charity. It's your girlfriend making sure you don't subsist entirely on vending machine coffee for three days."
Kieran's ears went pink and he ducked his head.
"Thank you," he said quietly. Then, even quieter: "I'm going to miss you."
"It's three days. You'll be so busy you won't even notice."
"That's not true." He looked at me with that intensity that always made me feel like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. "I always notice when you're not there."
Before I could respond, he pulled me into the shadow of a large oak tree. The branches shielded us from the parking lot, creating a pocket of privacy.
He kissed me before I could say anything. It was quick, almost desperate, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw while his damaged right hand stayed carefully at his side. When he pulled back we were both breathing harder than we should have been.
"Wait for me," he said, and it sounded like both a command and a plea.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. He pressed his forehead to mine for one long moment, and then he was stepping back, shouldering his bag.
"I have to go. The bus—"
"I know. Go. Win." I forced a smile. "I'll be here when you get back."
He nodded once, sharp and certain, and then he was walking away. I watched until he disappeared around the corner of the science building, and only then did I let myself acknowledge the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.