Page 80 of Library or Lattes?

He sat on my bed and pulled me toward him. I stood between his open legs as we kissed, then let him lay me down.

And then we were together in the most perfect way. Our hips moving in sync, our tongues pressed against each other, his hands, oh, his hands that traced my cheek so gently, like I was something delicate. We relaxed into each other as waves of pleasure took over us both. And for a while, I just lay there, all my weight on Theo, his chin on my head, both of us basking in the aftermath of magic.

I wanted to stay in this moment forever. Not think about anything else, not the future, or exams, or choices … just this. But my mind wouldn’t let me. The exam was getting close. Too close to shove out of my head.

And the spell was broken when I wondered what our future might look like if I did go to London. London. The exam. The essay … I could tell him what was worrying me.

“Theo, I’m really struggling with my essay,” I admitted. I’d started and restarted it a million times.

“You only think that.” Theo dismissed my worry, stroking my arm softly. “Clear your head. Stop thinking so much. You just need to be honest.”

“It’s not that simple. I think I know what I want to say, but I just can’t get it out in the right way.”

“Just be you. You is perfect,” he said. “Like remember when you were trying all those new clothes and drinking black coffee? You looked amazing, don’t get me wrong, but when you were standing there in your sweater in the library, in your jeans and your boots, it was like, this is the girl I’m falling in love with. Not the new one, as awesome as she was too—”

“Sorry, what?”

I could barely get the words out.

“You said you were falling … in love?” I squeezed my eyes shut, in case I’d just imagined it.

“Yeah? And?”

I kissed him.

And I wasn’t scared of the exam or the essay anymore.

“I guess I’m falling in love with you too.”

The day before the exam, Lennie was at my house. She insisted on having movie night as usual instead of “you panicking the whole night.”

She curled up on the sofa beside me with the heat from the fire warming our cheeks. I was too distracted to decide what to watch, so I handed the reins to Lennie.

“My Oxford Year?” she suggested.

I’d been trying to get her to watch it for ages, but she’d always refused.

I hugged her, grateful. It wasn’t just a movie. It was Lennie showing me, without saying anything, that she knew how much this all meant to me.

“What about the essay. Is it all done?” Lennie said after the movie—which was fluffy and sweet, just what I needed—before stuffing more popcorn than I thought possible in her mouth.

“All done.” My stomach lurched. I could barely count how many hours I’d spent on it.

Lennie raised her eyebrows. “Can I … read it?”

Suddenly I wanted Lennie’s approval more than anything. “Oh my God, would you?” I handed her my laptop, with the essay open on the screen.

I watched her nervously, the same way I watched horror movies, mostly through my hands. But she didn’t look like she hated it. In fact she sniffled, like she was trying not to cry.

“Lennie, are you …?”

“No!” she insisted. But I knew.

I’ve wanted to travel the world for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was forcing secondhand Barbie into her pink convertible and racing her across our worn wooden floors on her way to “Kenya.” Back then, I didn’t know what Kenya actually looked like, only that it was far away and sounded cool.

I’d make my dad sit in a makeshift airplane where I would be the pilot, and we’d travel all over the world. Or at least to the countries I’d heard of by the time I was six. When other kids were dreaming about their next birthday party, I was already dreaming about escaping the only place I’d ever called home.

Because to be a real traveler, you had to leave your hometown. Right?