"Art School," Watts repeated slowly, allowing the idea to properly percolate as she scanned the contents of the letter on her lap. Beside her on the dilapidated front step, Keith fidgeted, clearly waiting for more. Moments before, he'd arrived at her door with a smile on his face and a piece of expensive white bond paper in his hand. As she read the letter, the ever-present drum beat in her head suddenly sounded like a death knell.

"Yeah, Art School," he echoed, nudging her with his shoulder. She knew that he was waiting for her reaction, but she didn't dare look at him. When he'd handed her the letter, Keith had looked so damn hopeful. No matter how freaked out she was, she wouldn't allow herself to crush his enthusiasm. She never wanted to be that person. He was too important to her.

"I didn't even know you were applying," she mumbled, examining the blurred letters on the page as if she actually cared what they said.

"I did it on a whim last fall," he explained, looping his arm around her shoulder just like he did every other day of the week. "The school counselor was the one who suggested it. She even helped me with the application. I tossed it in the mail and forgot about it until the letter showed up this morning," he said. "So, what do you think?"

"Um, I think it makes perfect sense," she finally said, squaring her shoulders and handing him back his letter. "It's great."

"The school's only an hour away. I can still work at the garage on the weekends. Or I could get a job closer to campus," he mused. "That might be easier. Then, there wouldn't be so much back and forth."

"That's, uh, great," Watts said again, nodding her head and wondering if she was the "back" or the "forth." Not far beneath her manufactured smile, a torrent of dread and fear laid waste to her emotional equilibrium.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Yeah. I do," she told him. "You've always wanted this. What does your old man think?"

"I haven't told him yet. I wanted to see you first."

Watts folded her arms across her chest and tried to take deep, even breaths. Everything was about to change—and probably for the worse. With the exception of the day she'd met Keith in the third grade, Watts' life had always consisted of a series of worsening realities. Why should this one be any different?

"It's a really great opportunity for you," she remarked in a steady bravado. "You'll meet new people—probably a bunch of art freaks just like you."

"We'll both meet new people," he said, casually rubbing her shoulder with his hand.

"Where am I going to meet new people?" she scoffed.

"Well, there's this," he said. With his free hand, he retrieved a rolled-up brochure from his back pocket and thrust it at her.

"Community College?" she laughed, shaking her head as she unrolled the booklet and flattened it with her hands.

Before she could mount any serious protest, he put up a hand and said, "Just take a look at it. You might find something that interests you. And the college is really close to the Art School. We could get an apartment somewhere in the middle."

"You want me to come with you?" she stammered, suddenly drowning in disbelief.

"Well, yeah," he responded. "Don't you want to come with me?"

"I mean, I don't know . . . ." she said, feeling an entirely different sort of anxiety at the prospect of leaving the tiny brown house that had been her entire existence for as long as she could remember. She feared leaving it almost as much as she hated it.

"Why wouldn't you come with me?" Keith challenged her. He leaned forward and his eyes tracked hers anxiously, easily communicating that at no point had he considered the potential that she might not go with him.

"Hey, take it easy." Watts placed a steady hand on his chest. "This is all new for me. You gotta give me a second to catch up. Like, how would it even work?"

Keith shrugged. "I don't know. Like I said, we'd get an apartment. We'd find a couple of part-time jobs, and we'd take some classes, I guess."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is easy," he insisted. "And besides that, there's no way I'm leaving you in this place when I go away. Don't you want to come with me?"

With a sigh, she stretched out her legs, appreciating the friction of the splintered wood against her calves. "Okay, yes," she agreed. "I'll go. It's only April, though. You still have several months to back out if you change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind. You know I'm not."

"Well, don't expect me to fold your laundry when we're living together," she warned him.

He laughed. "Watts, I wouldn't dream of asking you to do my laundry."

"Will you do mine, then?"

"Maybe . . . ."