Blake West:
"Mom is going to be here today. For real this time."
I said it out loud before I even realized my mouth had moved. My voice bounced off the high ceilings of our tiny dorm room, light and hopeful. I was already grinning, heart practically cartwheeling in my chest. The corners of my lips ached, but I couldn't stop smiling.
She promised.
"She promised me," I repeated, softer this time. Like saying it again would make it more real. Like speaking it into the air would help her plane land faster or something. "She's really coming."
"Wait—really?" Leo practically jumped up from his bed, socks sliding against the floor as he nearly tripped over his own charger cable. "Let me see!"
I handed him my phone with both hands, like it was something holy. On the screen was the headline I'd been reading all morning: Pop Legend Ainsley West's European Tour Nears Its Grand Finale—Just Three Days Left in Rome!
Leo squinted at it, pushing his messy blond hair out of his eyes. The second his eyebrows dipped, I felt my stomach flutter, but not in the good way.
Next to him, Noah—our other roommate, the quieter one—sat up straighter on his bed, sensing the tension before I did. Leo didn't say anything right away. Just that slight shift in his face. The drop. The doubt.
Then he finally said it. "But Blake… it says here her last show isn't for another three days. In Rome. That's, like—what, eleven hours away by flight? How's she gonna make it in time?"
I blinked. Looked down. My smile wavered, just for a second. I reached for the phone again and took it back gently. Read the headline again. And again. The exact same one I'd read at least ten times this morning.
But I forced the smile back. I had to. I tilted my head and said, "Maybe she's not gonna come in three days. Maybe she's not gonna come after the show. Maybe she's coming now. She's probably already on her way."
I clutched the phone to my chest, wrapped both arms around it. "She promised," I said again, and this time I whispered it, almost to myself. "I can't wait to see her. I miss her so much. My heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest, seriously. It's been forever."
My voice cracked a little, but I didn't care.
Noah reached over from his bed and offered me the last square of my own chocolate bar. "You're getting all emotional," he teased with a warm smile. "Is that your heart talking—or the sugar?"
I laughed and took a bite, cheeks puffed with chocolate. "Definitely the sugar." My voice came out kind of garbled, which made them both laugh.
And for a second, it was just warm again. Cozy. The three of us, like always.
I sat cross-legged on my bed and stared at the far window, watching light streaks stretch across the floor. The same sunlight that had spilled across these wooden floors every morning since I was fourteen.
You'd think living in a boarding school would be sad or lonely. But honestly? It wasn't that bad. At least not for me. Not here. Not with Leo and Noah around. Not with Mr. Henderson sneaking me extra strawberry milk at breakfast. Not with the way people smiled at me in the halls or clapped me on the back or asked for help with algebra even though I was more of a literature guy.
I'd been happy here. Weirdly, I had.
Still, nothing beat the idea of seeing my mom again.
The last time I saw her, I was seventeen. She hugged me at the airport and kissed the top of my head like she always did, even though I ducked because I was already taller than her. She smelled like vanilla and spotlight heat and whatever perfume cost more than my tuition. And she smiled at me like I was her entire world.
She cried a little, too. Not enough for anyone to notice but me.
I don't think I've ever gone more than a year without seeing her. But this year—this final year—was the hardest. She didn't visit at Christmas. She sent gifts. And a video message. But not herself.
She always had a reason. Always touring, always filming, always recording. But this time… this time she promised.
And my mom doesn't break promises. Not to me.
I stood up and walked over to the mirror. My graduation robe was hanging on the hook beside it, a deep navy blue with the school crest stitched into the left side. I slipped it on slowly, carefully. Like I was wrapping myself in something important. Something final.
I adjusted the collar and stared at myself.
There I was. Same big round glasses I've had since forever, slipping slightly down my nose. Same soft cheeks. Same mess of dark curls I never quite figured out how to tame. My shirt stuck out a little around my middle—okay, a lot—but that was fine. I liked the way I looked. I really did.
Some people might call me fat. I preferred chubby. It sounded nicer. Rounder. Softer. More me.
And honestly? I never had a problem with it. Not even once. Nobody here made me feel like I was less than. Not my teachers, not the other students, and definitely not Leo or Noah. They were more like brothers than roommates.
I smiled at my reflection, then held up the last bit of my chocolate bar in a little salute. "To me," I whispered, and popped it into my mouth.
The day was only just beginning, but I already felt full—with hope, with nerves, with sugar. With this fluttery, dangerous kind of excitement I couldn't name.