Free Deadly Little Lessons by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B

don’t they have pottery programs in places like Miami or South Beach?”
    “Yes, but you have to remember that I decided to look into this whole going-away idea a bit late in the game. I’m pretty sure that most of the other intensive programs were already filled by the time I started applying.”
    I have no idea if that’s true, but I’m reluctant to tell them that though Sasha might not have been the original reason for my getaway, the fact that I’m sensing things about her now is the reason I ultimately chose the place.
    Truth be told, I’ve almost caved at least a dozen times and told them about Sasha—about how the sound of what I assume is her voice has been keeping me up at night or about how stupid I was to call her mother. But I’ve felt as if Kimmie’s head was so far into the Big Apple that she wouldn’t be able to see my side. Not that that’s a bad thing. She’s really excited about her internship, and just as excited by the idea that her best friend may have a fantabulous opportunity lined up, too.
    “I’m sure Sumner will still be amazing,” she says. “Almost as amazing as five years from now, when the three of us will be sharing a loft in Manhattan. You, with your art exhibits at some of the trendiest galleries in town”—she smiles at me—“Wes, as a photographer, and me designing dresses for rock stars and tragic rebels.”
    I manage a nod, unable to break it to her that I haven’t so much as thought about my future as a potter in weeks. It’s like she sees us moving together in one distinct direction, whereas I feel like we’re growing apart.

A FTER BRAIN FREEZE , I text Adam to say that I’m on my way, and Wes drives me over.
    “Is he making you dinner?” Kimmie asks.
    “I hope not,” I say; I have just ingested what has to have been at least a quart of ice cream. “I think he might’ve mentioned something about a big game and making some team-themed munchies.”
    “Talk about romantic,” Kimmie coos, clearly being snarky. She wishes me luck, and I climb out of Wes’s car.
    Adam is already waiting in the lobby. His face lights up as I come through the door. “Hey, you,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. He holds me closer than he has in a long time. “I’ve missed you.”
    Even though it’s only been a couple of days since we last saw each other, I hug him harder, knowing exactly what he means. “Yeah, I’ve missed you, too.”
    We climb the stairs and enter his apartment, and already I can hear the sound of cheering coming from the big screen in his living room.
    “Who’s playing?” I ask, trying to sound interested.
    “The Angels versus the Red Sox.” Adam pulls on a Red Sox cap and gives me a matching one.
    “Thanks,” I say, putting it on. It seems that I have underestimated the value of this game.
    “So, I made us some snacks.” He takes my hand and leads me into the living room. The coffee table is set up with chips and guacamole, quesadilla wedges, buffalo wings, and bottles of lemon-lime soda. “Okay, so I didn’t go the themed route, but I did make most of it myself.”
    “Wow,” I say, utterly impressed.
    “Hungry?”
    “Sure,” I lie.
    We sit on the sofa and the TV blares. It’s almost too loud to talk, and considering how excited he is about the game, not to mention all the trouble he went to with the snacks spread, I decide that our talk can wait.
    Between bites of quesadilla and sips of soda, Adam snuggles close to me. It’s been a while since I felt this secure with him, and I think he feels it, too. When a commercial comes on, he leans in closer and pulls off my hat to kiss me. “I’ve missed you,” he says again.
    “I know I haven’t been the most ideal girlfriend lately,” I admit. “My drama has pretty much taken center stage on most of our dates.”
    “Well, it isn’t taking center stage now.” He kisses me again, and I try my best to kiss him back and relish the moment, but I can’t help feeling disappointed