My father and I didn't speak the entire ride back to Connecticut. In Patrick Gunther's perfect fucking universe, we would have checked out of our hotel early the morning after being nauseatingly social at the Cornell Club and made the four hour drive out to Ithaca to parade me around campus like the school's blatant heir apparent. But after my ineloquent, whiskey-induced confession, I'd essentially nuked his perfect fucking universe into oblivion.

We still woke up early and checked out of our hotel room, but took the hour ride back to Connecticut in staunch, awkward silence.

Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, I knew I'd done this to myself. I'd set a bomb, and it was only a matter of time before it blew up in my face. Sure, I was mad at him, but I was more angry with myself. It was just easier to pin blame on other people. He already expected me to go to Cornell. He made me feel like I couldn't tell him no. But I could have, couldn't I? Monday Morning QB strikes again.

When we pulled into our driveway, I wasted no time jumping out of the car before my father even put it in park and bolted towards the front door.

"Dallas!" he called after me.

What did he expect me to say? Sorry? For what? Being an 18-year-old who was too nervous to disappoint his father? I swung our front door open and slammed it shut behind me before my father could catch up.

"Dallas?" my mother emerged from the den, but there wasn't a shred of confusion on her face. She already knew.

My father came in after me, and a tense silence hung in the air. I knew the calm was only temporary. The eye of the storm often was.

"Let's sit down and talk about this, okay?" She addressed us both.

"About what? There's nothing to talk about," I grumbled. I stomped up the stairs without looking back, despite the fact that they'd both called after me again.

When I reached my bedroom, I tossed my overnight duffle to the floor and slammed the door behind me. I was used to having all the answers. I was used to being in control. For the first time in my life, I felt control slipping through my fingers like sand, and the tighter I tried to hold on, the more I seemed to lose.

It was late afternoon on Saturday by the time my mother finally ventured into my bedroom. I hadn't been able to get myself out of bed for most of the day, aside from going to the bathroom. I was a winner by nature, and feeling this defeated was like an exotic disease I'd contracted that had no cure. It was devouring me from the inside out, and all I could do was lay there and writhe in anxiety.

I had my back to the door, and my mother came quietly over to my bed and sat on the edge, reaching for the hair that curled up at the back of my neck like she always did.

"He's not angry, you know." Her words fluttered softly over me like a blanket in the cold. "He's disappointed."

"I don't care," I grumbled, shimmying further away from her.

The closer she got, the more she would be able to see how much I did care. I cared way too much.

"You two don't communicate," she sighed. "If you did, this whole thing could have been avoided."

"That goes both ways." I kept my back to her as I sniffed and rubbed my nose.

I felt the bed shift as she stood back up. "I know. I think all that testosterone blocks words from your brain to your mouth. Both of you." She let out a soft chuckle, and I couldn't help but let a little smile tug at my lips for the first time all day. I finally sat myself up and raked a hand through my hair.

"Do you actually care?" I asked, watching shadows of clouds in the setting afternoon sun dance on the walls behind where my mother stood. "About where I want to go to school, I mean."

"It's hard for me not to care. You're my only child, and it's part of my job as your mother to think I know more than you do about what's good for you." She rested a hand on my desk, absentmindedly running her finger over the cover of my physics textbook. "But I care more about your happiness, Dallas. Yes, your father and I both went to Cornell, and of course I think going there would be beneficial for you, however that doesn't mean you have to. There's a point in time when your parents are not the only people who know what's good for you. I think you know what's good for you, and I'm sorry I didn't realize that earlier."

I wasn't sure how true that was as my world continued to fall off its axis, but hearing my own mother say that helped me course correct, even just a little. I felt my chest tighten, and I swallowed down the knot of emotion in my throat before I let it all go. "Okay, well...I have a conditional offer from Clemson, and I plan on formally committing."

I'd kept it in for so long, saying it out loud to someone - anyone - that mattered made it feel like a demon had been exorcised from my body. I felt lighter. My mother nodded slowly, intently, processing.

"I'm good at football, Mom," I continued. "Like, really good. I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't at least give myself a shot. A real shot."

"And this is what you want?"

"This is what I want."

And for once, it wasn't a blatant lie.

"Then I'll support you," she added with a small smile. "I just wish you told your father sooner."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Me too."

✗✗✗

Later that night, as I shoved two more mini bottles of Casamigos left over from a holiday party into the front pouch of my backpack, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

CHRIS THOMPSON: be there in 5

I sighed and pocketed my phone without responding. Chris would have an aneurysm if I was running even 30 seconds late, so wasting time responding to him wasn't the move. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and grabbed a Yankees hat off my desk to hide the increasingly monstrous mess my hair was.

When I ventured downstairs, both of my parents were seated at the kitchen table, huddled together with only the hanging light above the table on, bathing them in a warm glow. I knew by now they did this when they were talking about me, and I could only assume my mother had told my father about my Clemson allegiance.

When my father glanced up at me over the steam swirling from his coffee cup, the disparity in his eyes made my stomach churn. I wanted to be sick, but when Rochelle had texted me a few hours ago that she and Chris were going to the first 90s night of the season at Just Jake's, I felt far too obligated to join.

I felt their eyes on me as I made my way to the front door, and I had my hand on the doorknob when I finally grumbled out, "I'm going out."

I didn't wait for a response and made my way outside, where Rochelle was already standing in my driveway.

"Why are you dressed like a jock who's only just discovered someone other than Nike makes clothes?" Rochelle gestured to my untucked, wrinkled blue button-up and my backwards hat.

"It's all I had that was clean." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Besides, 90s fashion for guys is gross."

Despite my increasingly run down mental state, I still wouldn't be caught dead in an oversized Tommy Hillfiger t-shirt and cargo pants. Rochelle on the other hand looked like a grunge goddess in tattered jean shorts and black fishnets that showed off every bit of her long, athletic legs. With the last bit of winter chill lingering in the wind, I was sure she was cold, but Rochelle was always style over substance.

"You okay?" she asked, arching an eyebrow in my direction. "You look a little...out of sorts."

"Fine," I huffed out, tasting the lie on my tongue like I was eating something burnt. "I'm fine."

I wasn't ready to come clean about the Cornell debacle to her or Chris yet. One slightly life-changing crisis at a time.

Thankfully Chris rolled up before she could prod me any further. We climbed into his Jeep and took off towards the center of town.

90s night was the most notorious Spring term Saturday night activity, mostly because Just Jake's was an 18 and up bar that was rather lenient for the local teenagers armed with their parents AmEx's, and we all took it pretty seriously despite the fact that none of us had truly experienced the 90s. The grass was always greener on the other side...or in another decade.

Just Jake's was also one of the few actual bars in Fairfield, complete with TVs mounted every few feet and pennants from all the various New England sports teams on the exposed brick walls. Since most of the Fairfield population who were of actual drinking age preferred to do so after a round of golf or tennis at the country club, we were its main patrons. But because I had beef with the universe, my father knew the Jake, as he invested with my father and gave him the loan to start the bar 20 years ago. That meant with eyes on me all night, I had to be more strategic, so Rochelle and I traded shots of Casamigos in Chris's car just before we pulled into the parking lot. We got our hands stamped when we walked in and found a high top table in the corner, far enough from any speaker so we didn't have to shout to hear each other.

An instrumental version of Semi-Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind radiated from the speakers, and there was way too much flannel and combat boots for my liking. Chris returned to our table with plastic cups of club soda, and Rochelle swiftly produced two more mini bottles from her purse and distributed them into our drinks. I downed mine quickly, desperate to subdue the dread building in my stomach.

"Oh god," Rochelle groaned, gazing out into the crowd. She tightened her grip on her plastic cup. "She's here."

I followed Rochelle's gaze to the she in question, although I already knew who she was referring to. I found Kennedy leaning against a high top table, her head of wild curls bouncing around and she spoke animatedly to Alexis Meller, but where there was Kennedy, her other half wasn't far away. The way my heart jumped into my throat when Kaia came into view, her hair perfect and glossy swinging behind her as she joined Kennedy and Alexis told me everything I wouldn't admit out loud.

"Both of you need to get a grip," Chris chimed in, the cynicism not lost in the noise in the crowd. After his years of back and forth with Nina, I suppose he knew better than Rochelle and I did about feeling some type of way about people that may or may not be good for us.

"Me?" I clapped my hands to my chest. "What did I do?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "You have the look again."

"Don't start with that shit," I warned, poking him in the chest.

Rochelle inserted herself between us and eyed us both suspiciously. "Okay, am I missing something here?"

"No," I replied, pointedly directing it at Chris. "There's nothing. Right, Christopher?"

I bit down on my lip and shot Chris another warning glance. I should have been more comfortable telling my best friends, but it was hard enough admitting all of this to myself. The more I ignored it, the more likely it was to just go away.

Chris's shoulders heaved as he let out an exacerbated sigh. Just when I thought we'd moved on, he blurted out, "Dallas and Kaia had a romp after the state championship game."

"You did what?" Rochelle screeched.

I turned away from Rochelle, who was still reeling from the revelation, and snapped at Chris. "For the love of god, never use the word romp again. And by the way, fuck you."

Before Chris had a chance to respond, the actual band that Jake's always had for 90's night took the stage and immediately began strumming the opening to Hey Jealousy by Gin Blossoms to rambunctious applause.

Rochelle pulled on my arm. "Let's go," she yelled over the music. "You have some explaining to do."

I quickly knocked back the rest of my tequila soda concoction as she continued to pull on my arm, and I shot Chris one last withering glance as he stayed behind at our table with his virgin soda to watch Yankees spring training games.

A small crowd of people rushed to get closer to the stage on the far side of the bar, and the noise of the band as the chorus hit came down on us like a wave in a storm. I let the liquor take over as Rochelle and I swayed to the music. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't looking for Kaia, but it was easy to get lost in the dark and the music. It was easy to let go.

Tomorrow we can drive around this town, and let the cops chase us around

The past is gone, but something might be found to take its place, hey jealousy

"Did you really hook up with Kaia?" Rochelle leaned up on her toes and had to shout into my ear.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Once. It was a mistake."

"Sure, sure," Rochelle rolled her eyes."

"I mean it. You have to promise me you won't tell anyone."

Rochelle made an x motion across her chest, like we used to do when we were kids. Cross my heart and hope to die.

There was a lull in the music as the song switched over to something more mellow, and Rochelle took the moment to smooth back her hair.

"You know..." she sighed. "We're all leaving in six months. We picked a hell of a time to start getting attached to people."

I sighed and pulled her into a hug, and as she melted into me I realized I needed it as much as she did. "You mean you're not attached to me? I'm wounded."

I felt her body shudder as she laughed into my chest, and we stood there embracing for a few more moments, swaying as the band played some slow, acoustic intro to a song I didn't know.

Rochelle pulled away from me and immediately pinned her gaze to Kennedy, as if she knew where she was the whole time. My heart throbbed against my chest as Kaia came into view, and when we made eye contact, all the noise and all the bodies fell away. I'd swear on my life we were the only two people there. Maybe the only two people on the planet.

"Something tells me it's not just me getting too attached." Rochelle's voice brought me back down to Earth, but I couldn't bear to tear my gaze away from her. If I looked away, so would she.

"I don't know what to do," I said softly, almost as if I was really only trying to talk some sense into myself.

"You can't change the way you feel," Rochelle stated plainly. "I'm starting to learn that."

I finally looked over at her, and the tenseness in my chest began to dissipate. "You should go talk to her. Kennedy, I mean."

"What?" Rochelle barked out a laugh. "Uh, no."

"Uh, yeah," I echoed. "Why not?"

"Because she's too good for me." Rochelle let out a sigh and leaned her head on my shoulder. "And I've accepted that I'd rather see her happy with someone who actually deserves her and can treat her right."

"You do treat people right, Rochelle," I insisted. "Fear of failure makes us do stupid things. You're afraid of commitment, so you self-sabotage almost every relationship you've had. That doesn't mean you're not deserving."

Rochelle chuckled and elbowed me in the ribs. "Since when did you get so wise?"

"I have my moments."

The band picked up again with another Third Eye Blind song, and Rochelle dug around in her purse for two more mini bottles of Casamigos. We resigned ourselves to whatever the rest of the night would bring next as we knocked them back.

Can I look into the faces that I meet?

Can I get my punk-ass off the street?

Won't die on the vine, I want to knock it all down.

Can I Graduate?

"Go," I nudged her. "I'm going to the bathroom, and when I come back I better not see you still standing here with your thumb up your ass."

Rochelle gave me one more coy smirk before I turned away and shouldered myself through the crowd towards the back of the bar. I found my way through the back hallway and to the first open bathroom, complete with dimmed, buzzing lights and various stickers completely covering the sink and half of the mirror. In the dinginess of the light, I barely recognized the reflection staring back at me. He was practically a ghost. Some kind of transient being stuck between dead and alive.

The music from the band pumped through speakers in the ceiling, and at first I thought I was just hearing more stage noise when I was washing my hands, but when I turned the sink off and turned around, I came face to face with Kaia, leaning against the closed door of the bathroom.

"Jesus fuck." I nearly jumped out of my skin. "What is with you and following me into bathrooms?"

A wry smile pinched Kaia's features. "At least this one's gender neutral."

The music faded out, and for just a moment the silence between us was deafening, the air thick and heavy with tension. A red velvet mini dress hugged every inch of her body perfectly, and her tan skin glowed even under the dusty fluorescent of the lights. A stark contrast to me, who looked increasingly more like an actual zombie with every passing day. More music flooded the tight space, and I found myself heaving out a sigh of relief.

"This song is so weird when you actually listen to it." Kaia tilted her head up toward the speakers, and I tuned in to hear some punk rock acoustic cover of that one Spice Girls song everyone knew. "If you wanna be my lover you gotta get with my friends? That could be so badly misconstrued."

"Only you would say that." I gave her a lazy flick of my wrist. "Leave Geri alone."

Kaia scoffed. "I'm sorry, are you on a first name basis with the Spice Girls?"

"She's uh...Ginger Spice. But I know her as Geri, because she's married to the team principle of the Red Bull Formula 1 team, and every time I hear the Spice Girls the only thing I can think of is him in his exceptionally English accent saying Geri, you're going to be late to your own concert, Geri."

My accent was pitiful, but it got a laugh out of her. The ease of such a simple conversation between us felt foreign. There was always something else under the surface, something tense and almost malignant, and I saw it in her eyes. She took a step towards me, and instinctively I took a step back, bumping my backside into the fake marble countertop of the sink.

"I know you did not follow me in here to talk about the Spice Girls and my crappy English accent." I leaned back and folded my arms over my chest. "So what? Come to berate me about my drunk text last night? Look, I'm sorry, but-"

"No," Kaia held her hand up to stop me. She paused for a moment and pinched her lips into a frown, like she was trying to hide whatever words she wanted to say in the back of her mouth. "As much as it pains me to say this...you were right, actually."

I scoffed. "I'm right about 99.6% of the time, you'll need to be more specific."

"God damn it Dallas, why do you insist on being such an ass?" She groaned and worked her hands through her hair. She tapped the toe of her boot against the black and white checkered floor of the bathroom. "I'm trying to tell you that what you said last night was true, and that I...I mean, we..."

I couldn't take it anymore, and even if it was only to get her to stop talking, I leaned down and kissed her. With everything else in my life slowly approaching the event horizon of the black hole that's loomed over me all year, maybe it was time to resign myself to the inevitable. There was no point denying it any longer. I wanted her, and I know she wanted me too.

She brought her hands to the sides of my jaw, and the softest moan escaped her lips as I ran my tongue along the inside of her mouth. She smelled like fresh linen and rain, the way the changing seasons should smell. Like everything was changing.

"Dallas," she sighed out against my cheek as she pulled away.

"Don't talk," I said softly. "You're ruining the moment."

"We're having a moment?" she arched an eyebrow.

I ran my hands along her waist, feeling her shudder under the soft velvet fabric of her dress. "What else would this be?"

She responded by leaning up on her toes to bring her lips back to mine, her kiss fueled by frustration and confusion, like there was a level of uncertainty to it all that we were trying to erase. There were no second thoughts, no consequences, no tomorrow. Just the moment.

and now you've got me watching your eyes
you've got me waiting just to see
if it goes the way it never will
now your eyes are watching me

change / good charlotte

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i really just make gif manips at this point to avoid actually writing and that's why this chapter took me so long

so if you've been with dallas & co for a while, you'll know that this story has actually had several title changes before settling on blind ambition, and one of them was GRADUATION, appropriately named after the third eye blind song 'graduate' and that's the song playing when dallas and rochelle are having their teenage relationship crisis conversation. i just had to throw that in there as a homage to titles past, and also because everything i do is for third eye blind.

anyway, welcome to PART IV, the last part of blind ambition and i am so unwell. any predictions on what's to come? 

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