"It's making me nervous that you're taking this long to read my essay."

"Shhh, I'm trying to focus."

"Jack, it's only 3 pages. We've been sitting in silence for 30 minutes now."

He picks his head up from my laptop and looks at me. "That's because I'm re-reading what you have so far. Now, please...shhh."

We're sitting in my dining room, so I start tapping my fingers along the wood table. He picks his head up again and pouts at me. "Stas, that's distracting."

"Sorry, sorry."

I get up from my chair and make my way into the kitchen. I scrummage through the cabinets, whipping out any snacks that I can find. A half empty bag of chips and some pretzels. I then open the fridge and pull out the already-washed grapes as well as two cans of flavored seltzer.

I walk back into the dining room and place everything down as Jack keeps his gaze on the laptop screen. The can of seltzer makes a 'tssss' sound when I open it, but Jack remains concentrated.

"Okay," he says, pushing the laptop toward me, "which do you want first: the positive feedback or the constructive criticism?"

"Constructive criticism? What's there to criticize?"

"I'm not criticizing, Stas. I'm providing recommendations for improvement."

"You're saying that I need to improve my essay. I take that as criticism."

"Stassie..."

I give him an eye-roll. "Constructive criticism, please," I grumble.

"Your writing skills are really strong, but the writing itself lacks authenticity."

"How is that possible? I wrote it."

"Let me finish," he softly says. "I feel like you're trying to force your language instead of using your own voice. It's like you're trying to be someone you're not to impress whoever's going to read your paper. You gotta think of yourself as the reader just as much as you are the writer. When you read your essay, what do you think? Honestly."

"I think it's good."

"Good is not great."

"Again with that saying..."

"It's the truth, Stas. Good isn't going to cut it."

"Okay, be more authentic. Got it. Can we get to the positive stuff now?"

"I love the theme that you went with. The whole point of this essay is for Admissions to learn more about who you are as a person, what got you to this place, and where you see yourself going. So far, you've hit all those points. Your mom...," he falters, "...she plays a big part in your essay."

"Too big of a part, if you ask me," I mumble under my breath.

"Well, clearly that's what you wanted. Like you said, you wrote it."

I gulp because I know what's coming next.

"Your mom left when you were young, huh?" he asks.

I heavily breathe in and out and then try my hardest to downplay the situation. "Yeah. But it's fine. I've moved on."

"Have you, though?"

"I'm not answering that. Want some chips?" I ask, pushing the bag toward him.

"Stas..."

"I didn't bring you here to play therapist, Jack. So, please, just let it go."

"Okay. I won't force you to talk about it. But I'm here if you ever want to."

I look down because my eyes start to well up, and before I know it, Jack gets up from the other end of the table and makes his way toward me. He takes the seat next to mine and scoots it even closer, reaching for my hand.

"You don't have to be so brave all the time, Stas," he whispers and I pick my head back up to look at him.

"Yeah, I do. People are counting on me."

"You mean your dad?" he asks and I just nod. A teardrop runs down my cheek and Jack reaches his thumb out to touch it, slowly wiping it away.

My eyes peer up to look at him. He's so close to my face that if I wasn't thinking, I'd probably kiss him. We gaze at one another, knowing what could happen next.

Suddenly, we're interrupted when my dad walks into the room and clears his throat.

"Dad. Hi," I nervously say, pulling back immediately.

"Hi," he skeptically says, looking at me and then at Jack.

Jack gets up and puts his hand out as he makes his way over to my dad. "Hello, sir, I'm Jack. Carrington."

My dad shakes Jack's hand and says, "Yes. I know exactly who you are."

***

Jack didn't stay too long after that and it was only because we had dinner reservations at Cal's Tacos. Like I knew he would, dad extended the invite to Jack, but the lacrosse team was having a team dinner at Johnny's house. Initially, I had thought that it was an excuse, but that thought was put to rest when Jack sent me a selfie of him with the guys and 10 pies of pizza.

My mind is not at dinner, though. It's thinking about my almost-kiss with Jack. It's thinking about how I wish we weren't interrupted. It's thinking about how I maybe, might be catching feelings for the one person I said I wouldn't.

"You're grinning from ear-to-ear," Molly says. "I mean the mahi-mahi is good, but I've had better fish tacos."

"It's not the tacos. I have to tell you something."

"Okay...," her eyes dart from side-to-side, "...what is it?"

I anxiously look at my dad, who raises his eyebrows at me.

"I'll tell you later."

"Anything you want to say to Molly, you can say in front of me, Anastasia dear," my dad remarks. "It's not like I didn't see it almost happen."

"See what almost happen?" Molly asks.

I look away from my dad and back to her. "Jack and I almost kissed."

"Until I barged in and ruined the moment," my dad says. "Unintentionally, though."

"You and Jack almost kissed? As in you and Jack Carrington?" she shrieks and I give her a shy nod. "Why are you so calm about this right now?"

"I don't know. I haven't really had time to think about it," I shrug.

"You can't just spring this onto me and expect us not to talk about it."

"Molly, what do you know about this Jack guy?" dad asks.

"Uh...," she begins, but I make a 'cut it out' gesture to Molly so that she doesn't disclose any bad stuff. "...He's rich."

Nice one, Molly.

"What else?" my dad chuckles.

"To be honest, I don't really know him that well, Mr. M. We run in different social circles."

"Well, that doesn't make me feel better," my dad sighs as he reaches for his water.

"Dad, relax. It wasn't a big deal. It didn't mean anything."

"Didn't look that way to me."

"Oh my God," Molly exclaims. "Tell me everything."