Don't Give up on Me

I had never been so happy about the freedom of driving, and driving alone, until I got to make the drive to and from L.A. for the State competition. I got to think about everything as I sat in traffic, and for once, I didn't mind. I had some thinking to do, anyways.

I hadn't had the best weekend, for many reasons. It started before I had even left, on Thursday night. It was my last night in town before the competition, and Zack didn't have a game until Saturday, so we were able to spend it together when he got out of practice. As usual, I procrastinated packing my things until the absolute last minute, so I was running around the apartment and trying to find all of our travel bags so I could pack efficiently when Zacky arrived.

He came in and greeted me as usual, and then raided the fridge until he found whatever it was that he wanted. While I decided what makeup to bring along, he showered, and had just gotten out when I finally had it all packed.

I had never felt like such a girl. I hadn't even started on what I was going to wear. I disappeared into my closet and carefully began to choose what I'd drive down in, what I'd wear at the competition, pajamas to bring, and normal, everyday clothes for the extra days we were staying.

I was so busy with that and didn't think twice to see him sitting on my bed, reading one of my college applications. In my peripheral vision, though, I recognized the NYU logo through the paper and froze, unsure of what to do. Sure, I meant to tell him, but I didn't know if I was going to even send the damn thing, let alone go to the school.

"You're considering New York?" he asks quietly, not looking up from the application. I swear he sounded defeated, but I told myself that I was imagining it.

I figured honesty was better than lying. "Yeah. Sort of? Mrs. Jackson really wants me to apply, you know? It was my dream school, but I don't really know anymore..."

I internally groaned. I still couldn't bring myself to be honest about it, and I was sure he could tell.

"Why not? You're... perfect for New York," he says, and I knew that I heard defeat this time.

"Hey," I said softly, and he finally met my gaze. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm just sending it to please her and to be able to say I applied. That's it. Got it?"

He relaxed slightly, but didn't seem completely convinced. "Got it."

You see, that killed me. That was the first time I ever lied to him in the year that we'd been together, and it wasn't about something small. I was lying about my future, and I knew that he didn't believe it, either. I mailed the application as soon as I had arrived in L.A. and hadn't given it second thought.

Until the day of the competition, anyways. USC was a spectacular campus, and by far my favorite one that we had toured this weekend. Thanks to Cara, I got the homie hookup and snuck around with her while the judges convened about every piece in the conference room. The art studio was nice, but not nearly as nice as NYU. I made those same comparisons in every way possible. I kept telling myself that I held that hope too high and needed to come back down to ground level, where practical goals existed.

I could see myself walking those halls, but something didn't feel right and I couldn't place it.

Finally, the conference room was opened and all of the contestants gathered in the lecture hall. Every piece was displayed in a row and they each were so unique, so beautiful. Mrs. Jackson stood behind me, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Cara flashed me a bright, confident smile.

I turned and looked toward the speaker, whose name I unfortunately didn't catch when we arrived this morning. "First, I would like to congratulate the sixteen talented individuals who competed this year. You've made mine, and six other people's decisions difficult this year, with how much creativity and pure talent is shown today.

"As not to waste time, I would like to name the final placings. In third place, receiving a $500 grant towards the university of their choice, is Mr. Andrew Delano."

With jet black gelled back hair, Andrew walked with an arrogant stride, the sneer on his face a reaction to his placing. He received the envelope affiliated with the grant and his ribbon and trophy before walking offstage and swiftly out of the room.

A nervous murmur erupted in the crowd, but was quickly silenced when the woman spoke again. "In second place, receiving a $1,000 grant toward the university of their choice as well as the chance to attend a summer class here at USC for free, is Ms. Elaine Liddel."

I felt my stomach drop right then. What if I didn't even place?

Elaine was much more graceful and respectful when she received her prizes, obviously thankful for the opportunity. The speaker smiled before proceeding.

"And, last but not least, in first place, receiving $1,500 towards a university of their choice-- which, if I may say, is any at this point-- and again, the chance to receive a free art class this summer here at USC, is... Ms. Andria Dawson."

I should have felt happy knowing that I had won. Well, I did, but it was tinged with so much guilt that I couldn't enjoy it. I just hoped that when I smiled for pictures that my smile was convincing enough, because all I could think about was how NYU had suddenly seemed a hell of a lot easier to go to.

I couldn't think that way. I practically promised Zacky that I would stay here.

But, now I felt more confused than ever. And that was why I was cruising down the PCH at ten o'clock Sunday night, with a cigarette in hand as I coasted along in the Mustang. I felt more and more nervous as I got closer and closer to Huntington Beach, and I was running out of cigarettes. Cara spilled the beans as soon as my placing was announced, so I was sure that I would get ambushed by everyone whenever I arrived. For the first time, I wasn't up for celebration. What I needed was a nice, long think.

I exited and followed the service road until I was able to cross onto the interstate, and decided I would explore my neighboring cities instead of going home. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyways.

A guilty mind tends to do that to a person.