Spring arrives in RoseWater Creek like a whispered promise, dogwoods blooming white and pink along Main Street, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and fresh cut grass. It should feel like renewal, like hope.
Instead, it feels like a countdown.
Sixty three days until graduation.
Sixty three days until everything changes.
I'm in my room, surrounded by half-finished canvases and charcoal sketches, working on the final pieces for my RISD portfolio. The acceptance letter is pinned to my bulletin board, a constant reminder of the dream I'm about to chase and the person I'm going to leave behind.
My phone buzzes.
**Zeke:** Meet me at the creek in an hour?
**Me:** The spot?
**Zeke:** The spot.
I haven't been back to our childhood hideaway since that day months ago when everything
