Seven Years of Us, One Year of Me Chapter 01

Seven Years of Us, One Year of Me Chapter 01

Adrian West and I had been together for six years.

Freshman year of high school, he was playing basketball on the court when I walked past. The ball rolled to my feet.

He ran over to pick it up, looked up at me, and smiled.

I remembered that smile for six years.

Sophomore year, when we chose our academic tracks, we ended up in different courses. He leaned toward STEM, while I leaned toward the humanities and social sciences.

He would wait outside my classroom after class, leaning against the hallway railing with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

When I came out, he naturally took my backpack from me.

“Let’s go.”

It happened every day.

For an entire year.

Senior year, one winter night, he rode his bike to take me home.

The wind was fierce in the back seat, so he told me to put my hands into the pockets of his jacket.

His pockets were warm.

I asked him, “Which college do you want to go to?”

“Princeton University. You?”

My grades were lower than his.

Princeton was an Ivy League school.

That year, I got up at five every morning to study and went to bed at midnight.

My mom thought I had finally understood the importance of hard work.

I only wanted to follow him to the same city.

The day the admission letters came out, he rode his bike to the street below my apartment.

“Sloane Bennett, I got in.”

“I got in too.”

He froze for a second.

Then he smiled.

That smile was huge, even brighter than the one on the basketball court freshman year.

He picked me up and spun me around.

“You’re so stupid.”

“You’re the stupid one.”

On move-in day at Princeton University, we checked in together.

He helped me carry my luggage, make my bed, and wipe down my closet.

My roommate asked, “Your boyfriend?”

Before he could answer, I nodded.

He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

I remembered that look for a very long time.

Later, on the nights when I thought back on it, I confirmed it over and over again.

Back then, he really must have liked me.

Freshman year of college was perfect.

Every morning, he waited downstairs outside my dorm, and we went to the dining hall together.

He ate burgers. I drank hot soup.

He picked the sweeter soup for me and said I didn’t like salty food.

Actually, I had never told him that.

He noticed it himself.

At night, when we studied in the library, he saved me the seat by the window.

Outside the window was a row of ginkgo trees. In the fall, the leaves turned yellow and drifted down.

He said they were beautiful.

I said they were.

He took a photo and made it his phone wallpaper.

That Christmas, the school held a dance on the field.

There were so many people, but he held my hand and squeezed us all the way to the front.

He danced with me in front of everyone, then leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Sloane Bennett, happy second year.”

I asked, “What second year?”

“Our second year together. There’ll be a third, and a fourth, and a fifth…”

The music was soft and winding.

I didn’t hear the rest clearly.

But his eyes were bright.

Back then, I thought we would go on like that forever.