Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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As far as I can see, the sky above is a dark wall of deep gray and black, and the low warning rumbles of thunder vibrate through the truck as we speed down the empty highway. I've been trying not to smile like an idiot for the past twenty minutes as I look through the adorable family pictures I was able to take before we left. I'd taken at least twenty different shots of them standing together in front of the fireplace when his grandma requested that I use the timer to get into a picture with them. I was about to object because it didn't seem right to barge in on their family photo, but as soon as she asked, his mom insisted, claiming that it would only be fitting to have a picture of us all together.
It only took me a few seconds to figure out how to configure the settings for the timer, and then I was corralled into the middle of the group, right between Mrs. Beck and Olivia. I ended up standing right in front of Tristan, who I looked up to see smiling down at me as the first shutter of the camera sounded. I turned my attention back to the lens and beamed at the camera to take a proper picture, but as I look back at the camera roll, my heart tumbles over itself as I watch the moment play out on the small display.
The first picture shows me looking up at Tristan as he smiles down at me while everyone else smiles at the camera. The second shows me looking back down at the camera with a beaming smile, although Tristan's smile is noticeably different than before—it's a softer smile, a warmer one, and his eyes aren't looking up at the camera; instead, they're still trained on me. His eyes stay on me through the third and fourth picture, and it's not until the fifth that he's looking up at the camera again, though his warm smile remains on his face for that one, and the sight sends a shiver down my spine.
Looking down at the display, I already know I'm going to print the picture out and frame it, even if I have to keep it hidden under my pillow. The fact that I have a picture of Tristan smiling down at me is enough for me to melt on the spot, and when I smile up at the man next to me, who's humming along to the song playing softly in the background, he just glances over with a lazy grin, as if this moment—us driving home right before the storm hits—is somehow the most peaceful thing in the world to him.
I place the camera into my bag and settle back into the seat when I see the sign for Pullman. We're only five minutes away from his house, and if we're lucky, we'll beat the storm before the downpour starts. It's nearly four, and the sun should be setting soon, but the wall of black clouds doesn't allow for the fleeting sunlight to peek through.
The small town I've grown so fond of passes by as we drive past campus. The usually busy streets and sidewalks are nearly empty since everyone has already escaped inside, and as he turns onto the main road past the university, the first flash of lightning illuminates the black sky. A loud clap of thunder follows, and then as if on cue, sheets of fat raindrops fall heavily against the truck.
Tristan flicks on his blinker and his windshield wipers as he pulls into the turn lane toward the entrance of his neighborhood. He drives us along the curved roadway, trees lining each side as if the neighborhood is nestled in the middle of a forest, and I admire the way the wind is now pushing and pulling the leaves of the trees in a sort of dance.
