Into the Stars (USC Series Book #2)

chapter eighteen

A strangled sound comes from the other side of the kitchen, morphing into a dry cough upon one suspicious look from Brooklynn. There is no need for me to look at him. I know who it was without even looking.

See? There is one person not buying your bullshit.

I down the last sip of my coffee, rinsing it in the sink and placing it in the dishwasher before walking back up the creaky wooden stairs to get ready for the day.

・    ・    ・

Strewn out in front of me are piles of textbooks underlying all the important information needed to put together an essay one of my professors gave out to the class to work on during the week off. It is a straightforward task and even after only spending the past three or four hours writing it; I am almost halfway finished. Not to mention, the only thing left to do for my application to the University of California for medical school is to go over the last few details.

I skim over one last page of the textbook; the words meshing together as my gaze lingers longer and longer. My fingers move across the keyboard, jotting down some notes to come back to. I close my textbooks, putting them in a neat pile on the counter for me to take when I go back upstairs later.

Rubbing circles on my temples, I remove my glasses, my vision blurring for a fleeting moment before returning to normal. I slide off of the kitchen stool, wandering around aimlessly for a minute or two, trying to remember where everything is.

My stomach growls, and I cannot remember the last time I have eaten. Not feeling overly peckish about something fancy, I grab the ingredients to make the first thing that comes to mind. Thank fuck someone went grocery shopping since we came here and everything I need is here.

Thirty minutes later, sitting in the same spot, in utter silence bathing in the house's stillness, I shovel small mouthfuls of chicken carbonara into my mouth.

The silence leaves too much room for pondering that I am almost having trouble knowing what to think. It is only midday and everyone else will not be home for at least another five or so houses, leaving me alone in this empty house. Perhaps I could go on a run and explore the ski village that Brooklynn came home raving about after she found some of the cutest knick-knack shops the other day.

To gauge the current weather outdoors, I gaze out at the expanse of glass lining the back wall across from me. Today, the weather is alright. It isn't snowing, but grey clouds hang low in the sky, concealing the sun away. There isn't much wind, which will be nice if I go on a run. There is nothing worse than the ice-cold wind prickling on my skin like tiny needles threatening to puncture every inch of my face.

I savor the last bite of my pasta, compulsively deciding then and there that, as a way to bide time, I will go wander through the ski village. Discarding my plate and hauling all my heavy textbooks upstairs, I shrug into some running gear that I am hoping will limit my chances of freezing to death.

The sound of snow crunching beneath my every step powers me. And also the uplifting beat of a Taylor Swift song fuels me, forcing each step in beat with the song. In a matter of minutes, I am a few feet away from a side entrance to the village. As I stride forward, my breath labored and blood pumping in my veins, I stare at the sight in front of me.

Brooklynn was right. There is something about the quaint shops lining either side of the walkway that makes it feel... homey. Snow patches are scattered near the shops, pavers paneling the ground people wander on. String lights hang from poles and wrap around the occasional pine tree. This town looks like the picturesque one you imagine when you think of a snow village of any sort.