Jess pulls my drum over his head and raps out a quick rhythm. Seconds later, Shay stuffs her books into her backpack leaving us for the library.

“Bye. Nice meeting you!” Willow yells over the loud sounds popping off of the drumhead in front of Jess. As soon as the door closes, she grabs the sticks from Jess’s hands and passes them to me. “You ran her off; what’s wrong with you?”

Jess shrugs, pulling the harness back over his head and resting it on the floor. “Some chicks don’t dig drummers. Not my problem,” he says, jumping backward to lie on my bed. Willow tosses his feet to the side when he does.

“You’re getting shit all over her bed,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Great to know you two are still getting along so well,” I joke, straddling my chair and sitting as Willow moves to sit next to Jess. She pulls her legs up and sticks her tongue out at him. He reacts, grabbing her quickly and pulling her on top of him, tickling her until eventually they’re kissing. “Wow. That’s my bed you’re on,” I say, standing and closing the clasps on the sleeves of my uniform.

“I can’t believe you’re marching. I can’t wait to see this,” Willow says, beaming with pride, as if she is responsible for me being able to walk and pound a plastic surface at the same time. Actually, that took practice too, but thankfully the instructor and I get along really well. Both of us play the piano and love jazz, which has made him more tolerant of the two left feet I seem to walk on.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to read a text from Owen.

I’m at the stairs.

“He’s here,” I say, picking up my drum and ushering my friends out the door. I lock up just in time to see Owen step through the stairwell door and walk toward my room. College has been good to him. I swear he’s an inch taller, if that’s possible, and his face and body—all of him—more of a man than he was a year before.

More than the physical, though, is the peace that seems to have come to him. It didn’t happen all at once, and there were times when I thought this idea—this plan he concocted during a two-hour drive from the Iowa-Illinois state border back to Woodstock—was going to explode and ruin us both forever. But Owen stuck with it. Something changed during that drive, an idea found its way into his head, and it invaded his heart, and he wasn’t going to let it go.

I was happy with the thought of him going to DePaul. I would have been happy in the city, studying with Chen. Not my music, but music still. And I would have seen Owen, our schools only an hour or so away from each other.

But Owen had a flash during that drive, his mind catching on something Mr. Chessman said the day before. DePaul—it wasn’t the only school interested. Owen’s always been bold. The only thing that intimidated him was the idea of forgiving himself for not being able to save his father and James. Calling his coach at seven in the morning, asking for names, schools, the list of people who have asked to see his highlight tapes and stats—that was easy. And when his coach mentioned that the University of Illinois had been calling a lot lately, that was all he needed to hear.

He stopped at a diner in Rockford, made a few calls, and mentioned to a certain scout that he was getting some serious offers from DePaul. Then he looked up the University’s music program, more specifically the jazz division, and saved it. Thirty minutes—and one speeding ticket—later, he found me.

“I still think the uniform’s sexy,” he says, making the few final steps to me, pulling both ends of my bright orange jacket into him until I’m fully in his arms. He kisses my neck and tries to work my jacket from my body, but I push him away.

“So, I’m late for warm-ups, and Jess and Will are here,” I say, tilting my head toward the end of the hall where my friends both raise a hand to say hello. Owen pulls his hat low on his head, feigning he’s embarrassed at being caught. I know he’s not—Owen still loves to kiss in public.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Okay, but we’re ditching them after the game, just for a little while.”

“Bright orange jacket just does it for you, huh?” I joke, spinning in my obnoxiously florescent uniform. He stops me mid-spin, wrapping his arms around me and pulling my back into his chest.

“You do it for me,” he says, his words always perfect.

We walk to the game, and I join the band while Owen guides Will and Jess over to the student section. He sits with the other guys on the basketball team, and they usually get shown on TV once or twice. I mentioned this to Willow, and I noticed she was wearing a lot more makeup tonight than she normally does.