This Multiple Choice Question Only Had Me As The Answer Chapter 04
Two weeks later, my acceptance letter arrived.
Liberty Military Academy. Early admission.
Report date was mid-August, two weeks earlier than most other colleges.
I ran my fingers over the embossed school name on the envelope. My heart felt steady.
The day before I left, I thought it over and decided to call Jordan.
It wasn’t because I couldn’t let go.
Our families were close. They’d still see each other in the future. Out of respect for fifteen years of friendship, I wanted to say some things face to face.
The phone rang for a long time before he picked up.
The background was loud, shopping mall noise.
I could faintly hear Yvonne’s voice, “Jordan, do you like the pink suitcase or the white one?”
“Hey, what’s up?” His tone was casual.
“Are you free this afternoon? I’d like to see you. There’s something I want to say in person.”
He hesitated. “Today’s not great. Yvonne’s shopping for dorm stuff, and I’m helping her. How about another day? I’ll come find you.”
Before, I would have just hung up quietly.
But this was the last time.
“Jordan, it has to be today. Even just thirty minutes tonight.” I paused. “Tomorrow will be too late.”
A second of silence passed on the line.
Then Yvonne’s voice rang out, “Oh, my feet hurt…”
Jordan’s attention slipped.
He said something soothing to her, then came back to me. “I really can’t get away right now. What’s so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow? I’ll take you to dinner tomorrow. We can talk then. Be good.”
Be good.
That word used to mean something when Jordan said it to me. His way of showing affection.
Now it was just a way to shut me up.
I smiled to myself.
“Okay. I understand. Sorry to bother you.”
I hung up cleanly.
This time, I wasn’t disappointed.
Because I’d stopped expecting anything a long time ago.
That night, I was cleaning out my desk drawer when I found an old tin box.
Inside were photos of me and Jordan from when we were kids, little trinkets he’d given me, and a notebook full of math problems he’d corrected for me.
On the first page, in handwriting from our sophomore year, he’d written: [See you at the top. Ivy Coast. We’ll make it.]
I’d bombed a practice exam and was sobbing, convinced I couldn’t keep up with him.
He’d snuck me out of study hall, carried me on his back around the track, lap after lap.
“Even if you don’t get in,” he’d said, “your future will always have me in it.”
What a joke.
I didn’t destroy any of it.
I just put the tin box into a cardboard carton, sealed it up, and gave it to my mom. “Can you give this to Jordan?”
She took the box. She looked like she wanted to say something.
The next morning, I wore a crisp white shirt and pushed my suitcase out the front door. The sun was bright.
My parents drove me to the airport.
At the security checkpoint, my dad patted my shoulder. His eyes were red.
My mom hugged me tight, her chin resting on my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Chloe.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going to be a soldier.”
That got a laugh out of her.
The boarding announcement came.
I turned and walked into the security line. I didn’t look back.
I put my phone on airplane mode.
Three hours later, the plane landed.
A new city. A new path.
The moment I turned off airplane mode, my phone buzzed with messages.
