“Applications?” I asked absentmindedly.
Maci gave me a bewildered look. “For four-year schools. What else?”
“Oh! Right,” I said, trying to recover as a jolt of anxiety coursed through me. The truth was that all thoughts of applying to four-year schools had fallen off my radar, and that realization was alarming.
For years, all I’d planned to do was work hard to get into the art school program that my mom had attended but never finished. I rubbed my brow, realizing that I hadn’t even thought of the school in months.
“I’ve submitted four applications so far. I have a few more to do. It’s the essays that are killer. Do you have to do an essay for the art school application, or is it more of a portfolio thing?”
“Both. A portfolio plus a written statement.” The words came out automatically. I had been tracking the admissions requirements for the school for years. How had the fact that the application window was now open completely slipped my notice?
A strange loosening occurred in the pit of my stomach, as if I could feel something slipping out of my reach.
“Are you okay? You look a little pale.” Maci’s forehead was pinched in concern.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, taking a large sip of my tea. I was suddenly very glad I’d brought a potent calming chamomile blend from Evergreen Academy to Vera’s Café.
Maci continued to fill me in on the status of each of her applications and the current rankings of where she was most hoping to get accepted. I tried to listen carefully and respond where appropriate, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Without realizing it was coming, I had reached a crossroads. This was the point where I decided whether to continue chasing the dreams I’d had before learning I was a magical botanist—the dreams I thought my mom would want me to fulfill—or to take a new path that was completely unknown and see where it led.
With everything that I was invested in at Evergreen Academy, thoughts of attending art school had slipped my mind. What did it mean that I was no longer striving for that?
I needed to discuss this with someone, but no one met all the criteria. Maci and my aunt were obvious choices in the past, but they didn’t know what was really going on at Evergreen Academy. Yasmin would be a supportive listener, but she’d grown up in the world of magical botany. Would she understand my dilemma?
And then there was Callan. I knew he could empathize. His parents wanted him on one path, and he wanted to be on another. But could I really compare what I was experiencing to his muchmore unpleasant situation? The only person who was forcing me to choose between these two paths was me.
I let out a deep breath and set an alarm on my phone to remind me to complete the art school application that weekend. I took another sip of my tea and reassured myself I didn’t need to make any choices now. I needed to leave the door open and hope that, when the time came, I would know what to do.
“Ready to go get our Frank cuttings?” Maci asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Our candy shift is just about over.”
“Right, let me make sure Mathew is ready to take over for us.”
“My mom takes a cutting every year. Our backyard is starting to look like an orchard of mis-sized trees.”
I laughed. “Aunt Vera took a cutting last year, and it’s still in a little pot in her living room. It takes forever for those cuttings to become actual tree-sized.”
“Some of my mom’s oldest ones are a decent height now. A few are even providing some shade in the summer. My grandma once joked they must be magic trees since even my mom and her black thumb managed to keep them alive.”
I went to the back of the bakery where Mathew was just finishing clocking in. Once we passed off the candy pot, Maci and I headed to the Wildflower Trail at SCC.
The parking lot was nearly full, and families were streaming down the trail to Frank, the oldest oak in town. I turned to my left and saw a truck I recognized.
“Callan’s here,” I breathed, surprised.
Maci raised her eyebrows. “This wasn’t a planned meetup between you two?”
I shook my head, and we joined the others heading to the tree. When we got there, I spotted Callan hovering near the back of the gathering crowd.
“Hey, what are you doing here? Didn’t you know this was a locals event?” I teased as I came up beside him.
“I’m emptying the tree boxes after this. Professor East said theyfill up after this event. I offered since I figured you might be here.” Callan’s words were quiet so that Maci couldn’t hear. She was busy greeting one of her neighbors and didn’t notice.
“Good guess,” I said, thinking of the time I had helped Callan empty the boxes the previous year.
“So, what’s this all about anyway? Professor East just said it was a popular local event.” Callan indicated the gathered people.
“Just an old town tradition. Every year, on Halloween, an arborist harvests cuttings from Frank. He’s informally labeled Weed’s oldest tree, and having a cutting from him is considered good luck. People take their cuttings home and grow them in pots until they’re large enough to be planted.”
