“What?” “We can make a bet.” I huffed. “No.” “Rock, paper, scissors. If I win, you’re going to chase your dreams—wings spread, eyes on the sky, no looking back. If you win…” His face fell. “Then I guess you’re right.” My cheeks warmed, my insides fluttering like my tiny, weakened wings. “Okay.” “Okay.” His smile returned, and our hands went into position. I didn’t overthink it this time. One, two— I did scissors. Reed did rock.
