Sitting in this corner, perched on a tall stool with my sketchbook and lemonade crammed together on a small table, I have a perfect view of Kyle’s office door. Sounds good, right?

Nope.

It’s distracting as hell. Every time there’s a flash of movement in the corner of my eye, every time the volume of chatter dips, even for a split second, my chin jerks up and I stare at that door, my sketchbook forgotten.

That squirmy, restless feeling churns in my stomach. I shift on my stool, my lilac t-shirt dress sticking to my back from sweat, and stare at that closed door with dry eyes, desperate for a...