I MAKE my way back to my private room, grateful for the reprieve. Though I don’t have long to bask in the silence because my phone starts ringing, startling me.
Dad flashes across the screen and I realize with a sinking feeling that I never did call him after he sent that text.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy. The day got away from me,” is how I answer.
His chuckle is rich and warm, making me smile despite how agitated I still am over that confrontation between Fig and Maggie. And me, I guess. I’ve never been involved in something like that before in my life, and it was disconcerting. “I’ve heard from the head of the Art History Department at Columbia.”
My heart flies up and sinks, all at the same time. “Oh.”
“Don’t you want to know what he had to say?”
I already know. He’s dying to have me attend. Thanks to my father calling in a favor. “What did he say?” I keep my voice light and bubbly, exactly how he wants me. His sweet and happy daughter, who would do anything for her daddy. He feels the exact same way.
When it suits him.
“They want you, darling. You’re in,” he says, bursting with pride.
“Oh. That’s so great,” I say, my voice weak. I settle into the chair at my desk, staring out the nearby window that overlooks the campus. There are a few students milling about, though I can’t make out who’s who. They all look the same, since they’re still mostly in uniform.
“You don’t sound happy, Pumpkin.” I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “I thought Columbia is where you wanted to go the most.”
I never said that. I just always agreed with him when he went on and on about how great the college is and that they have a solid art program. Not that I want to be an artist—more like I want to study art. Someday, I would love to work in a gallery or museum. Maybe even have my own art gallery, where I could discover up and coming artists and support them.
That’s my dream, and my parents know it. They also encourage it, though I don’t think they believe I could do anything on my own. I’m sure they’re just indulging me. Daddy’s motives are not for me, but for himself.
Columbia University is too close. New York City means no escape because that’s where my family lives. Where I grew up.
I want something different. Far away.
It’ll never happen if my father has anything to say about it.
“I’m thrilled. Really.” I infuse my voice with excitement, hoping he can detect it. “Thank you so much for talking to him. I can’t wait to see where else I get in.”
“Does any other college matter? I thought Columbia was end game.”
I’m not about to list the colleges where I applied, the ones I really want to go to. He’ll call them up and get me in, or he’ll flat out tell me I can’t go to some of the locations. I can’t risk it.
“It’s smart to have options, Daddy.”
“You’re right. Options are always good to have. A backup plan.” I can envision him nodding his agreement.
“Can I talk to Mom?”
“Oh, I’m not with her. I’m currently in Boston, on business. I’ll head home Friday. You should call her. She probably misses you.”
“I was just with you guys this weekend.” I arrived on campus yesterday afternoon, after spending all of Thanksgiving break with my parents.
“We always miss you, darling. Especially your mother. You know how needy she gets.” I do. And she doesn’t necessarily need me—she needs him. Not that he notices. “How was school?”
I give him a brief rundown, careful not to mention anything about Crew or Fig and Maggie. This day has been unlike any other day I’ve had so far at Lancaster Prep.
And I’ve had a lot of days here. I didn’t expect my senior year to take such a dramatic turn, and so quickly. It’s all drama I’m not necessarily involved in too, which is odd.
I don’t usually find myself in the middle of drama.
We talk for a few minutes more before I hear a soft feminine voice say, “Harvey, let’s go.”
“I’ll talk to you later, darling. Just wanted to give you the good news. Make sure you tell all of your friends. Love you.” He ends the call before I can say goodbye.
I set my phone on my desk, staring at it. Who told my father it was time to go? A business associate? His assistant? I know he has a new one, though I don’t remember her name.
Or was it another woman?
He’s been known to cheat. Men as powerful as my father always seem to, which is disappointing. Maybe that’s why loyalty is so important to me. Maybe that’s why I’m afraid to get involved with any boy.
The boys never seem to stick around. And most of them can’t be faithful, like it’s in their DNA or something. They become so easily bored, so quickly. It’s as if once a girl gives it up to them, they’re ready to move on.
Look at Figueroa and Maggie. It’s obvious they’ve been involved for a while, which is almost too much for me to comprehend. He’s taking such a risk, getting involved with a student. The rumors have been rampant about him for years—even before I started attending Lancaster, but it’s never been officially confirmed.
That little confrontation I observed was definite confirmation. Maggie was furious. I wonder if she truly thought Fig was trying to make a move on me? I don’t think he was. I just think he was being kind. He felt bad for me because he caught me crying in the hall, and I’ve heard plenty of times that men don’t like tears. My father never has.
Men. I don’t understand them.
Suddenly craving a snack, I pull open a desk drawer and pull out a Blow Pop, tearing off the wrapper and tossing it in the small wastebasket before I pop it into my mouth. I suck on the sweet cherry candy, the burst of sugar coating my mouth.
My one major indulgence that’s not healthy for me. I watch what I eat and drink, but I have a sweet tooth. I love candy, especially lollipops.
There’s a sudden knock on my door and a booming voice sounds from the other side. “Beaumont! You have a visitor!”
I lean back in my chair, surprise rippling through me. Who could want to visit me? We’re allowed visitors in the common room of the dorm building, which is on the first floor and near the front desk where our RAs sit with their all-seeing eyes. Visitors are the occasional townie or boys. Boyfriends. Lots of couples hang out in the common room after school.
I don’t have a clue what that’s like. I’ve never hung out in the common room with Sam, and he’s my closest male friend. If we do anything together, it’s during lunch, or we go to the library.
“Thank you. I’ll be right down!” I call to the person who’s probably already taken off.
Rising to my feet, I go to the full-length mirror, holding the lollipop in between my fingers as I contemplate myself. Popping the sucker in my mouth, I tuck my shirt deeper into the waistband of my skirt before I run a hand across my hair to smooth it out. I ditched the jacket the moment I got in my room, and I was about to change into more comfortable clothes before my dad called.
This will have to do.
I skip down the stairs, since I’m only on the second floor, not bothering to take the old, iffy elevator. That thing breaks down more than it actually works.
When I enter the common room, I come to a stop when I see who’s leaning against the back of one of the old couches. His long legs are crossed at his ankles, and he’s still wearing his uniform, though he ditched the jacket just like I did.
Crew Lancaster.
He’s got his head bent, staring at his phone, his golden-brown hair tumbling across his forehead. The tie is gone too, a few buttons undone at the top, revealing the strong column of his throat. Offering a glimpse of his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and my gaze drops to his forearms. They’re corded with muscle and dusted with golden hair and an unfamiliar, weird feeling starts to pulse low.
Between my legs.
I try to ignore the sensation as I watch Crew, sucking hard on the candy in my mouth. He’s not even doing anything but standing there, and he still exudes an authoritative aura.
Like he owns the place.
Which he does.
I lightly clear my throat and his head jerks up, his blue eyes meeting mine and I just stare at him.
His gaze drops to my lips, noting the lollipop stick, and I grab it, pulling the sucker from my mouth. “What do you want?” I ask him, my tone haughty, trying to hide the nervousness currently twisting my insides.
He pushes away from the couch and pockets his phone as he slowly approaches me. “You have a minute?”
I glance over my shoulder at the two RAs sitting behind the desk, neither of them paying any attention to us. It doesn’t matter. I want him to know I know they’re there, and they would come to my rescue if this guy so much as says one rude thing to me. “Sure.”
I follow him across the room until we’re both settling in overstuffed chairs that face each other, a low, round table in between us. There aren’t many other people in the room, so we have some privacy, though I’m sure it’ll go around campus by the morning that Crew and Wren were seen together, talking.
Crew and Wren. I never realized before how close our names are. That they share three letters. Hmm.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask when he still hasn’t said anything. He must use his silence to unnerve people, and it works.
Quite well.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies me. “Just had an interesting chat with Skov.”
My eyes fall briefly shut with humiliation, and I plop the sucker back into my mouth. Could this day get any worse?
“I’m pissed at you, Birdy. She asked me if I’ve ever done anything inappropriate that would upset you so much. What the hell are you telling her?”
“Look, you don’t want to work with me—”
“You’re damn right I don’t, not if you’re going to tell teachers that I’m sexually harassing you or what the fuck ever you said to her.” His words are like bullets, piercing my skin.
“I never said that—”
“You implied it. That’s what I got from Skov, and I had to defend myself, without making you look like a flat-out liar.” He hesitates, his cold stare making me helplessly shiver. “Which you are.”
“I didn’t say you did anything inappropriate. I just told her you said vulgar and crude things.”
“Curse words. That’s it. I never said anything about wanting to fuck you.”
I’m taken aback at his fierce tone, and the words he just said. The dark way he skims his gaze over me. As if he actually might want to do—exactly that to me.
My mind takes me to a place I don’t want to be, like I can’t help myself. But really…what would it be like, to have this boy’s total attention? To have him look at me as if he actually cares, and not with so much hatred?
My gaze drops to his arms, the way his biceps strain against the white cotton fabric. What would it feel like, to have him hold me? Whisper sweet words in my ear—though he’s probably incapable of that.
I stare at his mouth, his lips. How perfectly shaped they are, with a slightly fuller lower lip. How would he kiss—soft and sweet? Or hard and fierce? I think of the books I’ve read, the movies I’ve watched, and imagine that first moment, the slow slide of his tongue against mine—
No. No, no, no. That is the very last thing I want.
“You said it just now,” I point out shakily.
He glares. “I didn’t mean it. Trust me, you’re the last girl I want to fuck.”
And now I’m insulted, which is so stupid. “Good, because you’re never going to be able to.”
“I know. We all know.” He leans back in the chair, the tension easing from him somewhat. Why, I’m not sure. “You can’t go around saying shit like that. Teachers take those kinds of accusations seriously, no matter how thinly veiled they are. They have to follow up on everything.”
I wasn’t even thinking about the repercussions of my words when I pled my case to Skov earlier. I was just looking for a way out of the project. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”
“Jesus, you really are always so damn nice, aren’t you?” He seems surprised by my quick apology, though he just ruined it by being rude to me. What else is new? “You didn’t get me into trouble. I just had to deal with Skov and her endless questions. Just—watch what you say. We’re stuck with each other. Deal with it.”
“Is that all you came here to tell me?”
Crew nods.
“You could’ve just sent it in an email.” We have access to the student email directory, as well as the staff.
“I wanted to tell it to your face, so you could see just how pissed off I am.” He glares, though it’s not as intense as when we first started talking. “Your actions have consequences, Birdy. You need to be careful.”
I hold onto the lollipop stick, sucking hard on the candy, contemplating breaking it apart with my teeth when Crew says, “One more thing.”
“What?” I pull the sucker out of my mouth.
“You really shouldn’t eat those things in front of me.” He nods toward the sucker in my hand.
“Why not?” I frown.
“Watching you play with that thing in your mouth, all I can think about is you sucking my dick,” he says, his tone casual. As if he just didn’t say what he said.
And with that, he gets out of the chair and strides away, not letting me say anything in response. Leaving me sitting there, my mind going over all the things I could’ve said to him.
He’s unnecessarily rude toward me.
Says extremely vulgar things, just to get a reaction.
Calls me by a silly nickname that I don’t particularly like.
But he didn’t give me the chance.
Typical. I’m starting to realize that’s how everyone treats me. It’s as if they all talk at me, instead of with me. I’m never involved in the conversation. I’m only supposed to sit there and take it like a good little girl.
It’s annoying.
Worse?
It hurts.
