LATE NOVEMBER IS when they all say the first snow comes to campus, but this year, it arrives a little earlier. On the eighteenth to be exact, in the middle of the day while I’m in class, bored and staring out the window, light flurries begin to fall, eventually turning into bigger flakes. They stream steadily from the dark sky throughout the afternoon and by nightfall, the entire campus is blanketed in winter white.
The teachers can’t stop talking about the unusual cold front as they mess with the hissing radiators in our classrooms, complaining about the temperature. Lancaster Prep is housed in beautiful historic buildings, their heating and cooling systems archaic. This prompts a debate in American Government, my last class of the day. Students want modernizations to the buildings, arguing that it’s the twenty-first century. Don’t we deserve central heat and air? The teachers agree, but say modernizations would destroy the integrity of the buildings.
This turned into a debate for the rest of class, and I was bored out of my skull. As usual. All I can think about is how badly I want out of here.
But I have nowhere to go.
It’s a strange day. We’re all distracted, staff included. We’re two days away from Friday, the last day before Thanksgiving break. Everyone is anxious to leave the newly formed winter wonderland our campus has magically turned into. Conversations buzzed during classes throughout the day, louder than usual about vacation plans. Tropical getaways, shopping excursions, visits with family—though those are deemed boring. Passe. It’s as if we’re in prison and they’re about to finally let us out.
I wish I could go somewhere. Anywhere. But I’m not leaving. Mother and I spoke often leading up to this week. Stilted conversations on the phone I wish I could replace with the occasional text, they’re so awkward. I don’t mention the break, and neither does she, but it’s there.
We both know it.
As the date draws closer, it hovers between us, until she finally mentions she’s going on a short trip to the Caribbean with a group of friends. Will I be okay alone? She needs the escape, she’s quick to explain, not allowing me to answer her yet. After everything she’s been through, all the suffering throughout the last year. The fire, the insurance claims, handling the estate, the legal fight she’s facing with the first Mrs. Jonas Weatherstone.
What can I say to that? How can I protest? Of course, I tell her to go. I even remind her to take sunscreen, like I’m the parent and she’s the child. I’m the responsible one in our ever-evolving relationship.
That would be hilarious, if it wasn’t so sad.
The dormitories stay open during the break for any students without a place to go, and I let my dorm advisor know I’ll be staying. The sympathetic look on Ms. Thompson’s face annoys the shit out of me, and when she opens her mouth, the words, “I’m sorry,” about to fall from her lips, I cut her off and tell her I have to go or I’ll be late for class.
It’s not true, and we both know it. I met with her during the last part of lunch, Sylvie nowhere to be found, as usual. The thought of spending another lunch hour alone, fed up with the monotony that has become my life since the first of November, almost becomes too much.
It doesn’t help, how on edge I’ve been, waiting for Whit to say something, anything to me. But of course, he remains quiet. Elusive.
A puzzle I can’t put together no matter how hard I try.
He saved me on Halloween night, and the next day, Bryan wasn’t in class. He hasn’t been seen or heard from again, and I know without a doubt Whit got rid of him. Much like he did the poor, stupid Elliot. No male crosses Whit, or challenges his authority on this campus. To do so would mean your end.
Looks like Bryan met his. He won’t be missed. Sometimes I can still feel his hands on me, his tongue in my mouth. How he kept repeating I was a sure thing. I remember how I acted toward him at the party. Dancing, grinding on him. Rubbing my ass against his dick, wearing practically nothing. Maybe Whit was right. Maybe I did ask for Bryan’s attack. I was desperate to get Whit’s attention, but I got someone else’s instead. Someone unwanted.
Whit may have come to my rescue, but he also made me feel like shit. I still feel shitty all these weeks later, thanks to him not talking to me. He’s moved on from me anyway. He’s with Caitlyn now. I see them everywhere together. All over campus. She flutters all around him, eager for his attention, yet he rarely gives it to her. Always with that impassive expression on his face, as if he’d rather be anywhere than there with her.
I know the feeling. I hate that I have that in common with her.
At least he’s seen in public with her. He never really wanted anyone knowing we were together, and that hurts. More than I care to admit. The asshole always did think he was better than me.
Right till the bitter end.
Sylvie still disappears frequently. Whereas she was looking better, now she appears worse. Her health is going rapidly downhill, she tells me when she reappears on campus for a day. Sometimes only an hour before she leaves again. Always haggard and pale. The circles under her eyes grow darker and darker, and I grow more and more concerned. She’s avoiding Spencer, and I don’t know what happened between them on Halloween night, because she’s not talking. Not to me.
Not to anyone.
If she’s not out sick, she’s at endless doctors’ appointments. Specialists. Centers that specialize in this, that and the other. Poked and prodded, x-rays scanned, vitals tracked, new medications introduced. But they still claim they don’t know what’s wrong with her.
“Oh, I could tell them, but no one listens,” she said to me a few days ago, after we ate lunch and were sitting outside together, the brisk wind whipping our hair all around us. The sun was out for approximately fifteen minutes that day, and everyone was soaking it up before it disappeared again. The dark, cloudy days are notorious here. “So I just wait for the day I die, and then maybe someone will figure it all out.”
Her words scare me, but I don’t understand what exactly she’s referring to. And every time I try and ask, she changes the subject.
So I remain quiet, and secretly pray that my only friend at this godforsaken school doesn’t die before the end of the year. I don’t even know if she and Spence had sex yet. She’s never mentioned it.
Whit also still hasn’t returned my journal.
Our deal is finished. He’s not interested in me anymore, that is abundantly clear, yet he won’t return it. Of course I don’t ask for it either. He just goes about his business, spending time with his new plaything, or with his friends, and we don’t speak. No more sneaky, heated glances in the halls or in class either. We’re over that.
I’m over him.
That’s what I try and tell myself.
It’s in American Government where I suffer the most. He sometimes sits directly in front of me, switching up his seat, as if he’s taunting me, reminding me that he’s still there. Larger than life and out to haunt me. I remain at the same desk every single day, arriving to class early, hoping he’ll avoid me. His gaze will meet mine for the briefest second, just before he drops a kiss on Caitlyn’s upturned cheek and they go their separate ways. She sits on the opposite side of the room, directly in front, like a good little student.
While Whit comes to the back of the room on the left side, always sitting directly in front of me.
So close I can smell him. Can stare at the soft hair that lies against his nape. I know the silky feel of his hair around my fingers. I know the groans he makes when he comes. The taste of his mouth when he kisses me. The taste of his cock when he slides it between my lips.
Sometimes I wonder. Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe what happened between us was a dream. Or a nightmare. After he left me by the trees in the middle of the forest, I staggered back to my dorm room, a broken, crying mess. No one came looking for me. Not even Sylvie. She was too wrapped up in her own bullshit with Spencer, so I can’t be angry at her.
Besides, being angry at Sylvie means I have no other friends, and I can’t risk losing her.
I just…
I can’t.
The missing journal burns a hole in my brain and I want it back. Every time I open my desk drawer and see it gone, I become infuriated. I wonder how much of it he’s actually read? If he really does know all of my secrets?
Or did he tease me the entire time and never cracked it open once? That makes more sense. He doesn’t care about me. Why would he care about anything about my past?
He doesn’t. He’s an unfeeling, giant dickhead who deserves a miserable life with a woman who’s been chosen for him versus one he could actually fall in love with on his own. I hope he fucking hates her. I hope she can never give him children. I hope someday he thinks of me, and is filled with burning, mad regret.
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.
After speaking with Miss Thompson and letting her know I’m not going anywhere next week, I go to the library and pretend I’m doing homework. I’m really reading a book on my Kindle app, something dark and disturbing yet totally romantic. I can relate to it. The woman is strong. Defiant. The man is a total alpha, billionaire businessman who barks orders at people instead of speaking to them like a rational human.
With the exception of the woman. He treats her like a queen. Like a fragile, precious thing that only he can protect. And while she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she lets him treat her that way. She enjoys it. He makes her feel special. Cared for.
Loved.
I think of Whit. When he said I was fucking stunning. When he made me feel like I was the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. How I can’t hide my beauty, no matter how hard I try. I didn’t focus on those words so much then, but I do now, replaying them over and over again in my mind. Did he really mean them? Or was he just trying to charm me into giving in to his every need?
“There you are.”
I glance up to find Sylvie standing by the table, a wan smile curling her pale lips. I tuck my phone away, not wanting to get caught reading a dark romance when I should be doing school work, even if it’s just my friend who’s catching me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice ringing with concern, just with that one word. I see annoyance flicker in her gaze. She hates when people ask her about her condition. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She jerks the chair away from the table and settles in, dropping her backpack onto the table with a loud clatter.
I hear the unmistakable shush from Miss Taylor, and Sylvie rolls her eyes.
“Another doctor’s appointment. I told Mother to bring me back here. I wanted to go to class,” she continues.
“We only have one more day,” I remind her gently. “Nothing’s really happening around here anyway. You could’ve skipped it.”
“I needed to get away from her.” Sylvie glances at her phone, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips as she types a reply to someone and sends it. She plops her phone on the table next to her backpack. “I’m so tired of her. Spending time with my mother is exhausting.”
I know the feeling.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, her voice gentle. “I know we haven’t had much of a chance to talk lately, but I know you went through…a rough time Halloween night, and I’m so sorry that happened.”
I want to ask her what exactly she knows, but then again, I don’t want to know what’s been said about me.
Instead, I smile tightly and nod once. “Thanks.”
“You’re okay?” She glances over her shoulder before scooting her chair closer to mine. “Whit took care of the problem.”
“You mean Bryan?” I ask, my brow arched. “I figured.”
“He doesn’t do that for just anyone, you know. He saves those drastic measures for people who terrorize me usually.” She pauses for only a moment. “Now he’s done that for you twice.”
“I don’t know why,” I say airily, trying to act like none of it matters. “He’s with Caitlyn now. I suppose he’ll protect her instead.”
Sylvie dissolves into giggles, shaking her head. “He could give a shit about Caitlyn. I think he likes having her around because she gives him all of those ego strokes he enjoys.”
“Don’t be naïve, Sylvie. Caitlyn is stroking more than his ego,” I snap like a jealous shrew.
Her giggling come to a full stop as she contemplates me. “She wishes she was stroking other parts of him. He always keeps her at an arm’s distance. I asked him why recently. He said he can’t have sex with her. She’d be too clingy.”
I say nothing, desperately wanting to believe Sylvie, and telling myself I don’t care what Whit does anymore.
He’s none of my business.
Her face lights up as she studies me. “Oh my God, I just had the best idea. You should come home with me for Thanksgiving!”
I watch her in stunned silence, her invitation rolling over and over again in my mind. She’s not paying attention to me, having pulled out a piece of plain white paper and resting her hand on top of it. With a pencil, she begins to trace her hand slowly. I recognize what she’s doing and can’t help but smile.
She’s making a turkey.
“I don’t want to intrude,” I start, but she jerks her head up, her gaze imploring.
“Please intrude. I’m dying for you to intrude. It’s so boring at the Newport house. We used to spend the summers there all the time, but after the divorce, now we only go there for Thanksgiving. Mother and Father always spend the holiday together with all of us.”
My mouth pops open. “I thought they were divorced.”
Sylvie concentrates on her turkey once more. “Mother is always saying my father needs to think of the children. As if we’re still a perfect little family unit when Mummy and Daddy are under the same roof. Please. It’s more like she wants to pretend they’re still together. Their divorce is a giant stain on her social status.”
Her voice is laced with bitterness.
“What does your family do for Christmas?”
She lifts her head. “Father draws the line at Christmas. He never spends it with us anymore. He always goes on an exotic vacation with his girlfriend of the month. Since their divorce, he’s living it up, and I suppose I can’t blame him.”
“What about the rest of your family?” I ask.
“Oh. We spend the holidays in Manhattan usually. The city is alive during Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year.”
“It’s beautiful during the holidays,” I agree absently, my mind racing with the possibilities. Is it crazy to contemplate going with Sylvie so I can possibly be near Whit? Though why would I want to torture myself like that? And would he be angry that I showed up during his family vacation, or would he be glad to see me?
I’m going for the former. After our last encounter, I’m sure he’s absolutely sick of my shit. Just as I’m sick of his.
“So? What do you say?” I look up to find Sylvie watching me. “It’ll be the perfect distraction.”
“For what?”
“For me. I need someone to spend time with. Lina is too busy dancing all the time. She’s in London and can’t get away. Even if she did come to Newport, she’s not the same. She’s never up for hijinks anymore.” Such an odd, old-fashioned word, though I suppose it doesn’t sound all that odd, falling from Sylvie’s lips. “You could meet my father. Oh, now that would be a sight to see.”
She laughs, shaking her head, while I sit there, knowing exactly what she’s thinking.
Bring the daughter of the woman who destroyed the Lancaster marriage to Thanksgiving dinner. Gee, great.
“Sylvie. Are you using me to upset your parents?” I ask calmly.
Her eyes widen and she rests her hand against her chest. “I would never. I genuinely enjoy your company, Summer. You know this.”
“It’s rather convenient, bringing me for Thanksgiving break, when both of your parents will be there,” I say, feeling the slightest bit played. “I don’t want to be used as a tool to get back at them.”
“Oh come on, why not? What’s the harm in it? My mother will be so furious.” She throws her head back and laughs, the most joyous sound I think I’ve ever heard come out of her. I watch her, the incessant shushing coming from Miss Taylor as background music, until finally her laughter slows. Fades. Her eyes still dance though. “My father will try to sleep with you.”
My mouth pops open. “Disgusting.”
“Are you eighteen yet?” Sylvie raises a delicate brow.
I squirm in my seat, not wanting to admit this, but she’s giving me no choice. “Um, I will be.”
“Of course you will,” she says, like I’m a stupid child. “But when? Soon?”
“Tomorrow, actually.” I’ve kept it quiet. No one cares about my birthday at this school. No one cares about my birthday anywhere, not even my mother. She hasn’t mentioned it. Not once.
And I’m her only child.
How could she forget?
“No,” Sylvie breathes. “Tomorrow? Oh my God, we must celebrate! This is so wild! You know who else’s birthday it is tomorrow?” I shrug, confused. “Oh, you’re never going to believe it!”
Her voice is so loud, Miss Taylor actually recognizes it. “Sylvie Lancaster, be quiet!”
“Oh shut it, you old hag,” Sylvie mumbles under her breath, making us both laugh.
My laughter fades quickly though. I don’t know who she could be referring to, but something tells me I should already know.
“Who do I share a birthday with?” I ask, curiosity eating at me. Maybe it’s Spencer, Sylvie’s not-so-secret crush, though she hasn’t even mentioned his name once since Halloween.
Could it be her little sister? The mysterious dancing Carolina? Oh God, I hope it’s not her father. That would probably make things worse, since she said he would most definitely hit on me if I was of legal age.
“Like I said, you’re never going to believe it. Like ever.” Sylvie pauses for full effect, a giant grin on her face. My heart races, pounding uncontrollably as I wait for her to say it. “It’s Whit. He’s turning eighteen tomorrow too.”
