That knocks out what little wind I had left in my sails.
Garrett continues. “Look, he’s obsessed about your mom for years. He got mad at her over the nude scenes and switched his focus to you. I think if he can’t find you or see you, he’ll find someone new to focus on. Worst case scenario, you go away for six months, maybe a year.”
“A year! Are you nuts!?” But then my eyes dance across the photo of the girls, and I know they won’t be safe if I’m with them.
Mom sucks in a loud breath. I can tell she’s getting ready to protest.
“No. He’s right. You’ve got to think about the girls, Mom. I want them to be safe.”
“What if she went to live with her grandfather in Texas?” Mom asks.
“Too easy to trace,” James says.
“What about France? She could live in our house there? Go to school? He didn’t try anything this summer when she was gone.”
“He knows about France,” I say, just as James says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea either.”
Damian speaks up. “What about boarding school?” He turns to his dad. “The school where Trent’s older brother went. Aren’t you friends with the dean?”
“Son, you're brilliant,” Mr. Moran says. “It's perfect. Highly secure. The Secretary of State’s kids went there a few years ago, so the Secret Service installed fencing around the perimeter. There’s a guard booth, single access entry, and perimeter cameras.”
“It sounds like a prison,” I mutter.
“It was designed to keep terrorists out. Inside, you can't tell. It's a beautiful campus. The dean was in a bind a few years ago that I helped him out of. It's very difficult to get accepted, but I'm sure he'd make an exception. He owes me.”
Garrett turns to Mr. Moran. “I’d like to hear more about this school. That might be our best solution. It could allow her some semblance of normalcy while still keeping her safe.”
Brooklyn, who has been sitting quietly, finally speaks up. “Boarding school won't be so bad, Keats. I haven’t told you yet.” He sighs. “I didn't want to tell you until after your birthday, but I leave next week.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Is that why he wouldn’t commit all summer long? He planned this? He used me?
I can't breathe again.
I barely get out the words. “When were you going to tell me? After you'd left?”
I run into my room, slam my door, sit on my bed, and cry.
Cry over Brooklyn, the boy I thought I was so in love with. The boy I spent all summer with thinking we were in love. I cry again for being so stupid about Vincent. I open my eyes and see another photo of my little sisters. In this one they are all dressed as princesses.
I cry some more.
Go to boarding school, the voice from the club tells me. You’ll be safe. They’ll all be safe.
I can't put them in danger. I'd die before I'd let anything happen to those innocent smiles.
I think about how Vincent picked me up.
How he touched this dress.
How he touched my skin.
I run in my bathroom, turn on my shower, and stand under the hot water.
Then I realize I’m still wearing my party dress.
I rip it off, throw it to the ground, and drench my body in soap.
And then I scrub my skin until it feels like it might fall off.
When the hot water runs out, I grab a towel and dry myself off.
I walk back into my room, take a deep breath, and pull myself together.
I see the boots Cush gave me lying on my desk, so I pull them on my feet.
These boots are the new me.
The me that can handle anything.
The me that is in charge of my life and isn’t going to let people tell me what to do anymore.
I grab a pair of jean shorts and the soccer shirt I was going to give back to Cush and pull them on. I'm cleaning up the mess that is my face when Brooklyn walks in.
“You don't have to explain,” I say icily. “I get it. You need to do what's right for you, and so do I.”
“That’s it? That’s all you're gonna say?”
“Yeah. It’s all I can say. I encouraged you. Although,” I add snidely, “for someone who wants me to avoid the spotlight, I find it funny that you're heading straight toward it.”
“I’m not doing it for the money, the fame, or the spotlight. I'm doing it for me.”
“And I'm going to boarding school, but I'm not doing it for me. I'm doing it for them.” I point to the picture of the girls.
Brooklyn nods his head, gets tears in his eyes, and pulls me into a hug.
I hold my shoulders stiffly. I don't want to let him in.
“Keats, this is not the way I wanted this to go down. I had an amazing summer with you. The best summer of my life.”