Fuck. They want me to do pee tests?
Taking those pills and taking the blame for Ben didn’t just get me kicked out of school. It didn’t just mess up my dad’s job. It changed people’s perception of me. From here on out, I’ll be the druggie girl.
This is why Dad never wanted us to act entitled, because a last name won’t protect you. I never imagined how badly—how quickly—this would screw up my life.
“Did you need anything else?” Dad asks. “I need to get back to it.”
My face flushes hot at his dismissal. This situation has morphed from what felt like a simple sacrifice to help my boyfriend to my life spiraling out of control. My anger and embarrassment are starting to outweigh my conflicted feelings toward Ben.
I storm up the stairs and into my bathroom and turn on the shower, because I don’t want my parents or Marina overhearing what I have to say.
I sit down on the toilet, swipe on my phone, and tap Ben’s name. He picks up after two rings.
“Tee?”
Hearing him say my name just about undoes me. Tears burn my eyes and throat.
“Hey,” I reply, choked up.
“How are you?” he asks. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I love you, I want to say. But he doesn’t deserve that.
“Those Adderall pills you gave me.”
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“Why did you have so many?” There’s such a long silence, I check to make sure we didn’t get disconnected. “Ben? C’mon. What’s the deal?”
He inhales sharply. “I bought them from someone in Birmingham to sell at school…to make some extra cash.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. How could I have dated this boy for a year and not have known he was a drug dealer? I mean, they didn’t find cocaine or heroin in his bag, but prescription drugs are enough to get you in trouble. I should know. “Why did you do it?”
He clears his throat. “Everything my parents earns goes toward rent and food. I was saving money for college next year. Even if I get a scholarship, I’ll need something to live on.”
Ben and I aren’t that different. We both work hard to prove ourselves. Both willing to do whatever it takes. I pushed myself to stay up all night to study. He broke the law in order to make money.
In that moment, I realize how crazy it is that we work so hard for our futures. The pressure we’re under. Sure, I loved St. Andrew’s, but I often stayed up all night studying and did tons of extra activities to show that I deserve to go to an Ivy League school. Just how much do we give up by living this way?
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I can hear his remorse. But it’s not good enough. I thought I could handle my sacrifice, but I can’t.
“Don’t sell drugs ever again,” I say. “Get a job or something. Listen, I need to go.”
“Wait! Tee, I love—”
I hang up and start crying all over again. With shaky hands, I tap out a message: Please don’t contact me again. Good luck.
And just like that, my first love is over with a text.
? ? ?
Against my dad’s wishes, I decide to go to the Goodwins’ party for several very important reasons:
They own a bunch of horses and dogs;
they always have a chocolate fountain at their parties;
I want to get out of this mausoleum of a house;
I need to get my mind off Ben; and
did I mention they have a chocolate fountain?
I wear ankle booties that cover my tattoo and a black sparkly halter dress with a tulle skirt that has a high neckline and a plunging back. I’m showing lots of skin, but I don’t care. I love this dress. I like the way I look and feel in it.
At the Goodwins’ mansion, I pull into the circular drive and hand my car keys to a cute valet. He gives the Buick a dirty look, then he gives me a look that says Really? You drive this dinosaur? I return the dirty look he gave my car. I don’t care how cute he is. Nobody sticks his nose up at my Beast.
I give my name to a man resembling an 1800s Regency-era butler so he can check me off the guest list. Then a waiter leads me in the front door, through the foyer, and toward the rear of the house. The party’s out back in a clearing between the mansion and the Cedar Hill barns. The stalls Mr. Goodwin rents to horse owners cost more than most families’ mortgages per year. The Queen of England stables some of her Thoroughbreds at a farm near here, but Mom heard a rumor that she might move her horses to Mr. Goodwin’s farm. Wouldn’t it be crazy, the Queen visiting here?
In a way, the Goodwins are Tennessee royalty.
I step out the back door onto a terrace overlooking fields of haystacks and one of their barns. A large tent is set up under the stars. I walk inside it, holding my silver clutch. I smile as I wander across the dance floor beneath sparkling lights and a chandelier. The smell of horse poop wafts inside, but it’s part of the charm of being here, and I love it.
I spot Dad and Mom schmoozing on the other side of the party next to the bar. I decide to loiter on the opposite side of the tent, because my parents aren’t likely to leave the bar and the food is over here. I start loading a china cocktail plate with shrimp, tenderloin, a brownie, and exactly one carrot, because I don’t need anyone judging me on my food choices. Hey, I ran for ninety minutes during soccer today. I earned this pile o’ shrimp.
I turn around with my plate and narrowly avoid smashing into Jack Goodwin, my sister’s ex.
“Tee, hi!” he says, helping me balance my plate before shrimp go flying.
“Thanks for saving my dinner.”
He laughs, and so does the girl he’s with. She’s petite, with a headful of fire-red hair. This must be the new girlfriend Mom’s friends can’t help but gossip about. Apparently Jack has been “shacking up with the help,” which is “just unheard of” because “Jack comes from well-bred stock.”
Jack and his girlfriend go to college together about an hour away in Kentucky, and from what I’ve heard, she practically lives at his apartment. Regardless of how scandalized my mother is by that, I think Jack’s girlfriend is gorgeous and has a friendly smile. I heard she’s a jockey here at Cedar Hills Farms, which is so badass.
“Tee, I don’t think you’ve met my girlfriend, Savannah.”
Carefully balancing my plate, I shake her hand. “I’m Taylor. Nice to meet you.”