But what about me? I could turn him in, but I don’t betray the people I love. Loved? Love. Ugh. Like I said, it’s complicated.
I pick up my dinner plate to take it to the sink to rinse. At Card House, we all took turns doing the dishes. I’ve always enjoyed it, to tell you the truth. Swipe left, swipe right, round and round and round. The repetitive motion, like running, helps me let go of my worries and relax.
After I’m finished, I’m not sure how to spend the rest of my night. Write an essay for Yale about why they should be thrilled to admit a liar to walk their hallowed halls?
With a sigh, I go to my room and lie down on my bed. It’s cold and empty without Oscar’s warm body curled up against my side. The dog must be wondering where I went. Will he eventually forget I was ever there?
I gaze around the room at the stylish yellow and gray walls with pink accents. I haven’t unpacked my boxes from St. Andrew’s yet. I have no pictures of friends. I haven’t yet displayed the artwork and knickknacks I picked up at museums all over the world. Other than some dirty clothes scattered on the floor, it’s like I’m in a guest room at a B&B.
It’s like I’m a guest in somebody else’s life.
? ? ?
Before day two at my new school, my phone lights up as I’m sitting at my vanity, drying my long, amber-colored hair.
I set down my hair dryer and answer it. “What’s up?”
“Thought I’d check in before I head to class in a few,” Oliver replies.
“You actually go to class?” I tease. My brother would never skip. He’s dedicated to his schoolwork, just like me.
“How’d school go yesterday?” he asks.
“Honestly? I can’t even remember it. I went to class, but I don’t know what I heard.”
I fill my brother in on my talk with Dad and how he won’t give me a reference for Yale. This doesn’t surprise Oliver. He doesn’t bother trying to make me feel better, saying “Dad’ll come around,” because he won’t. Once Dad makes a decision, there’s no changing it.
“I need to beef up my résumé,” I say. My freshman through junior years are covered, but I need activities for my senior year—and fast. I have an interview with the Yale admissions office scheduled for early October. Without a reference, all I have to stand on is my résumé. Jenna told me that a world-famous youth cellist attends Yale. Another guy who was nominated for a best supporting Oscar at age twelve for his role in an artsy film about apartheid in South Africa is in Jenna’s philosophy class. I don’t feel special at all.
“What’s happening with soccer?” Oliver asks. “Any chance you can get on the Hundred Oaks team?”
“I’m gonna talk to the coach today. See if there’s room for me.”
“Of course there’s room for you,” my brother says with a laugh. “Doesn’t Hundred Oaks suck?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. St. Andrew’s has played Hundred Oaks in the past, and we slaughtered them every time. Last year, I scored four goals against them in one game. And now I have to go see the coach and grovel to play for them.
“Did you meet anybody nice yesterday?” Oliver asks.
I slump in my vanity chair. “I didn’t talk to anyone.”
“Why not? That’s not like you.”
“I wasn’t ready. I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“I guess you haven’t seen Ben, huh? You miss him?”
I pull the phone away from my ear, squeezing my eyes shut. “No. I broke up with him.”
“What?” Oliver blurts. “How come?”
If I admit the truth about what happened, Oliver will tell Mom and Dad, and then Ben will get kicked out of St. Andrew’s. If that happens, my sacrifice will be for nothing. Even though I’m pissed at Ben for hanging me out to dry, I won’t snitch.
“It won’t work out with him at school and me here,” I lie.
“Yeah,” Oliver replies. “Remember when Jenna screwed things up with Jack Goodwin because she couldn’t handle the long distance?”
“I remember.”
Mom loves that Jenna always acts like a perfect lady. She wears snowy-white pearls without complaint, and you’d never see her out of makeup. She goes to Bible study, for crying out loud. That’s not all there is to her. Imagine the smartest, most beautiful girl in the room who is kind of like a bad-girl version of Hermione Granger. When Mom and Dad aren’t around, she’s more crass than a sailor, which I’ve always found highly entertaining. But Jenna has always been sort of…horny.
Mom doesn’t know Jenna cheated on her ex-boyfriend Jack—son of one of the richest men in Tennessee and one of Dad’s biggest campaign supporters—by sleeping with an exchange student from France. If Mom knew that, she’d have a heart attack. I don’t condone Jenna cheating on Jack, but I don’t care that she likes fooling around with guys. Girls are in charge of their own bodies, desires, and feelings.
“But I thought you liked Ben,” Oliver says, bringing me back to our conversation.
I didn’t just like him. I loved him. We lost our virginity to each other. Now I don’t think I knew what love is. Obviously Ben couldn’t love me, because when it came time to stand up and tell the truth, he didn’t. I took all the blame so he wouldn’t get kicked out of school. I assumed because of who my dad is, the administration would give me community service or make me clean the bathrooms or do dishes for a month. I never imagined that they would expel me.
When I called Dad to beg for his help, he said, “You got yourself into this. You’ll have to work through the consequences.”
I thought I could handle the sacrifice I made to save Ben’s scholarship, but I can’t. Deep down, I was hoping he’d defend me and come clean, telling everybody what happened was his fault. He’s the reason I don’t plan on dating again. Because you gamble when you give a guy your heart.
I bet wrong.
? ? ?
Before my second day of school, I stop at Foothills for coffee. This diner is from the Stone Age.
I step inside, expecting to find woolly mammoths and cave drawings, but instead, a bunch of old men sitting in vinyl booths look up from their newspapers. They’re all, like, eighty years old. Perfect. Well, perfect in the sense that none of these men are going to tempt me like that hot guy at Donut Palace yesterday.
It’s not so perfect because, well, I get nervous around the elderly.
It goes back to eighth grade when my school choir visited a Chattanooga nursing home. We were singing Christmas carols to a large group of residents when this old man stood up from the audience and made a beeline for me. He grabbed my elbow, then demanded we play gin rummy.
Since then, I steer clear of old men, which is difficult when your father wants to keep his senate seat. He’s always making me attend events, like the local bingo night. I wouldn’t mind if I actually got to play for real. But a senator’s daughter should be seen, not heard, and that’s impossible when yelling “Bingo!” I’ve won a lot of games without anyone knowing.
I pass a booth of old guys who are complaining about the Titans offensive line, walk up to the to-go counter, ring the bell, and that’s when it happens.