“Not really,” he answers. “My parents are very... traditional. They come from old money and sometimes I hate how snooty they are.”
“My dad was raised in a lower middle class family,” I tell him. “My mom was the one with a rich family. I love how different they are...” I clear my throat. “Um, were. As a kid, my mom would be the one making me take lessons on which fork to use with which course and my dad would let me eat with my fingers. I like both worlds.”
“That sounds amazing,” he says.
“It is. Was,” I say. “My parents were awesome.”
“How did they die?” he asks.
“A plane crash.” It’s the story I was told to go with... the story that makes the most sense.
“But you have a stepbrother. How were your parents on the plane at the same time?” Brooks asks.
Panic washes over me as I realize I have no clue how to answer this question. My parents wouldn’t be on the plane together, not even now, unless they were both with me. And I can’t mysteriously be the only person who survived the plane crash.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t ask. It’s really not my business and I can tell how hard this is for you to talk about.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“It’s just... when we met you told me you were a baby when your parents died. I didn’t realize you remember them,” he says.
And this is why I can’t lie. I’m really bad at it and I always seem to get caught up in my lies. How the heck am I supposed to get myself out of this situation now? Should I just tell him the truth?
Maybe I should.
Just lay it all out there.
I hear a noise from Brooks’ computer.
“Oh, hey. I got to go. My friends are here and we’re going to go play some football,” he says.
“Okay. Have fun,” I say, waving at the screen.
When he ends the call, I let out a sigh of relief.
I almost just told him the truth.
And I can’t help but think that that would have been a huge mistake.
8pm.
I run.
After dinner, Emma comes to my dorm room to complain about Bryce, so I leave them. I seriously cannot handle any more of their drama. Not knowing where else to go, I go, to Estaine’s dorm room. He’s wanted to hang out, anyway. When I walk inside, I’m surprised by how clean it is. I assumed all boys were like Charlie. If it wasn’t for our maid, his room would be a biohazard zone.
I walk around his room, inspecting it. Though, there isn’t much to inspect. He doesn’t have any pictures up. His desk is perfectly in order. His bed is even made. I’m positive that I’ve only made my bed one time since arriving at East Raven.
“Where are your pictures?” I ask.
“Pictures?” he asks, just watching me walk around.
“You know... of your family and your friends back home,” I say.
“Oh. I don’t have any pictures,” he says. “But I have a ton online.”
Online.
Sigh.
I miss social media.
Apparently, when you’re in the witness protection program, you’re not allowed to have any type of social media accounts. I mean, my old accounts are still active, but they haven’t been updated since I got kidnapped.
Stupid terrorists.
“You should add me,” Estaine says, pulling out his phone.
“I don’t do social media,” I say.
Lie.
I love social media.
“Why?” he asks. “I thought girls loved Instagram.”
I laugh.
Okay, I really do love Instagram. But he can’t know that.
“I guess I don’t want to be one of those people who are constantly on their phone,” I say, which isn’t a lie. Even before all this happened, I tried to limit my phone time. “Talking to people in real life is so much more fun.”
“Valid point,” he says.
“Plus, I don’t want everybody knowing all of my business,” I say.
“You are a pretty private person,” Estaine says. “All I know about you is that you live with your uncle, your parents are dead and you have a stepbrother. Oh, and you’re from Malibu, but live in New York City now.”
“That’s pretty much all there is,” I say.
“There has to be more. I know there is more. You fascinate me, and I’d like to know more.”
“Well, I like soccer,” I say. “And I totally kicked butt at the tryouts.”
“You really did,” he says. “I was impressed.”
“I can also surf. Kind of,” I tell him. “I’m not very good, but it’s still fun. My stepbrother Charlie taught me how. He and his friends surf every morning.”
“I am a terrible surfer,” Estaine admits. “Last time I actually rode a wave, I ended up with a mouth full of sand.”
I laugh. “Now I want to go surfing with you.”
“Come to The Hamptons with me for Labor Day Weekend,” he says. “My parents have a huge beach house that they rarely use. I always bring a bunch of friends with me. It would be a lot of fun. You can give me some surfing pointers.”
Yeah, as fun as that sounds, I know that the secret service won’t let me go.
“I’ll probably just stay on campus. Uncle Matty is kind of strict,” I say.
“I can talk to him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He’ll say no right off.”
“That sucks,” he says.