“Leave,” I bark at Felicity’s friends.
My expression must tell them I mean business, because they scurry off like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Felicity remains, looking amused.
“Well, aren’t you the tough guy, scaring away all the innocent girls,” she mocks.
I scowl at her. “There’s nothing innocent about any of you.”
Rolling her eyes, she slams her locker door. I grab her forearm before she can march away.
“Did you get the flowers?” I grumble. I’d swung by her house on my way home from Hartley’s, but nobody answered the door, so I left the flowers on the porch.
“Yes. I did.”
“And the note?” I left that, too. A note with three simple words: I’m sorry – Easton. “Did you read it?”
“Yes.”
“And? Are we cool now?”
She starts laughing. “Wait. You thought that sad excuse for an apology would make us cool? Oh, Easton.”
Frustration jams in my throat. “For fuck’s sake, Felicity. What you did to Hartley was not right.”
“Are you seriously going to lecture me about right and wrong? You, Easton Royal?”
“Yeah, I’m a total shit,” I readily agree. “I’m a bad, selfish person. I drink and I fight and I screw girls I shouldn’t screw. I’ll own that. But Hartley didn’t do anything to you. So, please, just tell Beringer that the cheating thing was a total misunderstanding and—” I halt, because I realize I’m wasting my breath.
Felicity will never confess to planting those notes in Hartley’s locker. That would mean admitting she set up a fellow classmate, and risking punishment herself. So as much as I don’t want to, I have to let this go. Hartley got a three-day suspension. That sucks, but she’ll survive and she’ll be back at school on Monday. The “exonerate Hartley” ship has sailed. All I can do now is wave a white flag at Felicity before she does any more damage.
“How can I make this right with you?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Her blue eyes take on a disbelieving glint. “You can’t.”
“Come on,” I plead. “There’s got to be something I can do.” She directs a pointed glare at my bracelet. I fight the urge to cover it. “Something I can buy you,” I clarify.
“Like a Candy Machine necklace?”
“Done.”
“How about the limited edition Dior bag?”
“I have no fucking clue what that is, but it’s yours.”
“It’s thirty-five thousand.” Somehow she manages to look down her nose at me.
I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to the family accountants, but okay. “Great. Every girl needs a limited edition purse.” I stick out my hand. “It’s a deal. When Hartley comes back, she’s off limits.”
“No.”
“What?”
“There is no deal. This is payback, and I’m not done yet.”
Her icy stare, combined with the tiniest of smirks on her lips, makes me want to slam my fist into a locker. I can’t believe she stood there negotiating about jewelry and purses just to shoot me down. Is it only Astor girls who carry out vendettas, or are all chicks this bloodthirsty?
“If you want me to beg, I’ll beg. On my knees.”
Felicity’s smile widens. “That’d be nice to see. But…no, thank you. I have even nicer things planned.”
With that, she shoves my hand off her arm and flounces off.
I swallow a groan as I watch her go. What the hell is wrong with that girl? I get that I embarrassed her, but get over it already. Grow the hell up.
The irony of me ordering someone else to grow up doesn’t escape me.
With a tired breath, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Hartley.
U ok this morning?
She responds right away.
No.
Guilt pricks at me. I lean against Felicity’s locker and type out another message.
I’m sorry, H. All my fault
This time there’s a long delay. I stare at the screen and will her to answer.
“East,” someone says.
I glance up to see Sawyer and Lauren drawing near. Seb’s not with them. “Hey,” I say absently. I look down at my phone. Still nothing. “I’m good. You?”
My little brother snickers. “Didn’t ask how you were, but I’m glad you’re good.”
“You’re going to be late for class,” Lauren says unhelpfully. “The first bell already rang.”
Screw the bell and screw class. Hartley still hasn’t answered my text. Why hasn’t she answered?
Is it because she agrees that the suspension is my fault?
It is, a little voice says.
Fuck, I know it is. That’s why I apologized to her. But…I kind of expected her to wave it off. To say, I don’t blame you, Easton. Felicity is the one who blah blah blah.
Instead, I’m getting radio silence.
“Sure, we’ll talk later,” I mutter to my brother. “See you at home.”
As I race off, I hear their bewildered voices behind me.
“Is he drunk?”
“I don’t think so?”
I leave the building through the side doors and sprint to the parking lot. I need to see Hartley and apologize in person. I need her to forgive me for dragging her into this Felicity mess. It’s not like I did it on purpose. She has to know that.
The drive to her neck of the woods is quick. But, just like yesterday, someone’s already beaten me there.
From the bottom of the stairs, I can see a man’s back clad in an expensive gray suit jacket. A head of salt-and-pepper hair.
“…kicked out of the number one prep school in the country. You’re a disgrace to the Wright name,” the man is saying, his words laden with disgust.
Hartley’s father.
Crap.
I edge toward the side of the staircase and hopefully out of view.
“I didn’t get kicked out,” is the surly reply. “It was a suspension.”
“For cheating!” he barks. “Cheating, Hartley. What in the hell is wrong with you? What kind of child did I raise?”
“I wasn’t cheating, Dad. A girl who hates me planted the test answers in my locker. I’m not a cheater.”
“Your headmaster is a member down at the club, did you know that? All my peers and colleagues know about your little scandal. That’s all I was asked about over breakfast this morning.”
“Who cares what a bunch of old men at the country club think?” Hartley sounds frustrated. “All that matters is the truth.”
“For the love of God! You and that goddamn word! Truth. Enough, Hartley!”
His sharp tone makes me flinch.
“Enough,” Mr. Wright repeats. “You’re going back to New York. Today. Do you understand me?”
“No!” she protests.
“Yes.” There’s a rustling sound, as if he’s reaching for something. “Here’s your ticket. Your flight leaves tonight at eleven.”
“No,” she says, but it’s with uncertainty this time.
“All right.” He pauses. “If you don’t leave, I’m pulling Dylan out of school and sending her in your place.”
“Why! Why do you always have to threaten her? She’s a baby, Dad.”
“No, she’s thirteen and she’s already being influenced by you.”
“She’s been on medication since she was eight. She’s fragile, and you know it. You can’t take her away from her family.”
He ignores that. “If you don’t leave Bayview, then we’ll protect Dylan by sending her out of state. It’s your choice.”