He exhales heavily. “Your brother made a video, to accompany his application to the exchange program. That’s what drew my father’s attention to him particularly, and had him working this whole thing out with quick determination. Suddenly being ordered to pack, out of nowhere, seemed dodgy, so I did some searching on my father’s computer and found it.”
“I see,” I say in a hushed voice, tamping down the sting I can’t help but feel for him. I’m happy Sebastian has an adventurous spirit and always goes after what he wants. I just thought what he wanted was here—doing our act together, helping our family.
“So, if you saw this video…why the questions about him?”
“It’s late.” He starts to stand. “A chat for a different time, perhaps.”
I lean forward and tug him back down by the bottom of his shirt. “Stop doing that! You can’t just spit out elusive sentences, then act like you’re too busy for follow-up questions. It’s a transparent game that I won’t fall for, and honestly, it’s pissing me off! Not the drunk kind of pissed, either—the it-makes-me-mad kind—so knock it off. You brought it up because you wanted me to ask, and I’m asking. So talk.”
“No rubbish with you, then?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Brilliant.”
“Talk.”
He rubs his chin, taking his sweet time. “I have to wonder how an esteemed bloke who earns your unshakeable respect—no easy feat, I’ve already surmised—can be the same man who associates with such tossers.”
Tossers, tossers... I wrack my brain for the translation, but finally give up. “Say again? Or differently.”
“Your best mate, Savannah? Sebastian’s girlfriend, correct?” he asks, ignoring my request.
“Yesss,” I drawl. “Why? No, you know what? Never mind. I got it. Sebastian’s amazing, but he’s also a twenty-year-old guy, just like you. Doesn’t take anything away from his character that, like you, he happened to notice huge boobs and a round ass attached to a perky blonde. But that’s not why he’s with her.”
“I would hope not, because if that’s truly all he noticed, it was short-sighted. There’s much more to see there.” He mutters the last part under his breath—a weird layer to it that suggests it isn’t a compliment. “And Clay, his mate—your admirer. How’s he feel about that?”
“Sebastian is well aware of Clay’s…I don’t know, crush? Flirtiness? Whatever you want to call it. And he’s already put a stop to it immediately, and repeatedly. Not that he needed to.” I shiver. “Never gonna happen.”
“And that’s your only observation?” he asks, with an unmistakable, unspoken second question mysteriously underlining the one he airs.
“I don’t spend a lot of time observing Clay. Why?”
He stands again, and this time I let him. I don’t like the dubious tingle in the room, and I’m ready for this conversation to end.
“Good people look for the good in others, so naturally, it’s what they find. You’re…”
He stops himself from completing the thought, then smiles down at me warmly.
“Sleep well, Love.”
I make a mental note to Google this “Love” term he keeps using. Is he being patronizing, or far too forward? Either way, it’s not good.
“I leave for school at seven-thirty sharp. Be ready, and I’ll drop you off at the college on my way. Unless you want to walk,” I offer to his back, unsure why I added snark at the end.
He stops in the bathroom doorway and glances at me over his shoulder. “Clay offered me a ride, but thank you.”
I swear, the more we talk to clear things up, the fuzzier they get.
“Um, Clay doesn’t go to college. And call me crazy, but didn’t you sort of just say you don’t like him?”
“I like to know whom and what I’m dealing with. Accepting his offer is to my benefit.”
“But why would he get up at the crack of dawn to drive another guy?”
He grins. “Seems he and I must think a lot alike.”
“Whatever,” I groan, completely exasperated. He already uses words I have to translate, so all the “code talk” and backhanded questions he’s not directly asking being added to the mix are too much for me at this late hour. “See ya tomorrow, Super Sleuth.”
“You have no idea.”
I can still hear his faint laughter as my eyes close.
Chapter 4
My shower the next morning does little to settle the rapidly growing tension in my stomach from the thought of going back to school. It’s not that I hate high school—I enjoy learning, and for the most part my classes are interesting enough, with engaging teachers—I just don’t quite fit in as a typical high-school student. They’re just…not interesting. Or engaging. They say stupid shit, while doing or having just done stupid shit.
So I make a concerted effort to stick to myself. It gets lonely sometimes, but it’s better to be alone than to be part of behavior and activities that will only leave me ashamed, disgusted, and/or in trouble.
But today, the first day of my senior year, I’m trying to be optimistic—if for no other reason than it’s almost over.
When I finally turn off the water and open my eyes for the first time since rinsing my hair, it’s not the presence of Kingston’s note on the door that surprises me, but what it says.