He rubs his forearms, as if the air has suddenly turned cold.
“Maybe next time…” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe next time you can come with me. That’s probably the—the easiest way to explain.”
“Chace, isn’t this something you should be doing with Lana?” I ask tentatively.
He shakes his head slightly.
“I can’t.”
“But she’s your girlfriend,” I insist, stating the obvious. “It’s not right to keep secrets from her. I shouldn’t be keeping secrets from her.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t ask that of you.” But he doesn’t say anything more, and we sit in silence for a few minutes.
“Okay, can I ask you something else?” I shift in my seat so my body is facing his. “It’s about…what you told me this morning.”
He nods, his expression turning shy. And for a second I’m speechless at the thought that I can make the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen shy. Me.
“If you—if you felt the way you said, then why were you so quick to take my suggestion and ask Lana out?” My face reddens with embarrassment as I ask the question, but I have to know.
“I’m only human. And maybe I was a little ego-bruised,” he admits. “But I felt that you weren’t interested, and there she was. Lana is a beautiful, great girl. I knew I’d be lucky to go out with her.” He clears his throat. “I am lucky. It’s just…you’re different.”
His words hang in the air, reverberating in my ears. “You’re different.” Normally when people say that to me, I can hear the clear subtext: You’re weird, you’re a nerd, what girl your age sits in a room playing the violin all day? You should dress better, you should go outside and get a tan, you should wear makeup. But when Chace calls me different, I know in my gut that he means it as the highest compliment. And for the first time ever, I smile at the word.
“Thank you. I’ll never forget today,” I tell him. “The song, and—and everything else.”
“Why does this sound like some kind of goodbye?” he asks.
I take a deep breath.
“Because Lana is your girlfriend, and she’s my friend. We shouldn’t be having talks like this or spending time together alone, not when…” I don’t finish my sentence, but it’s written in my voice. Not when we’ve possibly just crossed the boundaries of friendship into something else.
He nods quickly.
“I get it. You’re right.”
I’ll be good, I’ll close the door before it can open all the way—but I won’t forget the way he made me feel. I’ll let the glow of his words carry me, keep me warm, and replenish me in the days to come.
And that will have to be enough.
It’s the first Saturday since Chace died, and all of us at Oyster Bay Prep wear the same expression of uncertainty. We’re grasping at loose ends, unsure of what to do with two days of free time when there’s only grief and fear to fill them. The concept of “the weekend” has lost all meaning in the shadow of his death. There won’t be the usual fall Saturday soccer game, followed by an after-party on the field when Chace inevitably leads our team to a win. You won’t find the typical cluster of friends squeezed into one dorm room, talking and laughing over music while sneaking sips from a bottle of wine one of us smuggled from home. The weekend Halloween festivities have all been canceled. There’s nothing for us to do but wander the campus aimlessly, or shut ourselves in our dorm rooms to wait—for an arrest, or for life to resume some semblance of normalcy.
Detective Kimble won’t let any of us leave town while we’re still under investigation, so those of us close to home can’t even spend a night in the comfort of our childhood bedrooms. We’re all equally trapped. Not even my powerful mother could get permission for me to spend the weekend in DC, though she did manage to get Headmaster Higgins to concede to letting me out for an off-campus lunch. The thought of sitting across from Mom at a stuffy hotel restaurant wouldn’t normally cheer me up, but today it’s just what I need.
I dress quickly, throwing together an all-black outfit, while Stephanie lazes about on the bed.
“I wish I could go with you,” she says. “I don’t know what to do with myself here.”
“Yeah, but you need permission from Higgins to go anywhere,” I remind her. And the truth is I’m glad she can’t come. There are things I need to ask my mom about, things I don’t want Stephanie to hear.
I make my way down to the eerily quiet quad, which would ordinarily be teeming with students, and hike through the campus grounds until I hear the whoosh of noise. The paparazzi and nosy spectators camped outside the entrance gates have just spotted me. But before I can react, a black SUV pulls up. My mom’s security officer, Thompson, jumps out of the car and opens Mom’s door.
“Clear a path for the congresswoman!” he bellows. I suppress an inappropriate urge to laugh as Mom cuts through the crowd to get to me and Thompson holds back the overzealous spectators.