In my cell, there’s only enough room for rumination. I lie on the cold metal floor, forgoing the lumpy yellow cot in favor of something that more closely matches my pathetic state. The girl with the scar, stuck behind bars. No more music, no more future on the Lincoln Center stage.
“Chace,” I whisper, angry tears springing to my eyes. “You said you chose me, that you weren’t going anywhere till I was okay. So where are you now?”
The sound of skidding footsteps reverberates through the metal floor and stone walls. I sit up.
“Mrs. Porter, you can’t just—”
This is my chance. I rush forward, flinging myself at the bars of my cell.
“Mrs. Porter!” I cry.
Chace’s mother freezes in place. She stares straight ahead, pretending she didn’t hear me, and my heart sinks. But then she turns sharply on her heels, marching to my cell.
“You’ve got the wrong person!” I cry out. “I didn’t do it, they’re setting me up—I loved your son, I would never—”
My voice falters as she stops right in front me, her features contorted with rage. She slaps her palms around the bars, covering my hands with hers, digging her sharp fingernails into my skin.
“Was this your idea of revenge?” she hisses.
“What? I told you, I’m innocent!”
She tightens her grip on me.
“Don’t you dare lie to me any longer.”
That voice. Once again, the sound of it gives me a prickly feeling of familiarity; it sends a wave of dread through me. I can hear that cold voice murmuring something else in my ear, as she stood over my hospital bed.
“Stay away from my son.”
The fog lifts, and at last I remember. I remember that night.
And I know we’ve met before.
“Mrs. Porter!”
A guard jumps between the two of us, prying her away from me.
“We understand you’re upset, but accosting the suspect is not acceptable—”
“She murdered my son!” Mrs. Porter shouts. “I can do whatever I want!”
I stumble backward, retreating into my cell as the guard leads her away. I slide down against the wall, leaning my head against the cool stone and letting the flood of memory wash over me.
MAY 31, 2016
JUNIOR YEAR
At first I think I must be dreaming when Lana approaches me at lunch, smiling like her old self. It’s been almost three weeks since we shared a table in the Dining Hall or said so much as a word to each other. She managed to convince Headmaster Higgins to change her dorm assignment in record time—I can’t imagine what she had to have said about me to finagle that one—and from the moment I walked into our room and found every trace of her gone, I assumed there would be no forgiveness. Is it possible…could I have been wrong?
“Lana.” I stand up from my new lunch table, which Brianne was nice enough to let me rejoin.
“Hi. Can we talk?”
“Of course!” I start to make room for her on the bench, but she shakes her head.
“Not here.”
“Oh, yeah. Duh.”
While our classmates have caught on to the rift between me and Lana, no one has a clue what it’s about. Chace and I kept our promise. As far as the public knows, the two of them are still an item, and he’s never looked at me twice. It’s no wonder she wouldn’t want us rehashing things within earshot of Brianne and the rest of orchestra.
“I’ll see you in class,” I tell Brianne, bending down to give her a quick hug.
She gives me a disapproving look as I join Lana, and I feel a pang of guilt. I’d hate for her to think I’m blowing her off now that Lana’s talking to me again—but I also can’t miss this chance to make things right.
I toss my barely-touched lunch in the trash, and Lana and I walk in awkward silence out of the dining hall, through the front doors and onto the grassy quad. She settles on a bench and I follow suit, my palms growing sweaty in anticipation.
“So I thought about everything,” Lana says carefully. “And I’m still really upset, but…I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t?” I let out a sigh of relief. “Really?”
“I might have done the same thing if I were in your shoes,” she concedes. “Anyway, I’m still not ready to tell everyone about Chace. It’s more than a little humiliating, being dumped for you.”
My face reddens.
“I’m sorry—”
“But,” she continues. “I think you and I can maybe try to be friends again.”
“Really?” I throw my arms around her. “You don’t know how much I’ve wished for that.”
I want it so much, I don’t even entertain my fleeting thought that this might all be too good to be true.
“So, remember the masquerade party I wanted to have?” Lana asks, switching topics abruptly.
“Yeah, I think so.”