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For the first time since arriving on my doorstep, he doesn’t look smug. He looks lost. Like someone who’s been running toward something a longtime.
Or running fromit.
I haven’t answered a single one of the questions spinning in my mind. But tonight, the only thing that matters is the way Tyler’s looking at me—as if I’m the answer to every prayer he’s everhad.
3
Annie
“What the hell is that?”I demand as Pen shifts into my car in the morning, dropping into the passenger seat. The huge cardboard box she was carrying is in the back seat of theAudi.
“Props for civics class. We have a debatetoday.”
I eye up the box. “Is that full of hammers? Is your strategy literally beating them over thehead?”
“Funny. Let’s talk about you. This hot guy friend I’ve never met is suddenly living at your house? If we weren’t friends, I’d call you aliar.”
“You can see for yourself. He’s going to be atschool.”
“What?”
I laugh as I navigate the roads from Pen’s place to school. I tell her what I know so far, and she grillsme.
“So, the last time you saw himwas—”
“My dad and Haley’swedding.”
“Dammit, I knew I should’ve flown back from Barcelona for it! Did something happen betweenyou?”
I steer into the parking lot, thinking of twinkling lights, a gazebo, my dress flowing around my feet, Tyler’s arms aroundme.
“We danced. That’sit.”
She lets out a sound of approval. “Like, ‘your dick is so far up my crack we should have a condom for this’dancing?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “Like... my arms around his neck dancing.” Her mystified expression makes me go on. “It was sweet,” I decide, though it’s not the rightword.
“Ibet.”
My gaze lands on his motorcycle. There’s a spot next to it, but I park a dozen spotsaway.
Our private school is big and new, not like the ivy-covered ones from the Northeast. But what this school lacks in ivy, it makes up for with stone and glass and other foliage. I can’t imagine what the landscaping costs here, but every inch is green despite the fact that it’s the middle ofJanuary.
Every time I catch myself getting used to the surroundings, I snap out ofit.
Oakwood is not reallife.
I get why I’m here—my dad values his privacy and wants me to have the education he never got, but sometimes I miss publicschool.
The one time I brought it up, my dad reminded me of all the reasons I can’tgo.
But I can’t help wondering if the reason I’m thrown every day by the parking lot of expensive cars, the floor-to-ceiling glass and mature trees that have no business being at a brand new school is the same reason I can’t fit in with Oakwood’soccupants.
This isn’t where Ibelong.
Fortunately, Pen dulls the edge of the discomfort. We met last year during a campaign to eliminate packaging waste from the dining hall and have been inseparable since. Her parents are wealthy, but like my dad, they made it all themselves through hard work. Her dad emigrated from China and met her mom in California before starting a softwarecompany.
My friend enjoys nice things, but she also calls it like itis.
