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I hold tighter than before, my fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie. Don’t go yet. Please don’t go yet. I’m picturing my life without him, and it’s so much lonelier than before.
Garrison tilts and lowers his head to whisper against my ear. “You’re still my girl.”
And then, without a single pause, Garrison Abbey kisses my cheek. His lips leave a fiery imprint, and my body solidifies like hardened magma.
He drops his hand to mine. I’m too stunned to speak, too sad to say how much he means to me, and too heartbroken to wish for a real kiss.
“If Ace Davenport gives you shit, you’ll tell me?” he asks, and he keeps talking as he sees me nod quickly. “You have my Twitter, Tumblr, and all that whatever, but…” He shoves his beanie in his back pocket. “I know we said we like the internet, but I’d really love your number.”
He’s asking for my phone number. It brings us closer in a different way than we both planned. “Yeah, of course.”
After we exchange numbers and add each other to our contacts, he prepares to leave. Taking a few steps back, Garrison hesitates.
I wipe my fogged glasses and then set them back on my nose.
“It’s not goodbye,” he says to me, as though he can’t bear that idea. “I’ll come back here. I promise.” He takes a few more steps backwards. “If not, then I guess I’ll just have to find two cans and a string long enough to connect you to me.”
My heart hurts, and just as he turns his back to me, I call out, “Garrison.”
He glances over his shoulder.
I don’t know what I planned to say. Maybe I just wanted to stop him. To see his face. I swallow hard and murmur, “Merry Christmas.”
He hears my quiet voice. “Merry Christmas.”
It’s the saddest holiday of my life. I lost one of the most precious gifts I’ve ever been given. I lost my first friend from Philadelphia.
I lost him to New York. I lost him to Faust. To a boarding school and his parent’s demands. I wonder if he’ll return after he’s graduated. Maybe we’ll grow apart. Our paths that kept crossing are beginning to diverge, and I’m really scared.
january
23
garrison abbey
Connor Cobalt is a god here. A single week at Faust, and it’s the first lesson I’ve learned.
The second: I’m in over my head. The guys here aren’t just smart. They seem to enjoy learning. As if it’s a gift given to them, and everyone supports the growth of knowledge. Translating whole passages from Caesar’s Invasion is cool, and debating philosophy is just another pastime.
I know basic Latin.
Enough to chant out loud with the class, but put a sentence in front of my face and I won’t be able to translate anything without a vocabulary list.
And yeah, I asked for a vocab list or a dictionary the other day. The amount of students staring at me for that was beyond embarrassing. And this is coming from someone who didn’t give a shit if people thought I was stupid.
Here, it feels like the worst crime.
“So you have spoken to him?” my new roommate asks as I try to concentrate on translating a passage in The Odyssey from Latin to English. It’s slow moving.
I wish this was Calculus—a language I actually am proficient at.
My roommate leans forward on his crimson bedspread, blond hair brushing his neck and brown eyes round and curious. He’s asking if I’ve spoken to the legend himself: Richard Connor Cobalt. The moment William learned that I’m from the same neighborhood as Connor, I’ve been bombarded with questions.
I promised to answer them later—which was my response for five whole days. Another five days dodging these questions seems unlikely since William has already spread the news to the entire boarding school.
It’s whatever.
I’m just hoping the reasoning behind why I’m at Faust remains a secret. These guys don’t seem like they’d take kindly to delinquents like me.
I curl my hand around the book, my other hand gripping a pencil tight. “I mean…not really. Kind of. I don’t know,” I say to William.
I heard Connor tell Loren that I’m not allowed in his house. That’s about the extent of any conversation I’ve had with the guy.
I can’t tell him that though. I’m trying to make friends here, and the students obviously worship Connor Cobalt. Letting them know I’m barred from entering his home for spraying his wife and baby with punch would be…fucked up.
It’s all fucked up.
William frowns. “Well, have you seen him around? What is he like in real life?” he asks quickly. “Is he as tall as he seems on TV?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “He’s really tall.” This is so dumb.
“Did he or his family mention anything about all the shit that’s going down on social media?” William asks, eyes glittering for more knowledge.
