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“We’ll take good care of her. It’s hard for them to adjust at first, but in the end, they love it. I know Elizabeth will, too.”
“I hope so.” I hand over the keys. “For when Bit—I mean, when Elizabeth can drive.”
“Won’t you need this to get back home?”
“No. I’ve got a car picking me up. I’ll be flying back. All of Elizabeth’s stuff is in the trunk.” I pull an envelope out of my back pocket. “Please make sure she’s taken care of.”
Excitement flashes in Ms. Beatrice’s eyes as she carefully sets the envelope onto the desk behind her. “Why don’t you say your goodbyes and then I’ll show her around.”
“I already did.” I give Ms. Beatrice a short nod and walk out. Outside, I climb into the waiting car I arranged to meet me here.
We reach the end of the farm drive when I reach over the seat and grab the driver’s shoulder. “Stop,” I tell him.
I almost turn around. I almost look over my shoulder. I almost go back.
“Sir?” the driver says.
I let go of his shoulder, straighten the crumpled fabric of his shirt, and slide back into my seat. “Sorry. Keep driving.”
Everything I’ve done since I met Bitsy is to find a way for her to be safe and happy. She’ll be both those things here.
Part II
22
Bitsy
Four years later
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ms. Blair asks. She folds her hands over my file and shoots me a concerned look. “It’s not that I oppose gap years, but the great majority of students who do not attend college after graduation from high school will not return to complete any post-secondary education. Missing college would be a shame for someone as bright as you.”
I knew this would come up. Confidently, I pull out my next weapon, the deferred acceptance form, and lay it on Ms. B’s two-hundred-year-old desk she claims was once used by Benjamin Franklin. “I’m definitely going, just not this fall. I plan to major in graphic design and minor in art history with the aim to go into animation and comics.”
I also plan to wait tables, make coffee, and sweep floors since the pay for either of those two career options are very low, but this is the Boone School for Girls, where art is still considered valuable. I sometimes wonder if Leka knew this when he dumped me here or if it was a happy accident.
She pushes her glasses higher on her nose and proceeds to scan the contents of my letter. “This is encouraging, but still, a deferred acceptance does not mean you’ll attend, only that you have the option.” She peers at me over the round spectacles, her dark eyes searching for an answer beyond that which I’ve given her.
“That would be true for any student, no matter if they graduate early or in the spring to attend college three months later,” I point out, trying to appear calm and collected. Any early release is approved by the Dean of Students aka Ms. Kennedy Blair, and so I have to appear as adult as possible, which means no sighs, no temper tantrums, and no vaulting over the desk and shaking Ms. B until she signs the paper.
“And what do you intend to do during these extra months?”
The truth would shock her, so I trot out my prepared answer. “I don’t know exactly what field I want to study, so I want to spend as much time as I can volunteering for museums and publishers and artists to see what I like the best. That way my time in college is spent pursuing something I’m super passionate about instead of wasting several years trying to figure out what my major should be.”
As Ms. B studies me, the silence stretches out in the small office and the collar of my white cotton button-down grows tight. I start to sweat under the school-mandated blazer, sweater vest and heavy polyester and wool pants. Are my answers too pat? Too practiced? I did spend several days role playing this with my roommate, much to her dismay.
Why do you have to do this, Liz? You are going to miss out on so much fun.
Because I do.
“Have we treated you so poorly here at Boone?” she finally asks. “We have many fantastic events planned for you fourth-year girls. Most of the Boone girls cite their last semester as their best.”
“I appreciate your concern and I will miss my friends here, but I want to go home. I miss my family.”
“Your file says you live with your guardian.” She cocks her head. “Is that the family you miss?”
“Yes.” I brace myself for the pity that’s about to be thrown in my face. In the four years I’ve been here, Leka hasn’t visited me once. From the outside, it looks like he dropped me off and conveniently forgot about me. Hell, sometimes I feel the same way.
