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“You should eat.” I lift a brow and grab my apple, taking a bite and exaggerating the crunch. She pushes the fruit toward me until it rolls.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Yeah, seemssomeonepunched her in the ribs,” Brooklyn pipes in from the end of the table. Ah, the perfect one of this newly formed trio. As similar as Morgan and I have always been, Brooklyn has always acted better than us. Her father is an ambassador or some shit. She’s . . .worldly.She’s fucking annoying, is what she is. I had to explain why I needed Lily’s gym shoes this morning, and Brooklyn was the only one there.
“It was an accident.” I roll my eyes and take another bite of my apple before pushing the abandoned one back toward Lily. She lets it roll off the end of the table and into her lap, her stare locked on my face the entire time. I chew my bite and feel the anger brewing in my stomach.
“Fine. Starve.” I blink my focus to the other end of the table and remind myself that I’m supposed to be avoiding her, not engaging her. A task I’m failing at miserably.
James leans into me after a few seconds of willing myself to pretend Lily is invisible and I catch her eyes on him from my periphery.
“Hey, let’s compare schedules.” James pulls a folded paper from his back pocket and works it open on the tabletop with one hand, a slice of pizza held to his mouth in his other.
“Dude, our schedules look nothing alike. Is that . . . pottery?” I hold my finger on his third hour as I smirk.
“It was the only fine art still open when I registered. What? Is pottery not cool?” He scans the table, and we all remain silent until Cameron finally chortles. Eventually the entire table cracks up, everyone laughing except Lily. She leans across the table and taps her hand on top of the paper until James looks her way. Their eyes meet for a little longer than a second. It’s . . . odd.
“It’s a good class. They’re just laughing because mostly first years take it.” Lily finishes with a crooked smile, a show of sympathy. Why does she have to be so fucking . . . I don’t know . . .nice?
“Great, so I’ll be like—”
“Like their babysitter? Yeah,” Brooklyn teases. I snicker under my breath and Lily shoots me a hard look. Suddenly, she’s a lot less nice.
“I’ll make you a hot chocolate mug,” James says, ignoring the mocking completely and smiling at Lily.
She glances at me briefly, her mouth pinched in the corners in a little F-U as if I’m jealous she’s been promised a piece of crap coffee cup.
“Let me see your schedule,” she says, moving her complete attention to James. He stands to push his schedule across the table, and I do my best not to give a shit about their budding friendship.
“Oh, you have comparative lit with Sharpe. That’s a great class. I had it last form,” she says. I was supposed to have that class but decided the work would be too much to handle. People in that class don’t spend time at parties.
“You’re going to want to change that,” I pipe in. I bite the inside of my cheek to punish myself for getting involved.
“Why?” James cranes his neck back to look at me.
Crap.
“It’s intense, from what I hear, is all. Might be tough during the season.”
“It’s nothing you can’t handle,” Lily says, her words practically overlapping mine. Our eyes meet and James does a quick shift from left to right, probably wondering whyMom and Dad are fighting.
“I mean, if you have absolutely no social game, then sure. It’s easy to spend your life in a book.” I take another bite of my apple and shoot Lily a smug look. She simply blinks in return, and I can sense the rest of the table taking her side. That’s fine. I’d rather her think I’m a giant asshole. We’ll be less likely to cross paths that way and I won’t have to think about how badly my sister wanted us to meet, and how angry I am that Lily let her fucking drown.
“Maybe I should see if I can take a different class?” James pulls his schedule back across the table and sinks into his seat. I feel guilty for stressing him out, but I’m not going to fill his head with false ease, either. It’s a hard class. And unless he has a personal tutor—
“I’ll help you. It’ll be easy,” Lily says, as if she’s reading my thoughts for clues on ways to torture me.
I take one last bite of my apple and toss it on my tray, no longer interested in the rest of my dinner or this conversation.
“I’ve got shit to do. I’ll see you back at our room later, Cam.” I jet from our table and return my tray and toss my food in the trash without looking back once. I’m sure Morgan stood and tried to hug me or some shit to make sure I’m okay. She thinks we’re closer than we are, and she likes to play good guy.
Now that I’ve bailed, I’m not sure where to go. I used to love this time on campus. Early enough in the year for the sun to still be up enough to color things orange, but dark enough to thin out the population. I decide to walk through the yards between the classroom buildings, the grass still green and cushioned under my foot. In a few months, these blankets of green will turn to dry, sharp, dead blades that will soon be blanketed by snow. During one of our wandering late-night walk-and-talks last year, Anika and I discovered an overgrown but never locked door into the basement of the Welles library. On a whim, I decide to see if it’s still open. The familiar path here floods me with memories of my sister, how many times she would tell me she was doing fine during our time together. I never pushed for more. I didn’t want to know, but I should have. She would never say it out loud—that he hit her, or worse—but there was enough unsaid. I remember when she was in a coma. I remember the first seizures she experienced after her supposed “fall” down the stairs back home. I know in my heart she didn’t slip while my mom and I were out buying a Father’s Day gift for the man Anika and I hated most.
I reach the door before my mind spirals into the darkest places I try to keep buried. As I tug the handle, I feel it give a millimeter or two, a season of vine growth the only thing holding it shut. I rip away some of the thickest areas and pull with both hands until it gives completely. The musty odor of old books and abandoned desks greets me. I lift the collar of my shirt to cover my nose but head inside the dark room in search of the light switch. Anika and I came in here a few times, but never stayed long. She was afraid of finding rats, which I’m surprised I haven’t encountered yet myself.
I make it to the far end and run my hand along the wall adjacent to the stairs, flicking the switches as my palm passes over them. The fluorescent bulbs buzz to life, some of them blinking a few times until fully settling to glow. Everything in here is covered in dust. I blow at a stack of books closest to me and immediately regret the choice as a cloud of what’s probably spores clouds in front of me.
Scoping out the rows of shelves and deserted file cabinets, I make my way to another door and twist the handle expecting this one to be locked. It isn’t, though, so I step into what looks like an archive of old but well-cared-for books. Shelves run from floor to ceiling and the wood accents in the room more closely mirror the look of the library upstairs.
