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His shoes stick to the floor, and he leaves his back to me for about a second before looking to his side. He never quite peers behind him completely, but I swear to God that man is still smiling. He remains in the dim hallway for a few seconds, the harsh bulb above his head a spotlight on his profile. As if he needed one more thing to add to his mystique.
He finally leaves without a response, and I wait another twenty minutes before I gather my things and leave the room. I never once sit down, though. I stay on my feet through the whole damn thing.
Just like my dad did when someone told him he wasn’t good enough for a girl.
Chapter16
Brooklyn
CAM:I’m sorry.
That’s all he texted, and it’s been hours—an entire trip of the moon’s rise and fall—since he sent it. I only mildly understand football, but I know things escalated on the field. And I know Cameron was being targeted. I didn’t know why until it was too late.
I couldn’t warn him that Cole went to Lipson; I didn’t find out until I saw him pull into the Welles parking lot with his father . . . and mine. Cam was already stretching with the team on the field. I feel like girlfriends should be allowed to interrupt sporting events to give their boyfriends vital information.
Cole has never been interested in football. I distinctly remember him throwing a fit when we were ten years old because his dad wanted to play catch with him during a fundraising event at Boston College. He donated a thousand dollars to get to throw the ball on the field with his son. Cole locked himself in a bathroom and refused. My brother ended up throwing with him instead.
He must have looked Cameron up and found him on our football roster. One invite to his dad of course led to another for my dad, and disaster ensued. While Cole’s buddies made Cam pay on the field, my dad was fishing for information from me and Cole about how close Cameron and I had become. I had to spend the game sitting next to them because, as my father said, “We need to project the picture-perfect family image in case anyone decides to post a photo.” Social media has ruined a lot of things, but the fact it has weaseled its way into the lives of forty-year-old men is a new low.
The brawl near the end of the game was basically the rotten cherry on top of a truly awful day. Morgan and I have started a cold war, which has made being in the dorm room awkward for all three of us. I wouldn’t have been able to sit with her and Lily even if my dad wasn’t at the game. Now it’s Saturday, I can’t find Cameron anywhere, and Theo and Lily have decided to drive into the city for the weekend, which puts my dorm room completely off limits. I can’t be in a room alone with Morgan right now; I’m not sure what either of us would do. I’m pretty much stranded with no place to go and nothing to do but wander campus aimlessly in search of clues.
I tried our hiking spot first, and I’ve circled the library a dozen times. Even if I could finagle my way through Cameron’s secret window to the lair, I doubt he’s in there. It’s the middle of the day and if he’s really trying to avoid me, he would expect that to be the place I checked first. He doesn’t want to be found.
I send him one more text, on top of the five I’ve already sent telling him he has nothing to be sorry for and to call me.
ME:I only want to know you’re ok. Take as long as you need, but please let me know you’re ok.
I stare at the cursor on my screen for a few seconds, desperately wanting to add more to my note—a heart, maybe? I should just sayI love you.But I’m not sure if that would help or hurt him. No . . . that’s a lie. I’m afraid to say it in case everything falls apart. If I don’t say it, then it isn’t real, and I can’t be hurt.
When my phone buzzes with a reply, I jolt, instantly flipping on my screen. It’s not a message from Cameron, though. It’s a reminder from Caroline Powell to stop by for the annual report and trustee’s board portfolios for my dad. He’s an honorary board member, another gesture the Powells made to court his good name and ride its coattails. It’s a two-way street with the board, though. My dad has used the cachet of being an elite school board member to earn his way onto a few higher profile academic boards in Boston, including MIT. He hasn’t said as much, but the day will come when he drops serving on the Welles board, no longer needing it. Maybe the Powells sense that, and that’s why they are pushing so hard for every name drop they can get before I graduate. My father no longer has a reason to lend his name.
I spin on my heels and head back in the direction I came from, passing the library for a thirteenth time on my way to the headmaster’s home. The groundskeepers are out working today, probably prepping the home for the annual fall open house. The rich oranges and golds have really started to pop these last few weeks, which is always a good selling point to lure more students from out of state. Locals like me are almost guaranteed applications, but drawing people east from the Midwest, or better yet, California, is always the goal. Not because the school wants to be diverse, but because they want to spread their political power, sinking hooks into more big names and out-of-state representatives.
I climb the grand limestone steps to the large glass and iron door, pressing the ornate doorbell that calls to Caroline’s office.
“It’s me,” I say into the intercom when it crackles with a connection.
“Brooklyn, wonderful. You got my message. I’ll have Ashley open up for you. Be right down.”
The door clicks and a second later Caroline’s assistant, Ashley, is pulling the door open to welcome me inside. She leads me to the infamous library with the grand piano, and my mind instantly goes to Cameron.
“Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?” Ashley offers.
The last thing I want to have to do is pee in this place and somehow end up on a tour.
“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say, taking a seat on the curved sofa that faces two leather chairs, an ornately carved wooden coffee table sitting in the very middle. I lean back into the pillowy cushion, a baffled laugh slipping from my mouth.
“Where were these seats at the last party?” I whisper to myself, sinking into a relaxing heaven.
“Do you like them?” Caroline bursts my spa-like respite with her voice followed by the punctuated clicks of her pointy-toed heels on the floor. She’s wearing a pant suit. She always seems to be working, but I suddenly feel underdressed wearing jeans and a Welles sweatshirt.
“Very much,” I say, sitting up tall again. I lay my hand on the cushion next to me and press down to test the softness. Yep, just as soft one seat over.
“I just bought them. This room felt like it needed more conversation areas. You know, for when we hold events and things. So people have somewhere to sit.”
I practically choke on myuh huh. She doesn’t even remember my fall, and that was only days ago. I’m sure she wassuperconcerned.
“I sent Ashely to the storage room to get one of the nice leather folders for the reports,” she says.
