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Chapter Three
Caroline
Iclickontheemail right away—no pause, no deep breath, no pep talk in case the news isn’t what I want to hear. My impatience trumps everything else right now.
And…
YES! YES!YES!!!
They saidyes.
I’ve been accepted into the Marine Biology Signature Program at Braden Hall Boarding School in Maine for the final term of high school. And holy cow, I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about something!
I read the email three times. Just to be sure. Also, because this is too precious a moment to just skim over. I want to wring it like a sponge and absorb every little drop from it.
My dream is to become a marine biologist, and I only found out a couple of months ago that there was a high school in Maine that offers a signature program specifically in that field. Which in itself is enough to make me want to go. But the best part is that having that program means there would be other people like me at the school, who want to spend their free time skimming tide pools, searching for turtle nests, hunting for marine debris… Weird stuff. The kind of stuff that makes me a laughingstock at SH Prep.
I have no one here to do that with. And I’ve heard so many times over the past three years that I’m a loser, to the point I’ve started worrying it might be true. I mean, I am weird. Even I can’t deny that. I like talking about plankton and axoloti—not boys and TikTok trends. But I had friends back in elementary school; when being more interested in sea anemones than in unicorns was only viewed as quirky. But it all went downhill in high school, where having a photographic memory, being a straight-A student, and harboring a passion for everything ocean-related went from being quirky and unique to lame and dorky. Apparently, it made me “pretentious”.
It made me a total Loser with a capital L.
I thought trying to drum up interest in an ocean club my freshman year would help me find similar-minded people to hang out with. I did a presentation in the dining hall one lunch hour, with props and everything, hoping to garner interest. Instead, it cost me, well… everything. Or at least, all the little things I never realized add up to overall happiness: approval and friendship and even just being a dot anywhere on the inside instead of on the outside looking in.
That one stupid hour my second semester was social suicide. Because it turns out that starting up a marine biology club is the high school equivalent of scrawling a giant neon target on your back. And once the mark was there, it was an invitation for a twisted free-for-all on my self-esteem that only amplified over time.
I mean, I have a few people I sit with at lunch—the table of misfits. But I wouldn’t consider any of them friends, exactly. We have stilted conversations over meat loaf and fries, but that’s as far as it goes. I keep my distance because I’m pretty sure forming a friendship with me beyond that—being seen in the halls with me, or side by side in the quad or whatever—could easily extend that target onto their backs, too. There are as many predators in SH Prep’s hallways as in any ocean habitat. And they feed off the most ridiculous, random morsels of human behavior. Like eagerness, authenticity, and joy. And once they’ve had a taste, they are insatiable. They swarm and go in for the kill at every opportunity.
But now, I have an out. I am finally going to be free of all the jerks at SH Prep.
I read the email again. Then again. Soaking in every word. Absorbing the meaning of each one.
And wow: I’m smiling in the school hallway for the first time in three years.
Also, I’m late for second period. And I don’t even care.
As I expected, my parents aren’t thrilled about my news. It’s not that they’re against the idea of me going to boarding school for my final term of high school. It’s that they think I’m running away from my problems.
I love my parents. They’re awesome people. But they’re also clueless about life for anyone under twenty. They refuse to believe that ninety-five percent of the students at SH Prep are total assholes. They’re convinced my feelings toward my peers are due to the fact that I never gave them a fair shot. Even when I try explaining how the cool kids run the show at that place, they’re convinced I’m “projecting a few people’s issues onto the entire student body”. So, the SH Prep thing is a losing battle with them.
In the end, though, they agree I can go to Braden Hall, as long as I cover the cost of whatever the difference is between what they currently pay for my tuition and the extra boarding fees incurred after my scholarship is applied. And honestly, it’s not even about the money for them. It’s a way to force me out of my shell. Mainly, going out and getting a job. Because in their mind, having colleagues will somehow morph into me having friends.
So, after dinner, I scour the internet for job opportunities, and I’m getting nervous as hell. I am fully aware that tons of high school kids have after-school and weekend jobs and it’s really not a big deal. But that’s the thing: I’m not most high school kids. Just the idea of putting myself out there and acting confident and peppy makes me want to curl up in a ball and wither. Like a stonefish—which has the ability to sit perfectly still on the bottom of the sea and make itself look like part of the coral reefs. Stonefish are also really poisonous and capable of killing a full-grown person in less than one hour. But that seems a bit extreme, even in my situation.
So. I narrow it down to two potential jobs: coffee shop barista at The Jumpin’ Bean. Or my first choice: part-time staff at Board and Brews, the board game cafe that recently opened on Main Street. I come from a family of mega board game fanatics. Thursday night board game marathons are kind of a religion in my household. And Casey, my fifteen-year-old sister, and I usually play even more often than that. She’s a zillion times cooler than me, but she still always finds time to fit in a quick game of Tokaido or Galaxy Trucker before she heads out with her friends on weekends.
A job at a board game cafe would be a perfect fit… if I can get past the fact that it entails having to interact with people.
And I am going to have to get past it. Ineedthat job.
Once I finish making my sad-looking resumé, I get into my pj’s and do my nightly plant check-in. I have seventeen plants in my room, in addition to a small plastic pond liner that I’ve converted into a mini marine touch-tank, so it’s a bit of a jungle in here. I spent a lot of time making this space cozy because it has to act as more than just a bedroom. It has to be a calming escape from the toxic vibe I contend with every day at school.
Just as I’m stashing the watering can beside one of my floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, I hear a tapping noise against the window and I turn really slowly.
My breath catches in my throat. There’s a guy crouched in front of my window.
He’s leaning in closer to knock again, and my eyes go round as I take him in, trying to come to terms with the fact that the figure is not a figment of my imagination. And then I recognize him. I’m almost positive it’s the football jock who disrupted the entire morning with his roof-top acrobatics today.
Sebastian Murdoch.
