by Eden Beck
“I’m kissing my beautiful date,” he says, eyes raking over me.
Sterling seems off somehow. He is overly affectionate and sweet, and he’s smiling wider than I’ve seen him smile before.
So wide, in fact, that it kind of takes me aback. It almost looks as if he’s forcing himself to make sure he doesn’t look miserable, a false cheeriness that makes him look like a wax figure made of himself—a poor replica of the real thing, in my opinion.
My only guess is that it has to be his father’s presence here that has everything to do with his high level of uncomfortable anxiety.
“If Bridget sees us—”
“Screw Bridget,” he says. “I couldn’t care less what anyone has to say about anything tonight.”
As much as I think his sudden decision to be reckless here of all places is sure to end poorly; I do admittedly like this brazen side of him.
“You look absolutely stunning,” Sterling says with a stargazed look in his eyes.
He looks like he might lean forward and try to kiss me again, but I take a step backward, not because I don’t desperately want to kiss him too, but because that’s not what we’re here for. I need to make a good—no, a great impression with the review board.
And making out in the entrance while people clear their throats to get around us in not the way to go about that.
“So how does this work?” I ask him as we step aside and into the throng in the hall. “Is there like a formal time to be able to talk with the review board members, or is it more of a casual mingling sort of thing?”
I have to raise my voice to be heard above the swell of the music.
Sterling shrugs his shoulders. I can tell that he couldn’t care less about the review board and even though his father is on it, there’s a good chance he doesn’t know too much about it. He and his father, after all, have never seemed particularly like the type to spend a second longer together than absolutely necessary.
“It’s more of a casual brown-nosing event,” Warren says as he walks up with Bridget on his arm. He sees the startled look on my face and adds, “I’ve been to so many of these things, you just get good at hearing people over the music.”
Bridget looks at Sterling’s arms that are still wrapped around my waist even though I’d backed up a bit to make some space between us. I’m worried that seeing me with Sterling might make her snap—really snap—but surprisingly it just makes her face contort into an awful expression that looks like she’s going to vomit.
At least it doesn’t send her over the edge like I was worried it might.
Not yet anyway.
And to think that not too long ago, that was the whole goal.
“You wouldn’t know how to mingle and rub noses with the board members if your life depended on it,” she sneers.
Though, maybe I shouldn’t have reconsidered quite so quickly.
I just force a false smile of my own onto my face. Between Sterling and I, we must look quite the nightmarish pair.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be fine.”
I make a point to reach for Sterling’s arm as we walk away from Bridget and Warren. I can feel Warren’s eyes following me and I’m sure that Bridget can pick up on her brother’s lingering gaze too. Between her jealousy of me with Sterling, and her overprotective nature of her brother; Bridget must truly hate me at this point. There must be so much of this that is driving her absolutely crazy right now.
I have to admit, I don’t mind driving Bridget crazy for one minute. If there’s anyone who deserves to be tortured a little tonight after all—it’s her. Especially with how she just keeps making it so damn easy.
When we get further into the party, I can see Chase standing by the punch bowl in-between the silent auction table and a group of men in suits that look more expensive than all the money I will probably make in my whole entire life.
“Hey,” I smile as we walk up to where Chase is standing.
“Wow,” he says when he turns to look at me. “You look absolutely amazing.”
“Thanks,” I smile. It definitely feels good to be dressed up and have all three guys unable to keep their eyes off me. “What are you doing over here by yourself?”
“Eh, I didn’t want to bring a date,” Chase answers with a shrug. “It’s too hard to be able to bail out of these things whenever you want to if there’s a date involved.”
Chase gives Sterling a bit of a smirk and I know it has to do with the fact that I dragged him here as my date. Sterling just shakes his head and mumbles something about how he’ll get Chase back for it after the party.
“Besides,” Chase says. “I found the perfect spot to stand, right in-between the fancy auction baskets and the fancy board members’ suits.”
I turn my head quickly to look at the group of men gathered next to us.
“Wait, those are the review board members?” I ask with wide eyes. I make a point to straighten my posture, even though they seem to be looking literally anywhere other than actually at me.
“Yep,” Chase says. “Sterling, I think I saw your dad here a few minutes ago. Pretty sure he went to go get another drink.”
The mere mention of his father sends Sterling into an immediate cold sweat. His hand feels clammy against my palm and I can see him looking around the room without turning his head.
I don’t know what his dad did to make him hate him so much, but Sterling definitely doesn’t want to be anywhere near his father.
I feel bad for dragging him here, but that only makes it more critical for me to meet his father as soon as possible. The longer we stay here, the more of a chance there is of some sort of calamity befalling me—as it usually does.
Tonight, however, I’m more worried about Sterling.
“I want to try to talk to the review board members,” I say, determinedly. “But I’m not really sure how to approach them.”
“Well,” Chase says as he stares at a figure who’s just infiltrated the group of board members. “Just do what Bridget did and walk right over there.”
Sure enough, Bridget is in the midst of their conversation now.
I can hear her buttering the men up and telling them about all of her false accomplishments here at reform school and how happy she is that her parents sent her here because it was just what she needed. Everything that she says is a lie, and yet she makes it sound so sweet, like poison laced with honey.
I really can’t stand that girl.
And yet I still find myself taking mental notes in case I need to copy her.
“Maybe you could introduce me to your father?” I ask Sterling. I already know that he isn’t going to be fond of the idea, but I don’t know where else to start.
“No, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he says. “Knowing me isn’t going to help you with my father. If anything, it’ll probably hurt your chances.”
I doubt that, but I don’t push him any further. I can tell immediately which man is his father, because when a man in a very trim and very couture looking suit rejoins the group with a martini in his hand, Sterling’s hands start to shake.
“I need to get some water,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
Sterling leaves and walks toward the opposite side of the hall. I’m pretty sure there’s no water over there but I know that wasn’t why he left to begin with. He either needs some time to mentally regroup, or he’s planning to hide from his father’s sight for the rest of the evening.
Well, at least now I know which one is his father. He’s my ticket back into Brown. I suck in a deep breath and get ready to go introduce myself.
“You got this,” Chase says with a smile from next to me. “You’re the best candidate for Brown that this guy will see all night. Go knock ‘em dead.”
“Do you know why Sterling hates his dad so much?” I ask, suddenly, hoping to get a read on the guy before I go over there and start kissing up to him.
“No, I only kno
w that I’ve never seen the two of them in the same room together, or even heard them talk to each other on the phone. No idea why though. I mean, most of the parents that send their kids here to reform school aren’t ideal. But we all deal with the cards we were dealt and try to make it through.”
Well that didn’t really help at all.
I wait another minute to try and muster up some courage before walking over. I know I can’t wait long, or I—like Sterling—am going to lose my nerve.
When Bridget smiles at the group of board members, and I hear her say her goodbyes as she turns to leave, I know that now is my chance. I force my feet to walk forward, even though my brain is saying “no, no, no.” But my body keeps moving all the way until I’ve taken her place standing in front of the review board members.
Some of them are sipping cocktails and talking to each other. Others are sharing a good laugh over something that I’m not privy to. And there are one or two that are glancing in my general direction as I walk up and approach the group.
“Hello,” I say as I reach out my hand straight to Sterling’s dad. “I’m Aubrey and I’m friends with your son.”
I immediately regret my choice of words. I should have trusted Sterling.
“That’s a strange way to address a member of the review board, isn’t it?” he asks without taking my hand. “Most students show at least a little bit of respect and decorum, and most refrain from referencing some form of nepotism at the very first greeting.”
I suddenly feel super awkward and withdraw my hand to let my arm rest back down at my side. Nepotism?
“It’s a strange outfit too,” he says as he eyes me from head to toe.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“This is a gala, not a nightclub. One might have thought that you would have at least attempted to make a more modest impression. Especially considering your backstory.”
My … my backstory? It’s all I can do to keep a look of horror from marring the already stale smile on my face.
I look down at the gown, a silver slip of a dress that I’d hardly call something I’d wear to a nightclub. One of my arms lifts up to cross over my chest absentmindedly, as I suddenly become overwhelmingly aware of my own appearance.
Why didn’t anyone tell me I was dressed inappropriately?
Meanwhile, Sterling’s father lifts the martini glass to his lips and takes a sip. There’s something about the way that his lips curl around the rim of the glass that would make him the perfect guy to cast as a villain in one of those cheesy vampire movies.
I can already see the charm that Sterling must have been trying to warn me about—this guy is rude.
It’s all I can do not to turn tail and run.
But I need this. I need to at least try.
So, against every instinct screaming inside for me to do the opposite, I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and steel myself for whatever this man decides to throw my way.
Chapter Twenty-One
I can already see that this whole exchange is going to take much more finesse than I expected—though in all honesty, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise.
I guess I thought that maybe this guy was just an ass to Sterling, the way that some parents can be super awful to their own kids but then look picture-perfect to the rest of the world. I hate those kind of people—hypocrites. But this guy seems to be a real jerk all around. That doesn’t bode well for me if this is the guy that I need to impress.
I suddenly wish I’d picked someone else—anyone else—to single out.
But it’s too late now.
“My apologies,” I say with the most cordial voice I can manage, even though what I really want to do is spit on his fancy shoes. “I must have interpreted the term gala more loosely than it was intended.”
He suddenly explodes with laughter to the point that his drink sloshes around in the martini glass that he is still gripping in his hand, and I wonder how many cocktails he’s already had. I’m guessing it’s been a few, quite a few.
It’s one of those “call the kettle black” situations, since he obviously missed the memo on the fact that the review board members are supposed to at least stay sober enough for the invited students to talk to.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still laughing. “But the fact that you find it to be an anomaly that you’ve interpreted something loosely is severely amusing to me.”
What the hell is this guy’s problem?
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I say hesitantly. I’m already getting a really bad feeling about this whole interaction. I wish that Sterling was here and that he hadn’t wandered off to go and hide somewhere.
He’d know how to handle this.
He’s probably the only one who’d know how to handle this.
“Oh, come now,” he smirks. “Surely you can’t expect me not to know who you are, Aubrey. Your reputation precedes you, and not in a good way if I might add.”
Here it comes. All of the other men in the group are now staring at me and listening in on our conversation. Why aren’t there any women on the review board? That doesn’t seem fair at all. There should be an equal number of women on all boards that make decisions about the colleges … right?
“You are about as loose as they come, from what I hear. Not only did you have problems at your last school, but now you have the very same kind of problems here with a member of the staff, too? A counselor I think it was? Granted, Mr. Peters is a good-looking man, but he is much too old for you.”
He stops speaking for a second, takes another sip from his glass, and then continues in a way that leaves my mouth hanging wide open. “Even if his head was turned by a tight little body like yours, I can assure you that it wouldn’t have helped you in the least to have spread your legs for him. The review board doesn’t look kindly upon that sort of thing. And before you have any ideas of trying to ask me to lift your hold, you should know—there’s no place for girls that try to sleep their way to the top at Brown.”
I feel as if I’ve been slapped. Right here, right in the middle of the swirling dresses and tuxedos of the gala.
It’s like I’m in a dream turned nightmare, stuck in some sort of surreal moment in which nothing is as it should be. I want to say something to correct the mistruths that have been spread about me, but I hesitate.
I leaned into them this semester, so my word probably doesn’t mean squat to him. I look around at the other men. Some of them are now looking at me with condescending looks of disdain, and the ones who aren’t, are looking at me as if I am a fresh piece of raw meat that they want to take a bite out of.
What a bunch of predatory assholes.
A bunch of predatory assholes who could, I realize with a reeling sensation, not only deny me an early exit from Ridgecrest—but keep me from returning to Brown like I was supposed to next fall.
It’s for that reason, and that reason only, that I swallow the last pieces of my pride and force my voice not to completely crack in front of them.
“I can assure you that whatever rumors you have heard about me, they’re wrong.”
“Oh?” he says mockingly. “Then what exactly is the truth, Aubrey? You say that you’re friends with my son, correct?”
I nod my head without saying anything. I really should have listened to Sterling when he warned me against mentioning him.
“Platonic friends?” he pries further.
I’m not sure what to say to that. If I lie and tell him that Sterling and I are nothing more than the equivalence of platonic classmates, and his father finds out that I have lied to him; I might as well kiss even a one percent chance of getting back into Brown goodbye. On the other hand, if I tell him that his son and I are more than friends, it will play right into his preconceived notion about me. He picks up on my obvious unease.
“It’s okay, no need to answer me. I already know the answer to that question myself. Even if you weren’t the campus floozy, I know my son.”
I can feel all the heat ru
shing to my cheeks and I know that I am probably turning fifty shades of red right now.
I’m ashamed and embarrassed, but most of all I am angry. He doesn’t know anything about me, and from the sounds of it, he doesn’t know anything about his own son either.
I open my mouth to say something, but then quickly realize that I have no idea what to say. This man isn’t going to believe me no matter what I tell him. He has already made up his mind about me—that much is clear.
All of a sudden, the thoughts of how I won’t be able to go to Brown and will be stuck here in this reform school for another term after all come crashing down on me. If I don’t start Christmas break off next week with a letter informing me that Brown has rescinded their invitation entirely.
My thoughts spin out of control here, right in the middle of the gala in front of Sterling’s father and the rest of the review board—and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.
If I can’t get into a decent college, then how will I ever be able to financially support myself? Not that I had been counting on my parents’ help ever again, but I thought they’d at least keep paying for Brown. Even if they didn’t … surely, I’d be able to get some kind of financial aid. Loans. Something.
But without Brown, where does that leave me?
I can’t exactly walk into a bank and ask for a housing loan for … for what? For where?
I feel as if I am watching my future slowly die a pathetic and withering death right in front of my eyes. And the person that has killed it is this pompous ass with a half-empty martini glass hanging precariously in his hand.
My breathing has grown short and shallow. My head swims, my vision blurring and turning fuzzy.
If I stay here for even one more second, I’m going to pass out.
So, without thinking about how it will look, I turn and run.
It’s the only thing that my body can do, even though my mind is telling me to stay put in order to avoid looking like some sort of guilt-ridden, emotional, idiot. But it doesn’t matter. My body is already opting for the “flight” part of fight or flight.