by Lucy Auburn
I sit down and look away before I can start imagining even more fanciful things. Rainbow moves on to the next student, and soon enough class is over—and along with it, finals.
It's time to go home.
But all I can think about is coming back here again, and finishing what I started.
"There's something you need to know." Cole finds me after class, jogging to catch up with me on the path back to the dormitories. "The truth about that accident."
"Which accident?"
"The one you made public—because I gave you the report."
Coming to a sudden stop, I turn to face him, staring up into his hazel green eyes. The truth is, ever since the Blind Ball, I've been full of questions for him. The instant I realized that he was the anonymous person who dropped that accident report off at my door, I've wanted to know why, and I've almost asked him a dozen times, if not more.
I was afraid, though. Afraid that the truth would change how I see him—make me feel sympathy for him, maybe, or think we were on the same side. More than that, though, I was afraid that he'd make me feel like a fool even more than I already am. This whole time I thought I was facing off with him, he was playing both sides: his and mine.
I have to admit, I was also worried that if I probed too hard, took the opportunity to ask him too many questions, he would rescind his offer to help me go after Hass. I'm not sure I can get him on my own—not after what nearly happened to me. As much as I'm loathe to admit it, I need Cole's help more than any of the others, and until he gave me this opening, I wasn't sure I'd ever to be able to get any answers from him. This may be my one and only chance.
So I start in with the hard stuff. "Why did you remove the parts about the dead body from the report before you gave it to me?"
"I didn't," he says. "That's the version that I got from my source inside the department. I had no idea they doctored it."
"Really? You expect me to believe that?"
"You think I would cover up some poor girl's murder?" He advances on me until there are only a few inches between us, and I have to take a step back, tilting my chin up to look into his impossibly bright eyes. "I wouldn't do that, Brenna. What happened that day was, as far as I was concerned, a solid I did for a friend in trouble."
"Really? You drove drunk as a favor?" I snort, the sound unladylike. "Somehow I doubt that."
"I wasn't the one driving the car. Michael was. That's why his father went to so much effort to cover the whole thing up and have the police chief doctor the version of the report authorities had—he didn't want anyone to know. I still have no idea how you got the original."
"I have my own sources," I tell him lightly, not wanting to reveal too much of myself. The more mysterious I seem, the better. "None of this explains how you were found in the driver's seat."
"We switched places, obviously. The second there were police sirens."
"Why?"
Cole looks away, taking a step back and staring into the light blue winter sky. His breath fogs in the air, a Connecticut cold front turning him into something out of a winter catalog. Between his dark hair and the slight shadow on his jaw, which is already sprouting hints of stubble he doesn't always shave away, he looks like something girls dream of to keep them warm when the temperature drops.
I don't know how to reconcile his impossibly attractive outside with the vindictive and petty core I know lies beneath. Out of all the Elites, Cole could really do something with himself, change the world with all his money and influence—his is the fortune that will be the largest, when he inherits it. Yet he chooses to play games and carry out petty grievances instead of seeing the world for the broken place it is and trying to put the world back together.
What tempts me most is the belief that I could change him, mold him to become a better man.
That way lies a trap only young women fall into, and once we're consumed by it—by the dreams of a young man who could be better, but won't—we never come back out the other side whole.
"We switched places," Cole says finally, "because Michael had a body of a girl in the trunk of the car, and he wanted me framed. At the time, he said it was because he was high as a kite and he didn't think I was that drunk, but honestly... I think he was using me. And I was just barely shitfaced enough to fall for it."
Staring up at him, I find myself torn between two parts of me: my heart that says everything about him is telling the truth, and the darkness that lies just behind my heart, which insists no one should ever believe anything he says until his dying days.
It doesn't matter which part of me is right.
In the end, I've chosen to make a deal with Cole Masterson, and the only way to see that deal through to the end is to let him think I believe him. Whether or not I do.
"Okay." Taking a deep breath, I look at the oak trees, which have given up their leaves so easily. Then I stare back up into his hazel eyes and make myself look like a girl without a heart of fire and a dagger buried in her back. "So that's the truth. I believe you."
Cole chuckles, the sound dark and empty. "You don't," he says lightly, lighter than he should, "but it doesn't matter. We're two snakes, you and I, and we're tangled together whether we want to be or not."
Before I can tell him to fuck off—or worse, have another terrible lapse in judgment and kiss him again—he spins on his heel and walks off, towards nothing in particular, his figure growing distant with every one of his long strides.
I hate that he takes a little piece of me with him when he goes.
Wayborne seems smaller than it was before. I know that's impossible; the town hasn't changed, it's just me that's changed. I've been at Coleridge long enough that my vision has adjusted.
But on the other hand, after the tornado destroyed so much of our street and other parts of town, things had to be rebuilt, and there are still holes where the refuge has been cleared away but nothing new has come in its places. Wayborne isn't exactly the kind of town that attracts developers with deep pockets eager to build shopping centers and condominiums. Whatever gets rebuilt anew will have the sweat and tears of our local residents in every beam, just like the house I grew up in bore the mark of my grandfather from the front door to the back.
Wally doesn't drive me down the street I grew up in.
Instead he drives me towards his house, where Mom is staying for a bit, since her new apartment building got mold. He keeps a light tone as he talks about it, but I have no doubt his family is under some strain.
"We can go to Aunt Cheryl's," I remind him. "She doesn't live that far away. And I'm sure she'll let us crash on her sofa."
"No way. Dad wants the Wilders back in Wayborne. Besides, we have more than a couch to crash on. Mom is setting up the pullout sofa in the basement just for you. And Christmas is better in a big, happy group."
It is—which is why I don't know what to feel about the fact that my dad hasn't even contacted us to tell us he's not coming home for Christmas. Or at least, if he called Mom, he kept it from her. There are questions that loom in our future, thoughts of divorce papers and alimony, me figuring out what I'm doing after high school, and if I'll get a job at the closest retail outlet or diner, since I'm unlikely to get a scholarship big enough to be able to go to college.
All things that are hard to think about now that Silas isn't in the picture. He was going to sweep me away to some big city, far from Mom and Dad, and we were going to leave Wayborne in the rearview mirror for good. Now I don't know what to think or feel—it seems impossible to consider leaving Mom after everything, and somehow I doubt I'll be able to make it on my own without my brother's genius to support me.
Maybe there's something on that laptop partition that could help with that—for all I know he put some computer program there, not evidence that got him killed. Lukas and I still haven't cracked it. The sooner we do the better—especially because, as the days roll on behind me, I feel further from my brother than ever.
This is my first Christmas without him.
Just like my most recent birthday was my seventeenth, alone.
Wally is right; it's for the best that Mom and I are staying with his family. At least this way we won't be completely alone. Their presence might just be enough to fill in the cracks and missing pieces of what use to be an entire family, darkness and all.
"Ready?" Wally asks as he parks the car, studying me. "You don't have to be holiday cheery if you don't want to, you know. We'll all understand if you're a little down, now more than ever before."
"I know how much your mom loves Christmas." I pat him on the shoulder. "I'll be fine. I can sing all the carols and drink plenty of eggnog."
"My mom puts alcohol in that."
"All the more reason to guzzle it down." Throwing him a smile that I almost feel inside me, I push open the passenger side door and slide out of his truck onto the ground. "Let's go be merry and bright."
"If you say so."
Truthfully, there's only one thing I want for Christmas: to finalize my revenge. The sooner January comes, the better.
Chapter 12
January
Second Semester, First Year
I made it. I'm back.
Even I couldn't have predicted that I'd pull it off. Hell, it barely feels like I did—without Cole's mysterious pull with the administration and Blake's shockingly genuine tutoring, I might not be walking up towards Rosalind Hall right now, about to return to my depressing room beneath the stairs and endure at least another few weeks worth of torture. But I'm back, and more ready than ever to see Ferdinand Von Hassell, rich piece of shit and rapist, go down for his very real crimes.
First, though, I have to put my stuff away. Taking out my key—the room under the stairs doesn't have an ID scanner—I unlock the deadbolt and open up the door.
A putrid stench hits my nostrils.
Despair fills me as I walk into the room and stare up at the source of the smell. A steady stream of what can only be sewage is leaking through the ceiling—the pipes must route through here somehow, and during the winter break one of them broke. A steady drip of sewer water has been falling down onto my mattress and has soaked every inch of it. It's spilling down onto the floor even, and if I take another step forward I'll be standing in it.
"Welcome back to Coleridge, I guess. This must be the school's way of telling me what it thinks of me."
Mrs. Reynolds stares at me over her desk, a frown on her face. I can tell what she's thinking: I'm a problem without an easy solution. She's probably trying to decide whether or not she can shove me in the basement and call it a day.
"Ms. Wilder. Your time at this school has been most... eventful. How long has it been?"
I squirm in my seat. "One semester, like all the other first years."
"So just a few months." Sighing, she pushes up her glasses, the plaque with her title of Residence Director gleaming at the front of her desk. "A suitable room will be found for you while the sewer line is fixed. Old buildings have issues. These things happen."
"Right," I agree aloud, though inwardly I suspect Georgia might have something to do with it. That might just be paranoia on my part, though. "I thought Rosalind Hall was full up, though."
"It is." She clicks around on her computer screen, not lifting her eyes towards me. "We may be able to find a place for you, though."
"Oh?"
"It's just not up to me." Her eyes lift from the computer and fix on the door behind me. In a voice pitched to carry, she calls out, "Come in."
I turn to the door, a question on my lips, and make eye contact with Holly. She looks good—her dark hair is cut close to her jawline, which accentuates the feminine point to her chin. Her eyes are bright, skin perfect as always, two points of color high on her cheeks. She looks like she just came in from the cold, and is invigorated by it instead of turning into a tight ball seeking warmth, like me.
An awkward feeling hangs in the air as we consider each other. Besides our texts before break, we haven't communicated in any way, other than passing in the halls at a distance. No doubt she was busy with finals—I know I was.
"Holly." I lick my suddenly dry lips. "Hey."
"Welcome back, Brenna. I hope the winter break treated you well."
Thinking of moments with Wally's family by the fire, getting to eat food at Jade's house on Christmas Eve, presents from Aunt Cheryl and a brief moment where I could pretend like everything was okay, I tell her, "It was good."
I leave out, of course, the nights I spent awake and shivering, not from cold but because I could feel his absence. Some days, missing Silas is like a scabbed-over wound, the pain buried beneath thick protection created by time and distance. Other days it's more like a phantom limb, screaming at me with pain, because my body knows that something is missing.
"Ms. Schneider, please take a seat." The Residence Director motions towards the chair next to me. "You said in your email to me that you would consider rooming with Brenna again. Is that still true?"
"Yes," she says, and I startle with shock at how certain she sounds, how easily she says it. "I think whatever differences we had, bygones are bygones, and this is a new semester."
"Ms. Wilder." It takes a great deal of effort to tear my eyes away from Holly's face and back towards Mrs. Reynolds. "Would you be amenable to rooming with Ms. Schneider once more? Even if only temporarily."
I feel like I've walked into the upside down. Holly's room is a corner room, one of the best in Rosalind Hall. I was lucky to get to live there in the first place, and I fucked it all up for no good damned reason. Am I amenable? I'd love nothing more than to be back in Holly's good graces.
I'm just not sure if that's what this is. After all, Holly is a nice girl. She could just be letting me live with her again because the alternative is me sleeping on a toilet. Or worse, maybe she's decided to cross over to Georgia's side. While it doesn't seem like her, anything is possible.
All I know is that if Holly might forgive me, I'll do anything I can to earn that forgiveness. I just hope that it's possible.
"I'd love to room with Holly again—if she's okay with it. Temporarily or... otherwise."
"Good." Holly doesn't look over when I glance at her surreptitiously, wondering what she's thinking. "Brenna, if you could just sign this agreement, we'll get your ID card programmed to open the door to your old room, and a few volunteers will be by to help you move your stuff."
The agreement, which I skim curiously, basically states that I don't hold Coleridge liable for the sewer leak, or any resulting health issues related to it. How brutally rich of them to think that I could sue the school in the first place. I sign it, because I don't really have any other option, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to get the Black Plague from briefly stepping into a dirty room. Trust Coleridge to have a form like this ready to go less than an hour after I found the leak in the first place.
"Alright." I pass the form back, still feeling a bit like I'm in a dream. "Is that it?"
"That's it. You're ready to go."
I follow Holly out the office door, a thousand questions and a million words gathering inside me, waiting to burst out of my mouth. It takes all my strength to stay quiet long enough to let her speak first.
In a low, severe voice she says, "You will not steal from me again."
"I won't." Meeting her green eyes straight on, I try to convey with my face just how much I mean it. "I swear it, Holly. Everything I did was so stupid and so, so shitty. I won't do something like that again."
After studying me for a moment, she nods sharply. "This doesn't make us friends again."
"Of course," I say lightly, though it pains me not to beg her to let me back into her good graces. "Whatever you want, whatever pace you choose... it's all up to you. I won't push anything. I swear, Holly, you won't regret this."
She wrinkles her nose. "God, you sound so anxious. Calm down a little—it'll be okay. I wasn't gonna let you live in that sewer room. I'm not a vindictive person. One time my best friend in
middle school cut all my hair off in my sleep."
"What did you do?" I ask, as she leads me towards my new-but-not room.
"I rolled with it. Turned the whole thing into a new hairstyle—an asymmetrical bob before they were even a thing. Can you believe people actually bought into it? A few girls even brought a photo of me to their hair dressers."
I can believe anyone would do anything just because Holly did it first. She's a natural trendsetter, the kind of girl who would make you want to buy a stupid tea based on an Instagram post, because she looks so flawless and laid-back that of course you'll look the same if you just drink the tea. What's worse is that Holly wouldn't shill something like that in the first place, because she's not the type to take advantage of her good looks or privilege, which takes all the bite out of being envious of her.
Her light is the kind that spills over onto other people and makes them glow in the most amazing ways.
One day, hopefully before I leave Coleridge, I want to stand in that light once more.
Two Days Later
"On a Wednesday?" I frown at Cole, uncertain if he's fucking with me. "You're really sure that Hass is going to buy girls on a Wednesday? Of all days?"
Cole shoves some of his lunch in his mouth and talks around it, as if he wasn't raised by rich parents who probably taught him how to use a salad fork when he was four years old. "Wednesday is when the private airport is closed for new flights, and they only close it when someone has bought it out for something special, so it's the only day he could be flying 'em in. Also, I had Tanner contact Hass's dealer, and he told Tanner that if he wanted any molly he better get it before tonight."
"Tonight it is." Even though I've been preparing for this for weeks, practically salivating at having my chance, suddenly my palms are sweaty and my stomach is doing flip flops now that it's finally here. "I can't believe it. I mean... we're really going to do it."
Tanner pipes in. "Mostly you're going to do it."