by Amy Sparling
The guy who just yelled at me glances at Declan and his friends, nods once, and steps aside. “You’re good.”
“Anyone wanna vouch for this chick?” the other door guy says. “She wants in, but she’s not invited.”
Declan doesn’t even look at me. He just walks into the building. My heart breaks open at his epic betrayal. I thought we were friends.
The other two guys hang back a bit, eyeing me up and down. I stand straight, feeling like a complete loser for hoping they say I should be let into the party.
“Nah,” the of the guys says. “I ain’t messing with the new girl.”
“Yeah, leave me out of that,” the other guy says.
I turn around and walk as fast as I can. Clearly, I’m not welcome at this school. So why do I keep stupidly trying to make friends with these people?
And why did the only person who’s shown me kindness just act like I don’t even exist?
Chapter Eleven
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
I can handle being the butt of some online jokes. I can handle having people turn away from me when the teachers want group work. But Declan was my friend. At least, I thought he was. And tonight he pretended I didn’t even exist.
My whole body feels heavy, weary with the humiliation and realization that nothing is what I thought it was. My black sparkly flats glisten under the moonlight and the soft glow of each street lamp as I pass under it on my walk back to the dorms.
As much as I want to hate Declan, I’m not sure I can blame him for wanting nothing to do with me. Everyone else doesn’t like me. I wish he had just been more upfront about it, instead of pretending to be nice to me while we worked on our English project.
Yeah, well the truth is out now. Next time a teacher tells us to partner up, I’m going to stand up and walk back to my dorm. If they let Belle do her school work online, they’ll just have to let me do it, too. I’m not going to sit here and be humiliated repeatedly for the next few months.
I keep trying to get myself angry. Anger is easier than sorrow. I want to hate Declan. Hate the students at Shelfbrooke. I don’t want to be sad.
But sadness keeps leeching onto me anyhow. It crawls up my legs and wraps around my heart and squeezes until all I want to do is drop into a ball and cry.
I turn onto the pathway that leads to the staff dorms, and then I stop short. It’s only been fifteen minutes since I left my dorm, all dressed up with hair I spent an hour curling and makeup I spent another hour applying. Belle was excited for me, too. She told me to have fun and make friends and do all the things she can’t do since she’s unable to leave our room.
Going back home now would just disappoint her and show how truly pathetic I am. My hands clench into fists and I turn on my heel, walking away from the dorms, but in the opposite direction of the party.
I go to the gardens.
Shelfbrooke piles so much school work on its students that we rarely have free time. And when I am done with my homework, I usually hang out with Belle, or sit in the gardens and try to relax. I haven’t done much exploring, especially after I memorized the pathways that are on the outer banks of the gardens. I can get from one end to the other, using the same paths each time, but I’ve never ventured further into the masterfully designed walls that create a labyrinth of beautiful flowers and plants that stretch on for acres.
Tonight, that changes.
I refuse to cry here, not in the first garden. Not near the stone statues that students love to pose in front of for selfies. I can’t cry anywhere that might have other students lurking nearby. I need to go further.
I stick to the south wall of the garden, where the moonlight shines brightly down a long pathway that’s devoid of any of the beautiful showy flowers that the west side of the garden has. Here, it’s just two tall walls of vines with a cobblestone walkway between them. I walk for ten minutes, then twenty.
I only take a couple of turns, when it looks like the pathway ahead of me turns into a dead end.
The glow of the campus lights don’t reach this far into the gardens. I have only the moonlight to guide me, and the dark shadows that indicate another pathway up ahead. Perhaps on another day, this might be a little frightening, wandering around in the dark, with no clue where I am.
But tonight it feels freeing.
I am not afraid of the dark.
I used to be afraid of being alone, but right now it doesn’t seem so bad. No one can hurt you when you are alone.
I turn and amble slowly down new pathways, my fingers skittering over the petals of flowers as I pass them. I lose track of which turn I take, which direction is back home. I don’t really care anymore. The gardens make a perfect refuge.
A soft beep fills the air. At first I think it’s my phone, but then the sound happens again, and it’s definitely not coming from my pocket.
“Are you seriously going to check your phone right now?” a guy says.
“Sorry,” a softer voice says back. “I’ll turn it off.”
“Good. Now where were we?”
Ew!
I make a sharp turn and walk in the opposite direction so I don’t stumble upon whatever that couple was doing back there. Clearly, I’m not far enough into the gardens to fully lose myself and everyone else.
I keep walking.
I walk until my feet start to hurt because these adorable ballet flats are just that—adorable. They aren’t comfortable or meant to be walked in for so long. I find an old wooden bench that looks like it hasn’t been used in decades and I sit down and pull off my shoes to let my feet have a break. The moonlight is right overhead now, lighting up a good bit of the area around me. I think my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, because it’s not so dark anymore. I take out my phone and scroll through social media. I haven’t made a single post since I moved here three weeks ago.
And no one has noticed.
My Cali friends are still posting their normal stuff. Parties, shopping sprees, photos on private planes. Normally I would be included in these photos, but now I’m not, and no one seems to care.
I read through some comments, and not one person asks where Sophia is. Even Viv has gone on posting a few times a day like her life is exactly the same.
Does anyone, anywhere care about me?
My eyes sting with a fresh round of sorrow. I blink a few times and refuse to cry.
My nannies and caretakers over the years have always told me I have a charmed life. That I’m spoiled, loved, favored. That I’ll never know what real work is. And maybe that last part is true thanks to my trust fund. Maybe I am just a stuck-up brat who has everything given to her.
But this life doesn’t feel very charmed right now.
I keep thinking about Declan, even though I don’t want to. I keep replaying that first day we met, how I treated him like garbage. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve any of it. I was just mad that I was being sent to this school. I should have been nicer. Maybe we’d be real friends now, instead of fake ones.
A small bird drops down beside me on the bench. It’s too dark to make out what kind of bird it is, but it’s cute.
“Hello,” I say softly.
The bird looks up at me, or at least I think it does. It chirps a soft sound.
“How are you?” I ask, my sorrow temporarily forgotten.
It chirps again.
I hold out my hand, slowly, and the little bird jumps into my palm. I almost squeal in surprise, because I hadn’t expected that. But I hold still, trying not to scare it. This is some serious Disney princess stuff right here.
“Do you want to be my friend?” I ask, my voice so soft I barely hear it. I know it’s stupid to talk to a bird. I know it’s pathetic to ask a tiny little animal to be my friend. But it’s not like anyone is around to witness it.
The bird chirps again, and then it jumps up, flying in the air above me for a just a moment. “Where are you going?” I ask.
And then it flies straigh
t at the vine wall in front me. I gasp as it disappears.
It straight up disappears!
“How in the—” I stand up and walk toward the garden wall. The bird couldn’t have disappeared, I tell myself. It only looked like it did. Maybe it’s right there inside the green garden wall. I reach out slowly and feel the lush greenery in front of me. The leaves are only a few inches thick, and then there’s a solid wall behind it.
Curious, I press harder, then I pull the leaves apart. The rest of the garden walls aren’t really walls—they are just really high bushes that are trimmed into wall shapes. You could get a pair of garden shears and cut your way through the walls if you wanted.
But this is very much a real wall. Brick, by the feel of it. It’s a real wall covered in vines that make it look like any other garden wall.
And that makes the bird’s disappearance even more of a mystery. I spread my hands out, gently pressing against the vines and leaves, feeling a hard wall behind every single place I touch.
Curious, I walk several steps one way, pressing the wall every so often. After about ten feet, the wall gives, and it’s a bush once again. I backtrack, finding where the brick wall starts. I walk all the way down the opposite direction and do the same thing.
The hidden brick wall is about the length of my dorm room. I gaze up. It’s only about seven feet tall, but seeing as I’m five feet, three inches, there’s no way I can see over it. Curiosity takes over me though, and I want to know what this wall is. Is it just some monument? Maybe a decoration that’s been taken over by the gardens? Or is it something special?
I don’t know why I feel this way, but I would bet all my luxury handbags that this isn’t just some wall. It’s special. I can feel it deep in my soul.
The bird appears again, flying just over my shoulder.
“There you are!” I say, taking a step back. I pull out my cell phone and turn on the flashlight. “Where did you go?”
The bird is blue, with yellow on its head, and it has a cute little round belly. The bird heads straight toward the wall again, but this time my light is shining on it. I watch him disappear. Then I bring the light closer to the exact spot.
And it’s open. A fragrant smell of roses fills the air when I lean against the wall, against this small opening. I can’t see anything, can’t get a better idea of what’s behind that hole without damaging the vines. That’s when I realize the earthy smell coming from the wall reminds me of the wooden bench I was just sitting on a few minutes ago.
I take a step back, then knock on the wall. It’s wooden.
This is a door.
The rest of the hidden wall is brick, but this isn’t. I feel around, scrambling to find the handle, the opening, that will reveal what’s behind the door. But it’s too dark, and my phone is flashing the low battery warning at me.
It’s just after three in the morning. If I were to get caught outside this late at night, I’d definitely get into trouble.
With a sigh, I turn off my phone’s flashlight and fall into darkness once again. Opening the GPS app on my phone, I drop a pin on the screen, marking this exact location in the gardens. The GPS obviously doesn’t have the gardens marked like it has the public roads, so the area on the map is just solid green. But now I have at least a slight idea of how to get back here in the morning.
I yawn and turn around, pocketing my phone before it dies. I have no idea what lies behind that hidden door.
But as soon as the sun rises, I’m going to figure it out.
Chapter Twelve
Aunt Kate comes over bright and early on Saturday morning. Normally I’d be happy to see her, and thrilled that she brought us a huge order of bagels, five flavors of cream cheese, and coffee from The Pure Drop coffee shop in town. But this morning is not a normal morning because I got home so late last night.
It was so late, in fact, that my cousin had fallen asleep watching Netflix on her computer and the volume was on so she didn’t even hear me get back to our dorm. I quickly changed clothes and went to bed exhausted at four in the morning, only to get woken up a few hours later.
As far as Belle knows, I went to the party last night. I don’t want to tell anyone what I actually did, because now, in the bright sunlight of a fresh new day, with the smell of coffee and fresh bagels in the room, it feels really dumb to have spent hours wandering in the gardens, thinking I’d found a secret door. It was probably just a storage shed for rakes or something.
I yawn and thank Aunt Kate for the surprise breakfast. She asks how school is going and I lie and tell her it’s going well. She then asks Belle the same thing, and she gives the same answer. But Belle doesn’t seem like she’s lying to appease her mom. Despite doing all her school work in our dorm, I think Belle truly believes things are going well. She’s been cooped up in her dorm for so long that she no longer thinks it’s a problem. I want to ask my aunt what will happen when Belle graduates this summer. She might be able to take college classes online, and then even get a job online after that, but that’s no life to live. I want her to see the beauty the world has to offer. Now that Belle and I are friends I want to take her to the gardens, or to Malibu to hang out at my pool, or on the beach. She’ll never get to do any of that if she doesn’t find a way to go outside.
Just like every time I think of this problem, I know it’s not the time to bring it up. So I eat my breakfast and participate in the fun small talk, and don’t say anything that will rock the boat.
My aunt leaves a short while later with a list of things Belle needs from the store, like shampoo and hair ties. It occurs to me that I haven’t left the campus myself since I got here. All the things I’ve needed so far, I just ordered from Amazon and had shipped to the school. In a weird way, I’ve become a hermit, too. Only it’s the school grounds holding me inside instead of the dorm.
“I’m going outside,” I say, standing up and reaching for yesterday’s school uniform. It’s a weekend, but the stupid rules say we still have to wear them on campus.
“Where are you going?” Belle asks. She’s still in her pajamas, which is what she wears just about every day.
“I don’t know. Just out. I might call an Uber to take me somewhere.”
“Cool,” she says, seeming disinterested.
I tug on my clothes and run a brush through my hair quickly, before pulling it up into a bun. “You should come with me.”
She chuckles. “Ha ha,” she says sarcastically.
“I’m serious.” I stop at the door and turn to face her. “We could walk in the gardens.”
“I wish I could,” she says, and there’s a finality in her voice that tells me to leave it be. So I do.
I have every intention of walking to the main entrance and calling one of those Uber rideshare things to take me into town, but once I pull up my phone to download the app, the GPS app is still loaded from last night. I see the marker I saved that’s deep in the gardens, and a curiosity starts tugging at me. Was that really a door? What’s inside of it?
I need to know.
Turning into the gardens, I skim the pathways for any students and I turn away when I see some. I follow the marker on my GPS, but I can’t exactly walk straight to it because of the pathways.
My heart beats faster as I approach it, and some of the pathways seem vaguely familiar. With the sun shining brightly overhead, everything looks different. It’s beautiful out here, lush and green even though we’re in the start of February. The flowers are a beautiful array of pinks and reds and whites.
My heart almost stops when I turn a corner and see an old wooden bench. That’s the bench I sat on last night. Running up to the opposite wall, I stop right in front of it and stare up. It looks just like any other garden wall—covered in ivy with thick green leaves.
I press my hand to it, almost expecting last night to be a dream. I almost wish it was, because if last night didn’t actually happen, then Declan never betrayed me.
My hand touches the soft, slightly chilly wood
surface beneath the vines. This door is real. And Declan is still a jerk.
I feel around, the wooden surface easy to see between the vines now that it’s daylight. I reach the spot where the wood ends and the brick wall begins. I move my fingers down, down, until they hit an old rusted hinge.
I move to the other side of the door, looking for a handle. There has to be one.
And there is.
My heart pounds as I uncover an old metal handle, vines wrapped around it. I grab it and pull. It doesn’t even budge. It doesn’t groan or creak or wiggle at all. It is completely stuck.
No, not suck. Locked.
I brush away some of the vines, careful not to pull apart too many which would reveal this location to anyone else who happens to walk by.
Sure enough, right above the handle is a metal lock, with a big opening like an old skeleton key should fit in there. I bend over and peer into the hole, hoping to see something, anything, on the other side, but it’s dark.
My little bird friend is gone today, but I search for the hole in the door that he had flown through, and find a design that looks like it maybe used to have stained glass in it or something. Now it’s hollow, a little circle hole in the top of the door. The vines are thick, and the hole is just high enough that I can barely see it if I stand on my tip-toes. I peer inside.
All the air rushes out of my lungs.
It’s bright inside there. Green, and pink and purple and white, white like marble? I’m not sure. The fragrant flower smell is the sweetest I’ve experienced, even better than walking through the normal parts of the gardens. Whatever is behind this door is a hundred times better than the gardens out here. I just know it. I can feel it.
I drop down on my feet and grab the door handle again, anxious and desperate to get inside.
I brush away more vines, wondering if I can somehow pick the lock, despite having no lock-picking skills at all.