Thorn Abbey

by Ohlin, Nancy

  Max shakes his head and starts down the path. “Please. Just leave me alone.”

  “No! You need help!” I plant myself in front of him.

  But he’s moving too fast and I stumble backward, hitting the ground. “Ow!”

  Suddenly, Max is kneeling beside me, flustered, full of apologies. “I’m sorry! Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  I do a quick mental scan. “I’m fine,” I mutter angrily.

  “Here, take my hand.”

  He carefully lifts me to my feet. For a moment, we’re standing so close that our bodies are practically touching. I was so furious with him a moment ago. Now all I can think about is how beautiful and sad his eyes are and how warm his hand feels in mine.

  My friend Kayleigh always told me that I should learn to “seize the day.” Is this one of those days? Should I just forget about what almost happened on the cliff and give in to the here and now? If I pretend to be dizzy, I could swoon against Max’s big, strong chest and he could press his mouth against my hair and—

  “Are you all right?” he repeats.

  I nod mutely. I don’t trust myself to speak.

  “Wait, did I do that?” He touches the bandage on my cheek.

  I laugh. “I had a little accident earlier. On the stairs, in my dorm.”

  “Oh.” He sounds relieved. “Do you do that often?”

  “No. You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Do you do that often?”

  He hesitates and looks away. “It was a bad night.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him gently.

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  I bite my lip. I wish he would confide in me. I want so much to comfort him and take his sadness away.

  Or do I want more than that? To be honest, I still like him. Really like him. Even though he’s so not over Becca that he almost jumped off a cliff.

  What is wrong with me?

  He runs his hand through his hair, making it stick this way and that. Even rumpled and wasted and in the throes of whatever madness he is experiencing, Max is incredibly handsome. I, on the other hand, must look ridiculous in my mud-splattered pajamas.

  We stand there for a while, staring out at the predawn sky, which has morphed into a bruise-like palette of purples and yellows. Herons, egrets, and other large, primeval-looking birds arc through the air. I feel as though we are the only people on the planet. Max’s breathing quiets, and I instinctively match the rhythm of my breath with his. The moment is so surreal and, in its own way, perfect.

  He gazes into my eyes and leans in until his face is just inches away from mine.

  Oh my God. He’s going to kiss me . . . .

  “We should get back,” he says abruptly.

  . . . or not. I turn away, trying to hide my disappointment. “Do you want me to take you to the school nurse? Or call your parents?” I ask him.

  “I’m fine. Really. But thanks for your concern.” He glances at my hoodie and pajamas. “You must be freezing.”

  “A little.”

  “Come on.”

  He drapes his arm around me, and we start down the wooded path toward campus. Giant tree branches lace over our heads like a cathedral ceiling. Okay, so he didn’t kiss me. But he is sort of holding me in a romantic way.

  Even though he probably won’t remember any of this later, when he’s sober.

  Even though I know now with one hundred percent certainty that I never had a chance with him.

  It’s just as well, right?

  9.

  I’M NOT SURE HOW I GOT THROUGH THE MORNING. FIRST I HAD to sneak back into my room without waking Devon, who would have asked a million nosy questions. Fortunately she was out cold, not even crazy-talking in her sleep.

  Then I took an extra-long shower, got dressed in my school uniform, downed two cups of vending-machine hot chocolate, and checked over my homework twice. At that point, I was running on pure adrenaline. But by the time I got to my first-period class, Intro to Philosophy, I started to crash. By Latin, I could barely keep my eyes open, especially during verb conjugations. I got amat mixed up with amant, and the teacher made some joke about it that I totally didn’t understand. By American history and the founding fathers, I was practically vegetative.

  Now it’s lunchtime, and instead of eating and socializing, I’m in the computer center. I really should be taking a quick nap, but I wanted to see if maybe, just maybe, Max has sent me an e-mail. I figured that since it’s Tuesday, and we didn’t have English together this morning, he may have wanted to thank me for saving his life or whatever.

  My in-box contains exactly three messages, and none of them are from him. Oh, well.

  Of course, I could always write him first, and then he would feel obligated to write back:

  Dear Max,

  Just wanted to say hi!

  Hope you’re feeling better!

  Tess

  PS Do you believe in love at first sight?

  Delete, delete, delete.

  Sigh. I seized the day, and I failed. Kayleigh thinks that “seize the day” is a line from her favorite pop song. I’ve told her it’s actually a translation of carpe diem, from a poem by Horace. Which makes me the smart, nerdy girl who knows two-thousand-year-old Latin poetry. Not that it’s going to get me kissed by Max anytime soon. Or ever.

  I read my e-mail. The first is from the Dean of Students, regarding upcoming events. There is a boys’ soccer game on Saturday. I jot down the details on a piece of scrap paper. It might be my only chance to “accidentally” run into Max this weekend. So far, we only seem to share the one class, English. Which means I may have to be more creative. Give it up, I tell myself sternly. I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash.

  The second e-mail is from my mom:

  Honey bunny!

  I hope you are doing well and settling in at Thorn Abbey. The house seems so empty without you, just me and Marshmallow Fluff, who sleeps with me now that you’re not around.

  How do you like your classes? Did you decide to take Sculpture or Painting for your art elective? What is your dorm like? Are you making lots of new friends? Please write and tell me everything ASAP!

  Do you need me to mail you anything from home? Let me know. I can run over to the Pack ’n’ Ship during my lunch hour.

  Love you forever,

  Mom

  I get a little teary eyed, reading her e-mail. I’m so used to seeing her every day, puttering around the house doing Mom stuff. It’s Tuesday, so if I were home, she’d be making tacos for dinner. Friday we’d watch back-to-back episodes of Law & Order, the two of us competing to see who could solve the mystery first. Sundays are always Swedish pancakes for breakfast. And so on and so on. Mom is into family rituals. She calls them “mental vitamins.”

  I write her a detailed reply, signing off with lots of x’s and o’s, before I open the third e-mail, from Kayleigh. Kayleigh was my closest friend in Avery Park, sort of, because she lives down the street and we were both in band and she didn’t think I was a freak for being a straight-A student. She’s pretty much the only reason I didn’t have to sit in the losers’ corner of the cafetorium. But lately, she’s become obsessed with witches and unicorns and other supernatural stuff that I can’t quite relate to. Her parents are getting divorced, so I guess she has an excuse.

  Hey, Girl!!

  How are you doing in your fancy rich kid school? I bet everyone there is a genius like you haha.

  Guess what happened?! And I swear I’m not making this up. Last nite these three angels visited me in my dreams! They told me that Paulie Wozniak is going to wake up soon and that he’s going to be OK!

  I’m not sure if I should tell Paulie’s mom and dad about this or what. PRO: They deserve to know, right? CON: It might be weird cuz they never talk about Paulie anymore. I know cuz whenever I babysit his sister Corey, they act all fake cheerful like everything’s fine and not like their son is lying in St.
Michael’s in a coma. What do you think I should do???

  ANYWAY, not much else going on here. School is super-boring as always. Pretty much the entire football team was arrested for smoking pot at Kyle Oestreicher’s house Saturday nite, and now they’re talking about canceling the Homecoming game. BIG YAWN. Oh, and the parental units are still insane and fighting over the family fortune haha. I CANNOT WAIT for one of them to move out. I’m secretly hoping it’s Mom. Remember that time she had to go to Detroit on a “business trip” and you slept over and Dad let us eat Dove Bars for dinner? Life could be phenom for us with him in charge.

  Well, except you’re not here. I miss you! But maybe I could visit you some weekend? I checked out the website and Thane Abby looks GORGEOUS from the pix. Plus the boys look daaamn fine.

  Wait, pictures? Of the students?

  I quickly switch over to the Thorn Abbey home page and locate a link in the corner that says GALLERY. I don’t remember seeing this when Mom and I were researching private schools last winter. Of course, I wasn’t really thinking about daaamn fine boys, either.

  I click and begin scrolling. Images blur by: random kids in class, in the Lanyon Commons, at a dance. There is Yoonie playing the violin. There is Franklin peering through a microscope. There is what’s-his-name, Nate, from Mr. Bagley’s class, kicking a soccer ball. I keep scrolling, looking for Becca or Max. But there is nothing.

  And then, at the bottom of the page, there it is: a picture of the two of them walking through a snow-covered quad. Becca is wearing a cream-colored coat, leggings, and boots. Max is wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Her hand is tucked cozily in his pocket, and he is smiling down at her. His happy, relaxed expression seems completely at odds with the Max I know.

  I lean into the screen, squinting, frowning. They look perfect together. There’s no other way to describe it. She is so beautiful, and he is so beautiful, and they are so obviously and madly in love.

  “Tess?”

  I startle. Franklin has materialized at my side. I try to gracefully block the screen so he can’t see that I’m cyber-stalking his roommate. “Franklin! Hi!”

  “I’m so glad I ran into you. Have you eaten yet? Do you want to grab some lunch?” As always, he is the epitome of friendly.

  “Actually, I have to . . .” I’m so rattled, not to mention sleep deprived, that I can’t even come up with a suitable lie. I glance around the computer center, which is pretty much empty except for a couple of guys printing documents and talking loudly: “And then she walks in on me getting with her roommate, and I’m like, “what’s your problem,” and she’s like . . .”

  “Actually, I already ate. But I’ll walk with you?” I say to Franklin.

  “Sure. Hey, what did you do to your face?”

  “Oh, you know, big klutz. It looks worse than it is.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Wow. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I close out of my computer account, double checking to make sure I’m really and truly signed out, and we head off together. We pass a girl leaving the ladies’ room, tucking a tube of pink lip gloss into her backpack. Not that she needs it. Is physical attractiveness a prerequisite for getting into Thorn Abbey, and if so, why did they let me in? I’m sure they’ll never include my picture on their website. We need to work on that self-esteem of yours, honey bunny, I can hear my mom saying.

  I think I have a tube of lip gloss somewhere. Kayleigh made me buy it at CVS over the summer. Maybe I should start using it.

  “So you missed the best part of the movie,” Franklin says.

  “What?”

  “Last night? To Catch a Thief?”

  “Oh, right! Actually, I know how it ends. I’ve seen it before.”

  “You have? Me too. Three or four times. I have a crush on Grace Kelly, along with every other guy on this planet.” Franklin grins. “Well, every other guy on this planet who likes old movies.”

  Have I shown you a picture of her? She looks like Grace Kelly, actually.

  “Tess?”

  “Hmmm?”

  Franklin touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

  I force a smile. I’m so not in the mood to be reminded about how amazing Becca was. “I’m fine. Just trying to remember if I finished my Algebra homework.”

  “Really? You don’t seem like the not-finishing-homework type,” he jokes.

  “Well, there’s always a first time, right?” I joke back.

  “Right. Hey, I meant to ask you.” Franklin lowers his voice. “Did you ever find Max after he went flying out of Chapin? He can be a little intense.”

  I hesitate. Franklin must not have heard about the cliff incident this morning.

  “I know about Becca,” I confess.

  He stares at me. “You do?”

  “I heard about it from—from some people, and it’s awful! I can’t imagine what Max must be going through. No wonder he’s, um, intense, like you said.” I’m speaking very fast, and I probably sound a little nuts. But I’m dying to talk to someone, anyone, about Max and Becca, especially after what almost happened this morning.

  The two things that almost happened this morning.

  “Were you friends with her too?” I rush on, noticing Franklin’s silence. “How long did she and Max go out? Was he the one who found her body, or—”

  “Tess,” Franklin interrupts, and this time, his voice is not friendly. “You’ve got the wrong idea about Max. He’s my best friend. We grew up together, and I probably know him better than anyone. He’s not who he appears to be. He’s got issues, and it’s probably best if you steer clear of him.”

  10.

  IT’S WEDNESDAY MORNING, AND I HAVE DOWNSIZED THE bandage on my cheek, so I don’t look as banged up as I did before. Of course, this doesn’t keep the two Kerrith girls from shooting me judgmental looks in Mr. Bagley’s class.

  Unfortunately, Max is not looking at me at all, judgmentally or otherwise. He is sitting in the same seat as Monday, his gaze fixed on his laptop screen. I keep trying to catch his attention, but it’s as if I don’t exist. Although to be fair, he seems to be ignoring everyone—not just me.

  Why is this happening? I haven’t seen him or heard from him since the drama yesterday on the cliff. I actually spent time getting ready this morning—brushing my unruly hair, applying lip gloss—because I knew he’d be here.

  Except, he’s not here. He’s somewhere else. Again.

  I force myself to snap out of my Max trance and pay attention to Mr. Bagley. “For those of you who actually finished the novel, you were no doubt surprised by the fact that it has two endings. In the first ending, Charles Smithson and Sarah Woodruff live happily ever after. In the second ending, Charles and Sarah part ways. Why did John Fowles write it this way?” he asks the class.

  Franklin sits next to Max, which is completely awkward, because every time I glance in Max’s direction, his alert eyes flash with warning. Why did he tell me to steer clear of Max? For that matter, why did Devon? In her case, I guess she’s worried that I will remind Max of Becca because I’m the new roommate, which will make him seriously depressed. But Franklin made it seem like I should be careful for my own sake.

  Why? What sorts of “issues” does Max have—besides mourning his dead girlfriend, that is? He and I definitely have a connection. I felt it when we first met, at the fountain, and even on the cliff. Most of all on the cliff. He was this close to kissing me. I could so help him move on, if only he would let me.

  The Kerrith girls are still gawking at me. I cover my bandaged cheek with my hand and lean into it, like I’m contemplating deep thoughts. I don’t think they’re buying it, though, and besides, the pressure makes the pain worse.

  “Tess?”

  I bolt up in my seat. Mr. Bagley smiles patiently at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Any insights? On John Fowles’s dual ending?”

  “Oh! I think it has to do with his philosophy of existentialism. Fowles didn’t believe that there was one absolute t
ruth or reality. He believed that people are free, that they have choices. So he gave his two main characters the freedom to choose their own destinies.”

  “Very good, Tess! Does anyone else have anything to add?”

  The French Lieutenant’s Woman is insanely romantic. I loved the ending where Charles and Sarah are reunited after a long separation and he finds out that she had his baby in secret and they realize that they belong together.

  Of course, I hated the alternate ending where Charles and Sarah can’t make it work and he moves to another continent forever. Why can’t all love stories end happily?

  I glance across the table at Max. He’s still staring pensively at his laptop. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling right now. Ugh. Obviously, I understand fictional characters better than real people. At least I’ll get an A in this class, even if I get an F in Max 101.

  Mr. Bagley announces that we have to come up with a paper topic plus a short outline by Friday. I add this to my to-do list, which is already looking pretty long. There’s definitely a lot of homework in private school.

  At nine forty-five, when class is over, Max practically speed-walks out the door. Not even a “hi” or a “bye” or a “thank you for pulling me back from the edge of the cliff”? I gather my stuff, my mood suddenly as gray as the sky outside. The two Kerrith girls and Mila Kunis are gabbing about their hot dates with their hot boyfriends on Friday night, which makes me feel even worse.

  “Hi, Tess!” Franklin pauses by my chair on his way out.

  “What?” I snap.

  He laughs. “Was it something I said?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just this headache,” I improvise. Why am I being so rude to Franklin? I’m not usually a rude person, and besides, he’s been nothing but nice to me since I got here.

  I’d better start over. “Soooo. How are you? How’s life?”

  “Life is excellent. Are you on your way to Latin?”

  “Yes. What about you?”

  “Precalc. Mr. Millstein. You’re a sophomore, right? You’ll get him next year.”

  We head into the hallway, and I listen politely as Franklin goes on about Mr. Millstein’s infamous pop quizzes. But I can’t stop thinking about what he said about Max. Maybe I should just ask him what he meant point-blank.