The students were required to wear uniforms during the week, including dinnertime in the communal dining hall. When Max had first arrived at Kingsbury Academy in February, he’d been presented with a full uniform - trousers, shirts, jumper, blazer, tie, plus the various clothing he would need for sports activities - courtesy of the scholarship that had been arranged for him. Prior to his arrival at Kingsbury, Mr. Harkness had kindly taken him shopping to buy a few basics like socks, underwear, a warm jacket, shoes, and toiletries. He’d assured a worried Max that the money for his new wardrobe had been provided by the foster care system, and that Max could expect to receive a modest sum each month to pay for necessities like clothing and school supplies.
Mr. Harkness, in fact, had taken charge of all the arrangements, something that Max would be forever grateful for. When he had been cleared to leave the police station after a final round of questioning, he’d been greatly relieved to be released in the care of his teacher. He had stayed with Mr. Harkness and his equally kind wife for almost a week until all of the arrangements were finalized for his enrollment at Kingsbury. He hadn’t returned to the local school, and had done home study instead for that week, something he’d been overwhelmingly grateful for. There would have certainly been a great deal of gossip among his schoolmates, and he had dreaded the idea of having to rehash the awful scene with Robby and his mother over and over.
And when Max had first glimpsed the sprawling, splendid grounds of the school, he could hardly believe that he was actually going to be a student there. He’d never been this close to someplace so magnificent - the stately buildings, perfectly manicured lawns, modern athletic facilities, and spacious dormitory rooms. The contrast between Kingsbury and his old school couldn’t have been more pronounced, and he nearly pinched himself as Mr. Harkness had parked his car outside of the main building where Max had been instructed to check in.
He had forced himself not to stare in awed disbelief as the headmaster himself - Mr. Harkness’s older brother Nigel - had showed him around the school. Max had tried his hardest not to feel completely out of place or out of his element, but it had been nearly impossible. He knew he didn’t fit in here with the other boys, all of whom had certainly been raised by cultured, well-off families in wealthy suburban areas, and not by a single mother in a hardscrabble factory town. And Max had also sensed that it would be more than obvious to all of his classmates that he was far below all of them socially and financially - the scholarship boy, the charity case, the one who would never really be one of them.
Once again, however, his above average height and strong, leanly muscled frame gave the boys his own age cause to be wary of him. Plus, as his new roommate Theo had rather haltingly confessed after having known him a scant week, the scowling expression that seemed to be permanently affixed to Max’s features was both intimidating and terrifying.
It had also helped Max to fit in a bit better by excelling in both the classroom and the sports fields right from the start. He had adapted to the more advanced curriculum without hardly missing a beat, exalting in the opportunity to finally reach his academic potential. And his natural athletic ability had helped him to gain acceptance by his classmates, with everyone wanting him on their rugby or football or cricket team since he played all sports equally well.
But aside from the rather odd relationship he’d established with his roommate Theo, thus far Max hadn’t made any real friends. The biggest reason for his lack of friends was, of course, due to his own standoffishness and unwillingness to allow anyone to get too close. In his old town, his reasons for not wanting to get close to any of the other boys had been for an entirely different reason - mainly, not wanting to feel compelled to join a gang or be associated with other boys who could potentially get him into trouble and jeopardize his opportunity to better himself.
Here at Kingsbury, however, Max’s reasons for keeping himself apart from the other boys were quite the opposite. Much as he would welcome the friendship of many of these boys, he was far too ashamed of his own humble - if not tawdry - background and lack of breeding to risk getting too close. With the exception, of course, of Theo.
They made quite the pair, he and Theo, thought Max now as he searched for a pair of shoes in his size. Max was just about the tallest boy in their class, while Theo was easily the shortest. Whereas Max was broad shouldered and leanly muscled, and often mistaken for being three to four years older than he actually was, Theo was scrawny and spindly, and looked at least a couple of years younger than his actual age of thirteen. Max had a thick head of dark hair, and olive-toned skin that had darkened beneath the springtime sun, while Theo had thin, wispy reddish gold hair, pale skin, and a face full of freckles. He had rather unwillingly assumed the role of protector towards the much smaller boy, and Theo tended to stick to his side like glue, knowing that no one would dare to harass him with the rather dangerous looking Max Wainwright as his champion.
But what Theo lacked in stature or muscles or good looks he more than made up for with his engaging, chatty personality, very nearly to the point where he drove Max a little crazy with his nonstop talking. Max quickly learned that one of the reasons for Theo’s often hyperactive behavior was that he suffered from ADHD, and struggled mightily at times to focus on his schoolwork. Theo’s parents were both highly successful professionals - his father an architect, his mother worked in the fashion industry - and they seemed to have little time and even less patience for their less than perfect only child. He had been shipped off to board here at Kingsbury at the tender age of seven, and only went home to visit during summer break and other school holiday periods. That realization had given Max cause to realize that coming from a privileged and moneyed background did not necessarily guarantee a person happiness or a sense of belonging. Perhaps, he’d mused, he and Theo weren’t all that different when it came down to it.
And because Max had felt sorry for the boy who seemed so much younger, immature, and needier even though they were the same age, he’d patiently helped Theo with his homework and studying, probably showing him more attention than his parents had ever bothered to do. Poor Theo had been almost pathetically grateful, and his grades and test scores had shown a noticeable improvement in just the few short months since Max had become his roommate.
In return, Theo had been more than eager to share everything he knew about the finer things in life with Max, including designer clothing - something he’d unwillingly learned all about from his fashionista mother - architecture, food, travel, art, and music. And what Theo didn’t know Max had set out to learn for himself, both by observing other students, researching the subject matter on the Internet and in books and magazines, and asking his teachers. He had both surprised and delighted the head of the school’s Music Department by asking for recommendations about what opera and symphony recordings he ought to listen to. On his own, he read book after book of classic literature, relying on the advice of Mr. Royston, the head librarian, who was thrilled to share his vast knowledge with such an eager pupil.
And Max had also begun to change his manner of speaking, painfully aware that his rather coarse, blunt accent sounded exceedingly out of place in such a dignified setting as Kingsbury. Theo had spent a fair amount of time drilling him on pronunciation, helping him to learn how to speak in a far more cultured manner. Max also paid close attention to the very proper, precise speech patterns of his teachers, particularly the older ones, and was becoming quite good at imitating them. He was determined that by the start of the next school term in the fall no one would ever be able to guess that he hadn’t been born into this sort of life, or that he didn’t belong in a place like Kingsbury.
It was one of the reasons he had ventured out today and was combing through this secondhand shop for suitable clothing he could wear on the weekends, when the students weren’t required to be in uniform. This wasn’t his first visit to the store, and he was slowly but surely acquiring a small but respectable looking wardrobe, clothes that l
ooked like the sort all of the other boys wore, and that would last him for quite some time, or at least until he grew out of them. Each month since he had arrived here at Kingsbury, Mr. Harkness had faithfully forwarded on the modest stipend he received from the state for Max’s care. Max spent the money prudently, buying only the supplies and basic essentials that he really needed, and had even managed to save a small sum each month. The bulk of the funds, however, had been used thus far to supplement his previously non-existent wardrobe, purchasing jeans, shirts, shoes, and even such basics as a belt. He figured that after another month or so he would have enough clothes to get by for some time, and would therefore be able to save almost the entire stipend.
With Theo’s help he managed to find a pair of nearly new loafers in his size, completing his purchases for today. As the boys headed towards the cashier, they passed by a rack of men’s designer suits and Max couldn’t resist the temptation to look them over.
Theo chuckled as Max briefly inspected a navy pinstriped Dior suit. “Not much need for a suit like that around here, Max. Our school blazers are as formal as we get.”
“You’re right. I’d look awfully silly wearing a fancy suit around campus. Even the headmaster doesn’t wear something this formal.”
Max resumed his trek to the cashiers, but not before giving the rack of suits one parting look.
‘Someday,’ he promised himself, ‘I’m going to have dozens of those suits. All different colors and fabrics and all from the very best designers. Maybe even custom made, from one of those Savile Row tailors Theo told me about. Along with dozens and dozens of shirts and ties and shoes and belts, everything coordinated perfectly. And not one single thing I own will have been bought from a secondhand shop. Someday,’ he reiterated. ‘Though someday will definitely be sooner than later if everything goes according to plan.’
Chapter Four
Four Years Later – Stanford University, Palo Alto, California
“Mind if I sit here? Or would you rather be alone? You, uh, look pretty involved in whatever it is you’re reading.”
Max glanced up in annoyance at the too-cheerful male voice, one that held a definite trace of a Southern drawl. The owner of the voice was tall, lanky, and dark-haired with twinkling gray eyes and an irrepressible grin. Though Max had kept largely to himself since arriving at Stanford less than a month ago, he realized now that he’d seen this particular young man at least a few times around their dorm building. And since he seemed friendly enough, Max gave a shrug and motioned to the empty chair across from where he sat.
“Go ahead, have a seat. I don’t have a monopoly on this lounge, after all.”
“Thanks.” The dark-haired boy took a seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “You’re from England, right? Or is it Australia? I swear I always get those two accents confused.”
Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Right the first time. And I’m going to guess South Carolina or Georgia for you.”
The other boy’s gray eyes danced with glee. “The latter. How’d you guess? I’ve been trying for a couple of years now to ditch the drawl.”
Max smirked before returning his attention to his finance homework. “You need to try harder, then.”
But the other boy didn’t take the hint that Max wasn’t really in the mood for idle chitchat, holding out his hand as he introduced himself. “Jordan Reeves. Pre-med. And from the looks of that book you’re reading I’m damned glad I didn’t choose econ as my major.”
“Finance, actually,” corrected Max. “Though we also study economics, of course. And I’m Max Wainwright.”
Jordan grinned. “Is that short for Maximillian or Maxwell?”
“The latter, but I don’t think anyone has ever called me that. Except for one of my English Literature teachers back at school. He insisted on addressing everyone by their full name.”
“Did you go to boarding school?” inquired Jordan. “Don’t all of you British dudes do that?”
Max shrugged. “Not all, no. But, yes, I did attend boarding school. At least from the age of thirteen up. Before that - well, I went to the town school. What about yourself?”
Jordan shook his head. “Nope. Private school, for sure, but I lived at home. Though given how miserable my parents were around each other I would have been thrilled to go away and escape the constant bickering. Oh, well, they’re finally out of their joint misery now. They waited until I was eighteen and in college before filing for divorce.”
“I’m sorry,” offered Max rather stiffly.
Jordan waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, nothing to be sorry about. The two of them haven’t gotten along in years, should have called it quits a long time ago. We would have all been a lot happier. What about you, Max? Do you miss your folks back home?”
Max’s jaw tightened at the mention of his parents. There was no possible way he was going to confide in a total stranger about the fact that both his father and mother had served time in prison, or about the manner of their respective deaths - his father in a prison fight and his mother from a drug overdose suffered a scant three months after she’d been released from confinement.
“I don’t have parents, actually,” he replied shortly. “Or any other family. So there’s no one to miss. And I consider this my home now, not England.”
He picked up his finance textbook and resumed reading where he’d left off, hoping that the friendly but chatty Jordan would take the hint and keep quiet. Otherwise, Max would have to find yet another place to study, given that using his own dorm room was currently out of the question.
But his hopes were swiftly dashed at the arrival of a third student who Max vaguely recognized as living on the same floor as he did. The newcomer was shorter than Jordan but more athletically built, with shaggy dirty blond hair and green eyes. And he quite obviously hadn’t taken the time to change out of the sweaty workout clothes he was wearing.
Without waiting for an invitation or asking permission, the new arrival plopped down on the empty chair to Max’s right, before extending his hand in Jordan’s direction.
“Jordan, right?” he inquired cheerily. “We met last week in the laundry room, remember? I’m Finn McManus.”
Jordan shook Finn’s hand enthusiastically. “You’re the football player, aren’t you? Looks like you just came from practice.”
Max wrinkled his nose. “Really? I would never have guessed. Were the showers in the locker room out of order?”
Finn grinned. “So far as I know they’re working fine. And you and I haven’t officially met but I’ve seen you on my floor a few times. I’m Finn, as you’ve already heard.”
Max somewhat reluctantly placed his hand in Finn’s much sweatier one. “Max Wainwright. And, yes, before you ask, I’m from England.”
Finn’s grin deepened. “I heard there was a British dude on our floor. Should have realized it was you, given the way you’re dressed. I mean, you dudes sort of have a reputation for being a little stuffy at times. And there’s nobody else in the building who hangs out wearing chinos, a pullover sweater, and leather loafers.”
“Maybe Max could give you some fashion advice,” teased Jordan. “You know, something other than the “just came off the practice field and forgot to shower” look.”
“Hah, hah,” retorted Finn. “If you really need to know, I didn’t shower after practice because I sort of forgot to bring clean clothes along. Or a towel. Guess I was too shook up from my roommate almost setting our room on fire earlier to remember to pack a bag.”
Jordan and Max both stared at Finn in alarm, especially given his rather matter-of-factly uttered statement.
“How the hell did he almost set the place on fire?” asked Jordan incredulously.
“Left something cooking on his hot plate a little too long. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the fire alarms going off. I just hope all of the smoke has cleared out of our room by now. It’s hard enough to get a good night’s sleep whe
n Brian’s in one of his manic phases.”
Max frowned. “When you say manic, do you mean..”
“Pretty sure the guy is bipolar,” finished Finn confidently. “I mean, I’ve never come out and asked him, and God knows I’m the farthest thing from a psychology major or anything. But come on - the dude’s a computer science major, has four different computers running night and day, and when he’s in one of these manic phases he can literally stay up round the clock for two or three days without any sleep. When he’s writing code or whatever it is he does, he only leaves the room to attend class, doesn’t go to the dining hall - which is why he almost burned our room down this afternoon - doesn’t even shower or change clothes. And if you think I smell bad right now, you should get a whiff of Brian after three days straight with no shower or clean clothes. Then the dude will finally crash and sleep like the dead. Last weekend I thought for a few minutes that he was dead, had to press my fingers against his throat to find a pulse. Figures that I’d wind up with the crazy roommate, huh?”
“Better crazy than terrifying,” muttered Jordan. “My roommate is that weird Goth guy who always dresses in black, dyes his hair purple, and wears eyeliner. He’s an art major, but the only stuff I’ve seen him draw is some really disturbing anime and comics. He plays this creepy electronic music, like something you’d hear in an underground S&M club. Not,” he added hastily, “that I have any idea what sort of music they actually play in those sort of clubs.”
Finn nodded. “I’ve seen that guy around a few times. Creepy doesn’t begin to describe him. One time I saw him cleaning his knife. And not a Swiss Army knife.”
Jordan shuddered. “He has a whole set of knives. Takes them out every so often and spreads them out on his desk. But what really creeped me out is when I woke up during the middle of the night two days ago to find him hovering over my bed staring down at me. I’m surprised no one heard me screaming.”
The One Real Regret Page 4