“But why?”
“It’s a great school where I’ll learn a lot so I can help at my family’s firm. Plus, my dad expects it.”
Ezra removes his hand from my shoulder and rips into his burger. We chew in silence.
“Why’re you having trouble with your essays?” he asks through a mouthful.
“I’m supposed to write about a time I took a big risk and what I learned from it. Other than getting kicked out of St. Andrew’s, I haven’t really done anything bad.”
Ezra is thoughtful. “Risk doesn’t always have to be a negative, you know. Sometimes, it’s good to take risks—calculated risks—and hope you get a payoff. Life is a lot like poker.”
I see what he’s getting at. “You took a risk leaving school. Was it worth it?”
“Ultimately, I think so. I mean, I’m happier overall, but my parents are really pissed at me. Dad took away my trust fund, and he’s talking about writing me out of his will.”
“What?” I screech, dropping my plastic fork on the floor. I lean over to pick it up. How could a father separate himself from his son like that?
“I don’t care about the money. It just sucks how Dad is treating me.”
I squeeze Ezra’s knee. “I understand what it’s like to disappoint your parents.”
He stares at my hand and clears his throat. “It’s the risk I took. I knew my dad would be pissed, but I couldn’t stay at Cornell. I hated the classes.”
“So you want to keep doing demolition and get promoted to construction?”
He focuses on the mechanical human heart urgently pumping blood—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. “I would love to design houses. Like architecture.”
“That sounds really cool,” I say eagerly. “Have you told your dad that?”
With a shake of his head, Ezra eats the last bite of his burger. “To Dad, I either major in business and take over his company, or I’m not part of his life. He can be such a dick sometimes.”
“Maybe you could go back to school and study architecture. Pick the school you want and pay for it yourself. Take out student loans.”
His face flames red. “I’m not sure I want to go back to school, even to study architecture.”
I steal a few more of his fries. “I don’t see how you can give up college.”
“Like I said, I took a risk. There are other options out there. I wish you’d consider them yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t even know why you want to go Yale, other than it’s where everyone in your family has gone to college. You don’t even know what you want to study.”
I set my fork down in my plastic bowl. I’m not hungry anymore. “I already have my parents judging me. I don’t need you doing that too. I need a friend.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—I just want you to be happy.”
“That’s what I want for you too.”
Ezra takes my hand. Gazes into my eyes. The low museum lights emphasize his handsome face. He’s a great work of art.
Then he says softly, “Let’s walk around.”
• • •
Our next stop is the beekeeping exhibit.
Hundreds of thousands of bees zoom around behind the glass, serving their queen by feeding young bees, collecting pollen and nectar, and making honey. The dripping honeycomb looks delicious. The little placard says the queen lays three thousand eggs per day! My stomach hurts just thinking about that.
“Bees scare me,” I tell Ezra.
His lips curl into a smile. “Oh yeah? I love them.”
“Of course you would, you weirdo. Next, you’re gonna tell me you love rattlesnakes and black widow spiders.” I tremble, recalling a time in my grandparents’ backyard. “Once, at Nana and Grandpa’s, I lifted this clay pot, and I found a black widow inside it.”
Ezra shudders. “What happened?”
“The spider was so pretty and plastic looking, I nearly picked it up, ’cause I thought it was a toy! Mom and Dad were always on my case to share my toys, so I wanted to give it to Oliver.”
Ezra laughs. “You tried to give Oliver a black widow? Why have I never heard about this?”
“Probably because when I handed him the pot, he screeched like a girl and peed his pants.”
At that, Ezra barks out a laugh and gives me a hug. It starts as a friendly pat on the back, but then he wraps his arms around me, and I do the same to him. His warm hands slide across my shoulders and glide up and down my spine. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. Since the first time I met him when I was ten. The hug makes me feel like I’m lying in a field, enveloped by the sun. But bees are swarming nearby.
I gently pull out of his arms and avoid Ezra’s gaze, trying to hide the fact that he steals my breath away.
“Why do you love bees?” I ask, so he’ll talk while I get back in control of my faculties. And by faculties, I mean lady parts.
“I like that every bee has a job and knows what he’s supposed to do.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have choices though?”
“Wouldn’t you?” he asks bluntly.
I cross my arms. I should call him an ass, but he’s not wrong.
“Bees don’t know any better,” he goes on. “It’s all instinct for them. I wish all we had to do is follow our instincts.”
“How would you follow them?”
“Well, I’d eat pizza every day for dinner. I’d design houses and help build them. I’d take apart whatever I want, and nobody would care. Weekends would consist of watching sports and maybe playing a few games of poker during the day. And then at night, I’d go out and listen to live music. And instead of wearing swim trunks, I’d always skinny-dip.”
My face heats up at that visual, which I think was his intention, because he smirks.
“What about you?” he asks, leaning so close our foreheads nearly touch. I can feel his warm breath on my lips. “I mean, other than stealing all my fries.”
I lean back against the guardrail surrounding the bee exhibit. It’s Friday night. I’m not in the mood for hard questions. “Can I get back to you on that? I’m busy right now.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks with a laugh. “Busy doing what?”
“Beating you at a museum race!” I take off in a sprint down the long, wide hallway. Ezra runs behind me, his boots nipping at mine. Our laughter rings out in the empty museum. It’s then that I can’t deny it anymore.
I like him chasing me.
• • •
When I get home from soccer practice on Monday afternoon, I sit down at the kitchen island to work on my homework and essays. I pull my notebooks out of my bag and set them on the counter on top of a newspaper. Today’s Tennessean. I ignore it at first, but then notice Dad and Mom on the cover.
They’re at Centennial Park in Nashville, waving to a large crowd. A campaign event. I scan the article. Blah blah, tax reform, blah blah, farm bill, blah blah. Nothing new there. I’m not mentioned at all. Tossing the newspaper aside, I let out a breath of relief.
My cell buzzes. Oliver.
Dad came to visit today.
Yeah? At Princeton?
He brought a camera crew.
What!
It was ridiculous. He wanted footage of us playing catch. We put on gloves and pretended to throw a ball around for 3 mins. Then he left.
Ha! Why?
New commercial. He took footage of Jenna this morning.
So Dad flew to Connecticut and then New Jersey to video my brother and sister? Does this mean I need to be ready for a candid close-up? I rush to the powder room to check my skin. Thanks to stress, I have a few blemishes that might be visible on TV. Hopefully, a little concealer will do the trick. Wait—what if Dad doesn’t want me in the ad? No, when he makes a campaign video, the whole family is in it.
>
I’d check with Mom, but she’s at the Vanderbilt hospital today, meeting with young cancer patients. It’s something she enjoys doing to honor her sister’s memory.
Dad doesn’t come home until later that night. I’m in bed, checking over my AP chemistry homework, when I hear him trudging up the stairs and going into the master suite, the door shutting with a loud click.
The next morning, I find him at the breakfast table.
“Good morning,” we say to each other.
“Want your omelet?” Marina asks me.
“No, thanks. I’m meeting Ezra for doughnuts.” If Mom were up already, she’d scowl about me not eating a healthy breakfast. What surprises me is that Dad scowls. He totally sneaks fancy cheeses and sweets when Mom isn’t looking.
“Have you been hanging out a lot with Ezra?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“I don’t think he’s the best influence for you right now. You should find someone else to spend time with.”
“What are you talking about? Ezra’s a great guy.”
My father stares at me. “Everyone’s saying he dropped out of college.”
“He took a leave of absence,” I say defensively.
“That sounds like dropping out to me.”
“C’mon, Dad. Don’t be like his parents. Ezra just didn’t like his major.”
“I don’t want him filling your head with crazy ideas.”
“That won’t happen,” I say, even though Ezra’s already been pressuring me to think about what I truly want. “Look, Ezra’s nice.”
“You thought that boyfriend of yours was nice too. But you never once got in trouble before you met him. Then I started getting calls from the dean about you kissing under the stairs between classes. Sneaking out to meet him after dark. And then there were the pills.”
I hesitate for a moment at the mention of the drugs. “Look, Dad, I don’t understand why Ezra’s acting the way he is, but it’s not like he’s out drag racing every night. He’s a normal guy. He’s just trying to figure things out.”
“Until Ezra Carmichael gets his life in order, I suggest you spend time working on your applications. Do your homework.”
“That’s insulting. You know I always do my homework. I work really hard all the time!”
Dad puts his napkin on the table and stands up. “I know, I know.” He pulls me into an awkward hug. If I weren’t so angry, I might appreciate the grand display of fatherly affection.
“I love you,” he says with a pat on the back.
“I love you too,” I mumble. This is the first time I’ve talked to him in days. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“My interview with Yale Admissions is in two weeks. Um, are you still coming with me? If you can’t, that’s okay. Jenna said I can stay with her. She’ll take me. Mom would come, but she has that big fund-raiser at Vanderbilt that day. It’s been on her schedule for, like, a year,” I ramble.
Dad looks down at me. “I’ll take you up there. I’ll visit with your sister while you’re doing your interview.”
Of course he’ll spend his time with Jenna. I’m a lost cause.
I’m too pissed to even bring up the fact that Dad visited Jenna and Oliver to record them for a commercial. It’s not like I’m about to offer my help now.
But it never occurs to me that he doesn’t bring it up either.
A day later, I find out why.
Unintended Consequences
Besides Game of Thrones, I never miss that show I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Yes, it’s trashy, but I just can’t help myself.
I finished my homework an hour ago and spent some time noodling over my essays. I have the worst case of writer’s block, so I decide to indulge in the most craptastic show of all time. I flop down on the den couch and flick on the TV. If only I had some popcorn… I don’t think Mom keeps it in the house, because even though it’s made of whole grains, she’d be tempted to slather it in butter, and we couldn’t have that, because Mom doesn’t eat anything edible.
The show switches to a commercial, so I check my phone. I have a new group text from Steph and Madison. They are gabbing about the show, because they love it too. Their snarky comments make me smile. No texts from Ezra. After the Cumberland Science Museum, we haven’t talked much except for today’s five-minute coffee break at Donut Palace.
I decide to text him: Do you watch I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant?
A minute later, he replies, What is that?
A reality show about women who are pregnant but don’t know it.
Sounds terrible.
Oh stop. You’d love it!
It takes forever for Ezra to write back. You’re as bad as Oll. He loves this show where ppl bid on storage units.
Storage Wars! It’s great.
Oh, you.
I grin at my screen. I wish he were here on the couch, curled up with me.
I stopped talking to him after he missed my party to hook up with Mindy Roberts, but what if I had forgiven him? Would we have gotten together? But why would I want to be with a guy who hooks up with another girl?
On the other hand, why did I give up our friendship just because he made one mistake? I hate how my parents have been judging me after I made one mistake. But giving up my crush two years ago, giving up him—that was the only way to protect my heart.
Based on how Ezra’s been acting since I came back to Franklin, it’s like I’m the only girl in the world. I mean, except for Svetlana, the Russian spy dominatrix. I run my finger over my phone screen, touching Ezra’s picture.
I’m distracted from Ezra’s smile when Dad’s voice spills from the TV speakers. It’s one of his campaign commercials.
“My mother was a schoolteacher, and my father, a businessman. They raised me in a middle-class neighborhood right here in Franklin, Tennessee. After high school, I joined the Air Force and served my country in Vietnam. Now I serve my country in a different way. As your senator for the past eighteen years, I’ve worked hard to bring jobs to Tennessee. In just the past two years, we’ve added one hundred government positions at the Arnold Engineering Development Complex, the most advanced flight simulation test facility in the entire world.
“I’m a lot like you. I have a family that I work to support. My son is prelaw and hopes to become a public prosecutor, to help keep Tennessee safe.”
God, Dad will say anything for a vote. If Oll becomes a public prosecutor, I’ll eat my hat. He’s totally gonna get a job as general counsel at the family firm.
The commercial cuts to my brother throwing a baseball to my dad. Then the image of my dad sitting with Jenna on a park bench fills the screen.
“My daughter is carrying on the family tradition and is majoring in business, just like me and my father. My kids left Tennessee for college, but my goal is to keep creating good jobs here, so my kids and yours will come back to Tennessee after they graduate.
“Tennesseans, we stick together.”
That’s how the commercial ends. No mention of me. Nothing about me having a 4.2 GPA or being a kick-ass soccer player or that I’m hopefully headed to a good college…
I lean over and place my head between my legs. Tears fill my eyes. I’ve killed myself working hard for years. And now I am an embarrassment.
But wait. Why is this new commercial airing now? Why did Dad rush up to get footage of Jenna and Oliver?
I swipe on my phone and pull up the Tennessean home page. The headline reads, Senator Lukens Admits Family Problems.
The article reads, Senator Edward Lukens released a statement today, acknowledging his underage daughter was recently found with pharmaceuticals that were not prescribed to her. Senator Lukens stressed that while this is a personal family matter, his stance on drugs has not changed, and he and his wife are taking the situation with their youngest daughter ve
ry seriously.
My hand shakes as I stare at my phone.
I storm up the stairs. A tear rolls down my face. And then another. I bang my fist on the door to Dad’s study.
“Come in.” He sounds tired.
I walk over to Dad’s media center, where’s he’s pecking away on the keyboard. Of course he’s on the speakerphone with one of those bozos, Kevin or Randy.
“How could you?” I screech.
The clackity-clack of Dad’s typing stops. “Randy, I’ll call you back.” Click.
“Taylor, I’m sorry,” he says softly. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “You know I had to get out in front of this. If I didn’t say something now, Wallace’s people would’ve secretly encouraged the press to bring your issues to light a day or two before the election.”
“My issues? How can Yale consider me with this splashed all over the papers? They make me sound like an addict.”
“With your grades, you’ve still got a shot—”
“I have to get into college on my own merits, and you just took away any credibility I had left! No one is going to care about my grades or my résumé now. They’ll just see what is printed in the headlines. You didn’t even ask my permission before blasting my business all over the news!”
I stalk out of the room, slamming the door. I hurry to my bed, where I crawl under the sheets and cover my face.
If Yale didn’t know about what happened at St. Andrew’s, they will now. I shake my head. If only I’d thought through all the possible outcomes before I told the dorm mothers it was my backpack. But with the dorm mother shining a flashlight in my face, I froze. If I had thought it through, maybe I would’ve turned Ben in. I still could. But would anyone believe me, considering Adderall was found in my system? Oliver and Jenna would. Ezra too. They could help me set the record straight.
I’m fixing to call my brother when I think about the ramifications. Turning in Ben wouldn’t take attention off me; it would just fuel the story. It would give the press more to blast me for and, in turn, would negatively affect Dad’s campaign again. I can see the headlines now: Senator’s Daughter Snitches to Save Self.
Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) Page 10