I take a few deep breaths, wanting to be sure they’re gone before I leave. I make my way back to my room through empty halls, the silence like a heavy blanket wrapped around me. I place the earrings on Maria’s dresser, and turn away from their empty beds. I slip into mine and finally let the tears fall.
I’m alone, and I hate it.
Maria and Rosalie get back late to our room but instead of asking them what happened, I pretend to be asleep. A tidal wave of emotions washes over me while I listen to the barely contained excitement of their whispered conversation. It takes me hours to finally fall asleep.
My irritation has faded by the next morning, however, when we all wake up groggy but giggling. I love these girls, and decide to push aside my anxiety over their new friends to focus on the much more entertaining task of debriefing the party.
In pajamas and sheet masks, we lay around the room all morning discussing the details of the night before. Reggie and Bronx weren’t quite as upset as Rex and were more than happy to repeat their sweet words again to the right girl.
Rosalie gets a text message early in the afternoon and the way her face lights up leaves no doubt to who it is. She scrambles to change into something cute, saying that Bronx wants to show her a secret part of campus.
“Rex didn’t even ask for my number,” I say with a trembling lower lip once she’s out the door.
Maria waves her hand dismissively. “I’m sure he had more important things on his mind last night, like just how beautiful you were in that costume.”
I give her a smile but a tiny ball of doubt sits heavy in my chest.
“Let’s watch a movie?” Maria holds up one of my favorite French comedies and gratitude rushes through me. She always knows what I need most. We curl up on my bed and lose ourselves in the silliness of Les Visiteurs.
Rosalie returns, pink-cheeked and glowing, just as the end credits start rolling. I’m glad she’s back, but it bursts the little bubble the movie had made for me where I could ignore my worries about Rex.
“Keeping things a secret makes all this way more exciting.” She settles breathlessly onto the bed next to us.
Maria giggles. “I can’t wait for dinner tonight, full of secret smiles from across the room.”
“And what if Rex doesn’t even look at me?” Saying the words out loud makes the ball of doubt triple in size.
“Are you kidding me? He barely looked at anything else last night,” Maria says.
Rosalie nods. “You’re clearly the only thing on his mind, besides the Navarre Prize.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me. We’ve barely scratched the surface.” I shake my head. “Stupid boys. We should have been working on it today.”
“Are you sure there’s not a different Navarre project you’d rather be working on?” Maria smirks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll see him until our tutoring session on Monday night.”
“I thought he was doing really well now. Does he even still need them?” Rosalie asks this lightly, as if she’s just thought of it, but I know her too well.
“Just say what you mean.” I cross my arms and turn to face her.
She sighs. “I only meant that we could use the extra time to work on the project. He could too.”
“We could have been working on it this afternoon, but someone went on a private tour.” I don’t mean for it to come out so angry, but this hurts. I’m already nervous enough about what the kiss changes—if anything. Rosalie wants to take away the little time I do have with Rex, while she gets notes and secret rendezvous.
“I thought you wanted to go home as soon as possible,” Rosalie says. “And that means winning, doesn’t it?”
“It seems like we’re all enjoying our time here,” I say with a glance at Maria’s enthusiastic nod of agreement. “What’s the rush?”
“I just want us to be careful,” she says, and a shadow passes over her face. The name of her ex hangs in the air, unspoken but ever present. “These guys are tons of fun, but they’re not serious about anything.”
This is true. Rex says one thing but does the opposite. He wants to avoid girls but finds excuses to talk to me. He convinced his friends to go along with his ideas but then is just as easily swayed in another direction. His friends are no better. The attention is flattering, of course, but how can we trust anything they say?
No wonder my emotions are a mess today.
“Maybe you should try a test,” suggests Maria.
“What did you have in mind?” I say. “You last suggestion got us all kisses, so this better do the same.”
She grins. “Just tell him the truth. He’s good enough to stop tutoring, and we all need the time to work on the Navarre project. If he really likes you, he’ll want to continue anyway.”
It seems like the quickest way to get this growing ball of doubt under control. Secret kisses in the dark are one thing. Either he wants me more than the Navarre Prize or he doesn’t.
Simple, right?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rex
Sunday passes in a blur of writing. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve never felt so inspired, and it feels great to finally get words onto the page. Good words. Not my best, not yet, but that will come with edits. I’m sure even Shakespeare crossed out a few words from time to time as he worked on a final, polished product. I send a few to my dad, as promised, confident he’ll see the potential in them.
Reggie and Bronx come to my room before dinner to remind me to eat. When I get into the flow, I can go for hours without looking up from my desk.
“I had an alarm set for five, don’t worry,” I say as they lounge on my bed, waiting for me to get ready. I’m still in my pajamas, having rolled right out of bed to sit at my desk as soon as I woke up. “Did you guys get any writing done today?”
They both remain silent, and I turn to glare at them, my foot halfway into my slacks. I wish could just stay in my sweats. Someone should petition to get rid of uniforms on weekends. “Seriously? Nothing at all?”
Reggie bites his lip and looks away, but Bronx meets my eyes, a smirk playing at his lips. “I was busy getting inspired.”
My heart leaps to my throat. “You weren’t with the girls, were you? The ban is still on; you can’t be seen with them.”
Don wasn’t there last night and by some miracle, it doesn’t seem like anyone had noticed us at the party the night before. I even logged into Knight Watch during one of my brief writing breaks today to check to see if anyone had posted about it. But it looks like the only gossip to come out of the party is that someone spiked the punch, and Madame Dupuis is on a hunt to find who did it.
For now, as far as anyone knows, the no-girls rule still stands. Zara promised she’d keep it a secret, too, though my memory is a bit hazy about the particulars. The feel of her lips on mine was a lot clearer than what words were actually said. Had I suggested it, or had she?
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t seen.” Bronx leans back on my bed, hands behind his back. “Like I don’t know how to sneak girls around this place.”
This is true. I relax a bit and finish getting dressed. I look quickly in the mirror, running a hand through my hair. The perfect bedhead look is sometimes easiest to achieve by simply rolling out of bed.
“It’s getting kind of long,” Bronx remarks, a hand passing through his reemerging curls. “You gonna cut it again?”
I start to nod, but then I remember the feel of Zara’s hands running through my hair. I shrug. “Maybe. Not right away.”
Reggie is still looking glum, and I give him a gentle shove. “Hey, what’s the matter? Bronx take all the secret make-out spots?”
“No, it’s not that…” He gives us a melodramatic sigh. “It’s my poem. I actually was working today.”
I grin. “Great! I’ll take a look to see if it works with the outline that I figured out this morning.”
He shakes his head before I even finish my sentence. “It’s not good enough for anyone to
see.”
“First drafts are always the worst. I’ll make it work, don’t worry.” I was feeling so on fire today; I could fix anything.
He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket with a short laugh.
“Oh, sweet Maria, empress of my love…” He moans and puts his head in his hands. “Who even suggested poetry? We should have stuck with prose.”
“Prose doesn’t win over the ladies,” says Bronx, eyebrows waggling.
I frown, unease settling over me again. “We’re trying to win over the judges, not the girls.”
“We can do both, don’t worry,” Bronx says with a wave of his hand.
Worry is exactly what I do, however. During dinner, I lay out the plan I have for the sonnets, the linking threads to make a story from the disparate parts. They’re listening, but I can tell they’re not really paying attention. Their eyes wander over to where the girls are sitting more than once, and I wave my hands in their faces to keep their focus on me. On the Navarre Prize.
After a while, however, I glance over myself, unable to resist any longer. I fight the rising flutter in my chest at the sight of Zara. She looks tired, and sad. Is it because of me? I grip the edge of the table, keeping myself in my seat. Don is seated at the table right next to them. I remind myself I have a tutoring session tomorrow, so I’ll be able to see Zara again soon. And alone. None of Bronx’s secret spots required.
“Hey, eyes on the prize, big guy.” Bronx waves his hand in front of my face, picking the same words I’d just used on him a few minutes ago. “Why don’t we just give up the farce and sit with them?”
I shake my head firmly. Don isn’t going to win this. Just like he isn’t going to win the Navarre Prize.
“Let’s head back to my room.”
Grumbling, they stand and head out of the cafeteria, but not without long backward glances at the girls.
Our secrets are safe, for now. They only have to stay that way for another six weeks. I’ve gotten us this far, and we’re so close to the end, I’m not giving up now.
I ignore the pang of longing that a flash of Zara’s green eyes sends through me and follow them back to my room to get to work.
I spend most of Monday distracted in my other classes counting down the hours until I see Zara. I’m also completely exhausted, but at least I figured out the perfect way to be able to see her without breaking any rules: I woke up even earlier to write before I went for my normal run with Reggie and Bronx, so I won’t be in my usual rush to leave tutoring. Lingering over tutoring isn’t technically against the rules, just like kissing her technically isn’t either. Maybe she’d like to do that again, instead of conjugating French verbs…
When I walk into the room, however, it looks like kissing is the furthest thing from her mind. Her eyes are focused on the desk in front of her, and she has a hand to her mouth, biting her nails. In all my observations of her, I’ve never seen her do that. I sit down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder.
She drops her hand, and looks at me, brow furrowed.
“What are you doing?” Her voice is soft, but sharp.
I quickly remove my arm. “Uh, nothing.” My hand wanders to the back of my neck, and I scratch it, deflated from her less than enthusiastic response to my arrival.
“You said to keep what happened a secret,” she says, her eyes glancing to the door of the classroom.
I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s just worried about me. It’s adorable. But I’ve got this under control.
“I don’t think anyone at the party noticed what happened,” I say. “And everyone is at dinner now, not wandering the halls…” I slide my hand across the table so it’s next to hers, but not quite touching.
She inhales deeply. “This is supposed to be your French lesson.”
“Well, you know, there is this thing called French kissing…” I grin, and the corner of her mouth flicks up.
“I don’t think you need lessons in that.” She arches an eyebrow, and it’s so freaking cute I want to burst.
“Thanks.” I grin and slide my arm back around her shoulders. She leans back just a little, and my heart starts to beat faster the closer she gets to me. “You’re not too bad yourself.”
I lean my head over and plant the whisper of a kiss on her cheek, chuckling a little when she shivers. This time, I know it’s not from the cold.
“I don’t think you need French lessons anymore, either,” she says.
I pull my head back sharply, to see if she’s joking, but she’s not. There’s a little crease in between her eyebrows, and as much as I want to kiss it, I’m more curious about what she means.
“It’s been six weeks, and you’re already doing so much better,” she says. “I think you can ask Madame Dupuis if you can stop.”
Disappointment floods through me. I had been looking forward to these hours hidden away in an empty classroom with her.
But I’m also relieved. Now that I’m basically six weeks behind on the Navarre competition, the extra hours would be a huge help.
“Okay, I think I will.”
Her face clouds over with sadness, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.
“But I’d still like to see you, if I can.”
She turns her eyes to me, looking confused.
“So you’re lifting the ban?”
No way am I losing to Don. He’ll never find out about what happened at the party. As long as seeing Zara stays secret, and under the pretense of schoolwork, there’s no reason the ban would have to end.
“Not, uh, officially, but if we met in private, I don’t see why—”
“I have a lot of work to do,” she says, shifting slightly away from me. “You do too. I know you need the extra time for the competition. So do I.”
She’s right. Nothing is more important than winning, that hasn’t changed.
But I never expected having her so close to me would make me forget about everything else. Who knew that a kiss could wipe out one desire with another that’s just as strong. All it takes it a look in her eyes, and I don’t even remember my own name is Navarre.
Can I really want two things equally as much? What’s really the most important right now?
I take a deep breath. I need to be patient. Six more weeks to go, and I can have both. The prize, and Zara.
“Okay then,” I finally say. “We’ll stop the tutoring.”
One look at her face and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. But, before I can say anything else, she walks out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zara
I’m staring at my computer screen, furious at my friends. I could have been spending my evening blissfully making out with Rex, but I just had to go and tell him no more tutoring.
I did what Maria suggested. And Rex didn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. He didn’t even stop me when I walked out the door.
Now I’m sitting at my desk, alone again. Maria and Rosalie said they had to study for a test with someone in their math class. They invited me to come, of course, but I told them I didn’t feel well.
And I don’t. I feel abandoned.
Maybe it’s because Rex is the leader is some weird boy way and has to obey his own ban even more than the others do. But maybe, says a little voice inside my head, he just doesn’t like me that much.
And instead of having my friends here to talk to about it, to argue with that voice, they’re off with other people. Afterwards, they’ll probably go meet their guys, who like them enough to risk being caught in restricted places around campus.
Not caring that it’s after midnight in France, I send a message to my sister. I’ve been happy to avoid her sisterly input on my life for the past few weeks, but now I really need her. If she doesn’t respond, then I’ll know I’m truly alone.
As I’m waiting, I hear laughter in the hallway. Hope bursts in my stomach, and I hop off my bed to open the door and peer out. Disappointment crashes down, h
owever, when I see it’s not my friends. It’s two of the girls from the bathroom Saturday night.
They smile at me, and I can practically see the pity in their eyes. Poor Zara, all alone and no one can understand a word she says.
I shrink back, but leave the door open so I can hear when it really is Rosalie and Maria coming. No one seems to close their doors here, and the chatter of voices coming from the other rooms is oddly comforting.
My phone flashes with a message and I sigh in relief. At least my sister is still here for me.
Out somewhere, call you in 30?
Well, sort of here for me.
I flop on my bed and pick up the very worn copy of King Lear that I’ve been taking notes in for our project. We’ve almost got the final scene right, but it’s still missing a few elements. Even if I don’t feel quite the same urgency to get home, I still want to win.
From the hallway, I catch bits and pieces of conversations as people head back to the door as curfew looms.
I sit up when I hear the name Navarre.
“He says he can’t see me right now, because he’s focusing on winning the prize.”
I lay back down. They’re not talking about Rex.
“Don has never wanted to be seen with you, he just wants to use this as an excuse, Jackie.”
I snort. If the poem was any indication of his literary talents, I don’t think he’s got a very good chance of winning anything.
“He loves me, he told me that.”
“He’s just trying to distract you from your own entry.”
Jackie is working on the Navarre Prize too? Everyone must have entered this thing.
“What do you mean?” Jackie sounds upset.
Marion sighs. “Please, it’s the oldest trick in the book. I’ve used it a few times, for sure. You use your body to get what you want, by making the other person forget about the thing you want.”
Love Lessons Page 10