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by Eliza Park




  Contents

  Part One: Winter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Spring

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Fall

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Winter

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Part Two: Three Years Later

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Winter

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Two Years Later

  Chapter 50

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Part One: Winter

  Chapter 1

  Celeste

  I thought of him again today. In the musty library of the renowned Saint Bridget Academy, ugly plaid skirt hiked around my waist, stockings halfway to my ankles, with Maverick breathing heavily into my shoulder. I closed my eyes and thought of Elliott. The ridiculous, lonely dimple in his right cheek, the way his fingers tenderly held a pencil, the clever drape of his soccer jersey over his long torso, and the only word he’d ever spoken to me, falling out of his mouth in quiet disbelief, “Him?”

  If it hadn’t been for the excruciating train ride up the snowy Alpine mountains after winter break, I was almost certain I would have been able to let him go. After two and a half years of secretly drooling after him from a safe distance, I was beginning to drift away from the obsession. Until I stumbled by him that morning, following Maverick into his private car as the narrow train zipped up the frozen metal tracks that lined the mountains of St. Moritz, Switzerland.

  I knew he was there. I always knew when he was around, and I’d kept my head down, readjusting the over-sized scarf from around my neck when I walked by. He’d startled me, a difficult task when my hazy brain was normally too dormant for emotional stimulation. His velvet voice had never been directed at me and I stood there, paled before him when he asked that simple one word question.

  “Him?” He’d said, “Him?” He’d had a book in his lap, mother have mercy, a long thumb placed in the nook of the pages hovering over his dark jeans, and a forest green sweater that made his eyes look like pure, gooey caramel. He had that exotic look about him that drove so many of my fellow females completely nuts. Curly hair so black it was almost blue, permanently tanned skin that hinted at long summers spent on an island far away. Even his hands were somehow attractive, the nails worn down to the nub, rough callouses on his palms and fingertips, signaling hard physical labor, something the scholars at Saint Bridget’s were unaccustomed to.

  My hands were tightened around the heavy fabric of my scarf, the erratic beating in my chest a certain sign that my brain was having a difficult time processing whether or not this legendary interaction was really taking place. Looking back, I conjured a million different comebacks. “You have a better alternative?” I could have said, flirtatiously tossing my hair over my shoulder. Or, “No, you,” with a wink for romantic emphasis. Or even, “Fuck you,” with malice because what was he claiming to know about Maverick?

  Although, defending Maverick would have taken far too much brain power. He was notoriously an asshole, and anyone who walked the grand halls of the Saint Bridget Academy was gravely aware of that fact.

  So instead of responding, I gawked at him. Like a hungry baby bird. I’m not sure for how long. I simply stood there in the aisle of the train, unmoving, like every word and thought had left my body. My personality, my lexicon, everything I’d ever known just disappeared, replaced by the incessant pounding of blood in my ears and the unending gaze of those caramel eyes. Only with the high-powered swooshing sound of the car door opening in front of me, followed by the appearance of Maverick’s confused face, was I placed temporarily back onto my feet.

  I’d torn my eyes from Elliott’s and slid past Mav into the car, weirdly shaken and thoroughly annoyed with my unreliable brain.

  And here I was, exactly four days later, feeling slightly less weird thanks to a casual cocktail of prescription drugs, but far too wary. Today was our first day back in class and so far in this semester I didn’t have a single course with the bewildering Elliott Ramirez. Instead of taking my chances in the animalistic jungle of our cafeteria, I’d invited Mav for a quick stress reliever in our usual spot in the library. I had two more subjects after lunch and a whole new set of classes tomorrow, and I knew chances were I’d have Elliott in at least one, if not all, of my advanced directives.

  Maverick’s fingers dug into the skin of my hips and he let out a quiet grunt, his forehead falling to my shoulder. I opened my eyes, focusing on the spine of The Selfish Gene, by Richard Dawkins, which I believed to be misplaced, seeing as we were in the deserted and poorly lit Geography section.

  “Incredible,” he said into the fabric of my sweater.

  Incompetent. I thought. How simple the task of properly shelving books.

  He slid out of me, removed the condom, and tied it, tucking it temporarily into the pocket of his navy slacks to toss into the trash bin at the entrance to the library. One thing I truly appreciated about Maverick was his dedication to sexual safety and preparedness. “Where were you this time, Ace?”

  I hiked my underwear and tights up into place and pulled down the hem of my skirt. Maverick rarely called me by my real name anymore, preferring to use the nickname he’d given me during our childhood play dates: Ace. He’d been named after a character in his dad’s favorite movie, Top Gun, who happened to be a pilot. And when we were little, Mav really wanted to become a pilot and he developed the nickname Ace for me, as in flying ace, so we could pretend to be pilots together. I would call him “Captain Maverick,” and the two of us murdered the crap out of a lot of “bad guys” in the tiny two-seater plane his parents had given him for his 6th birthday.

  I kissed him on the cheek, the motion mechanical, “Does it matter?” I asked, ignoring the concerned expression he wore as he fastened the button of his pants. Making the final adjustments to my shirt and slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I strode away from him and past the half circle information desk situated near the entrance to the library. My recovering anorexic friend, Amy, offered me a small knowing smile and I raised an eyebrow in what I hoped would acknowledge what she was acknowledging without raising the notice of too many others. I’m sure she was well aware of what Maverick and I had been doing all over the school and mostly his dorm room since the beginning of sophomore year. I never shared details about the excursions to anyone because I didn’t have anyone to share with, but I wasn’t certain Mav didn’t go shouting about it to his friends.

  Amy’s weak smile and my subsequently distracted brain failed to recognize the lean figure parked at the entrance to the library. Lean, broad, heartbreakingly attractive.

  Then the dev
il left him, and angels came and attended him.

  Elliott.

  For the last two and a half years he’d spent his lunches at a round table with his soccer teammates, tray piled high with starchy carbs. But today he was in the library, his tall figure illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs, casting a shadow against the old brick. As I approached the double doors he looked up from the book in his hands and I quickly averted my gaze, annoyed at how ridiculously my body reacted just from the sight of him. I shoved against the heavy metal door and stepped into the hallway, my mind running through endless possibilities. I refused to believe Elliott had been standing there waiting for me. How would he have known I was there? Had he seen me enter with Maverick? I shook the notion from my brain, realizing how ridiculous it sounded to want him to follow me. To want him to want to follow me. I headed towards the general area of my next course, grateful they were all mostly in the same block of the huge main building, and expecting at least ten minutes to myself before class began. I needed to read my schedule for a fourth time and try to remember what day it was.

  “Ace!” Maverick’s voice sounded from behind me, and I turned, not bothering to hide my continuing annoyance. Mav was undeniably a good-looking guy by any standard. Tall and muscular and chiseled in the way only a teenager can be before the marbling build of adulthood. He had thick, wavy, dirty blonde hair and blue eyes the color of the sky in winter. He was on all accounts gorgeous, and incredibly self-aware of that fact, but his looks did not affect me the way Elliott’s did. Maverick’s attractiveness was expected with the long line of wealthy American aristocracy he followed. Something about the set of his jaw or the maturing lines of his face made his socioeconomic status clear. Like he was meant to be American royalty simply for existing.

  I stopped walking to allow him to catch up to me, wondering if he was going to proposition our next engagement in person instead of over text. I spent most of my nights in his private dorm suite instead of in my own, sometimes sleeping but generally participating in other time-consuming activities and assumed I wouldn’t see him again until curfew. When his feet landed in front of mine, his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, an act of intimacy we had never shared outside of a privately enclosed space. I narrowed my eyes, intending to smack his hand away and say something snarky, but he spoke before me in a low tone, “Why is Elliott Ramirez following you?”

  My mouth fell open in surprise and I glanced over my shoulder, watching the tall figure disappear down the brick lined hallway.

  “Are you fucking him?”

  Shock snapped my mouth shut with a clack.

  “If you’re fucking him, you could at least—.”

  “Jesus, Mav, I’m not fucking Elliott Ramirez,” I managed through a forced laugh. “I doubt he’s following me, I’ve never even spoken to him.” I turned back to the direction I was going, glancing again towards where Elliott had disappeared.

  Curious. Annoying. But curious.

  Maverick fell in step beside me, his voice remaining in that low tone, “He’s following you. First the train, after your morning classes, and now he’s waiting for you in our spot.”

  My skin prickled and I rubbed my arms to remove the feeling. “The library doesn’t belong to us, Maverick. I think you’re being paranoid. What could he possibly have to say to me?” The lunch bell sounded, and the hallway began to crowd with students. This was usually the time we went in separate directions, regardless of whether or not we had a class together—which hadn’t happened again since freshman year. It was an unspoken rule. We were just fucking around, nothing serious. “What would it matter anyway?” I mused aloud.

  He didn’t answer and I glanced up at him. His jaw was in a hard line and when his eyes met mine, they were colder than usual, a pure blizzard of icy blue. I let it go, choosing to focus on remembering my next class.

  Chemistry?

  French?

  Fuck, why couldn’t I remember?

  Students whose names I should recognize filtered past us. I hadn’t bothered cultivating or encouraging any friendship or relationship but the one I had with Maverick. It was out of necessity that I even knew anyone’s secrets and they knew mine. The school had less than 1,000 students spread across four grades. It looked to me like people were whispering about us, but I couldn’t be sure. The whole week had taken on a sort of dreamlike feel and I was struggling to tell what was real and what wasn’t. I always had trouble processing reality, but particularly after holidays when the dangerous combination of booze and ‘scrips made my world just a little darker.

  If this was real and I wasn’t dreaming, there was no way Elliott was following me. But on the off chance I wasn’t dreaming, why would he be following me?

  Maverick stood in front of my locker with me, looking grumpy and miserable. I stared at the row of books, wishing I’d remembered to bring a copy of my schedule.

  “Organic Chemistry,” Maverick grumbled, holding on to the strap of his backpack with one hand, the other tucked safely in the pocket of his slacks.

  I pulled out the green textbook, cradling it to my chest, “Thank you,” I said quietly. Another thing I appreciated about Maverick was his wickedly reliable memory. It was practically eidetic and aided me more often that I liked to admit. It was also a contributing factor to the ease with which he floated through Saint Bridget’s insanely rigid course load.

  He walked me silently to my class and I wasn’t even going to bother giving him a goodbye, it had never been necessary before, but before I could cross through the open door he spoke again.

  I couldn’t hear what he said, I’d already looked into the room, my heart leaping into my throat.

  I had a class with the elusive subject after all.

  I moved to walk through the open doorway, spotting an empty seat towards the back of the room, on the opposite end from where Elliott was perched on a desk, talking to another student. Mav grabbed my arm and I frowned at him, having somehow forgotten of his existence already.

  “I’ll see you later, right?” He emphasized speaking slowly and at a slightly higher volume.

  I gave him a weird look and pulled my arm away, “Yes, Mav. No need to alert the media.” I spun from him, my eyes locking with that warm caramel gaze. Instinctively, I dropped my eyes to the ground and wove my way to the back of the room, hooking the arm of my backpack over the back of my chair. I unzipped it and had to think for a moment, then pulled out a brand-new blank notebook, setting it on the desk next to my textbook. Pulling my favorite pen from another pocket, I took my seat, determined to focus on every subject and raise my GPA this semester.

  I sat there, the sense of being watched making my skin itch, and meticulously opened my notebook, staring at the empty lines. Elliott was still at the front of the room, and he slid behind a desk two seats up and one row over from me.

  I didn’t raise my eyes until the professor started speaking, and even then I waited a few more minutes before finally lifting my gaze to the stark white glowing board at the front of the room. For the next ninety minutes, I did nothing but attempt to bring my brain back into pre-train incident mode.

  He’s not following you. He’s not following you. He’s not following you. He’s not. He’s not. There’s no way. No. No. He simply isn’t. My brain made him sound like a crazy stalker I was trying to escape when the reality was so much more pathetic. I wanted Eli to follow me.

  I repeated the mantra over and over again, trying to distract myself by thinking of anything but him. His tan hands, his caramel gaze, the way he moved. The way his lips formed words when he spoke. I even tried to think about sex with Maverick, but every time I brought up a memory, I systematically replaced his face with Elliott’s. I was sitting in Organic Chemistry and losing my fucking mind. I started to count the seconds as they ticked by, but they weren’t moving quickly enough. I considered excusing myself to the bathroom, wondering if I could go to the counselor and have my schedule changed. I used to enjoy having class with him. B
ur right now I couldn’t stand it. At the 80-minute mark, ten minutes before class would be released, his gorgeous curly head turned, and his eyes locked on mine.

  I stared. Horrified. Frozen. Not sure why my body couldn’t handle this very simple exchange.

  And then he was standing. Well, everyone was standing. But the bell hadn’t rung. And he was walking towards me. And someone said something to me. I looked up to see my somewhat friend Megan who always partnered with me for tennis. Her eyebrows were knit together with concern and she appeared to be waiting for my response.

  Then Elliott was standing in front of my desk and I heard his voice like a scarf made of pure silk wrapping around my foggy brain and bringing it to the surface of consciousness. “Celeste,” he said.

  It sounded like a song. A beautiful song only he could sing, accompanied by angels and doves and harps. And we were suddenly up to two entire words.

  I heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand.

  He was looking at Megan and laughing, but Megan was still frowning at me.

  I blinked, “I’m sorry, what?”

  Megan spoke, “Um if you’re going to be Eli’s lab partner, I’m going to pair up with Chloe.” She gave me another odd look before walking away, and then it was just us. Elliott took a seat in the desk next to mine, folding his long body almost comically. I was very clearly dreaming.

  “Do you mind?” He asked me.

  “I—,” I didn’t know what to say. Did I mind if he sat there? Did I mind if my heart was beating so quickly I couldn’t think? “Do I mind?”

  “I can call Megan back if you’d rather be partners with her.” His mouth lifted into an easy crooked smile, that dimple finding its home in his cheek.

  “You want to be my lab partner?” I knew I sounded like an idiot, and I felt like one too. I must have missed something important in the last, well, 80 or so minutes.

  He laughed, “Is that okay?”

  I was staring at him, memorizing the way his mouth moved around every syllable, “I have no objections.”

  He was grinning again, and I couldn’t figure out what I’d said that was so amusing.

 

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