“I think Higgins just wants to get me up to speed on the curriculum and the minimum grades I have to maintain to stay on the soccer team.”
“She’s full of fun today,” I say under my breath.
“What about you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Something tells me this isn’t your first time in the headmaster’s office.”
I shrug modestly.
“Yeah, I’ve made a few appearances. I have a feeling my mom orchestrated this one, though. She’s obsessed with making sure I stay on the straight and narrow and get into the right college, so she probably talked Higgins into this preemptive visit.”
“Your mom sounds like my dad,” Chace remarks.
“They do have a lot in common,” I say. Before he can ask what I mean, Higgins’s assistant is standing before us.
“Mr. Porter, the headmaster will see you now.”
“Good luck,” I tell him.
He’s in the office for a good twenty minutes, during which time I scroll through my text messages and halfheartedly look over tonight’s homework assignments. When he comes out, it’s my turn.
“How’d it go?” I ask, as the headmaster’s assistant escorts him to the front of the office.
He shrugs.
“No biggie. Hey, I’ll wait for you if you want.”
A smile escapes my lips.
“Okay.”
It’s just as I suspected. Mom enlisted the headmaster to give me a lecture on my subpar grades last year, and to drill into my head how crucial junior year is for me to “reverse the trend” and “step up my game” if I want to be considered by a top-tier university. Now, to put things into perspective, my GPA is a 3.5. That’s on the fringes of the honor roll, for heaven’s sake! It’s not like I’m some D student. But, as Higgins and my mom love to remind me, a 3.5 is low for an Oyster Bay student. It’s not exactly an average that will wow admissions officers from Stanford or Columbia. Forget about Harvard and Yale—I already blew my chances there, barring some miracle.
“Why do I have to go to one of those schools, anyway?” I ask the headmaster, though of course I already know the answer.
“Because you’re an important young lady meant for great things. Your mother could wind up becoming president in the not-too-distant future, and if that happens you’ll be serving as an example to girls all across the nation, not to mention representing your mother in front of the world.” Headmaster Higgins shuffles some papers on her desk. “Now, something that could be of vital help is your extracurricular activities. Even the most academically competitive schools will overlook a lower GPA if someone has an extraordinary talent that would benefit their school name.”
I stare blankly at the headmaster. What, does she think my inner Lady Gaga or Serena Williams emerged out of nowhere over the summer? I think of Nicole and her violin and feel a sudden spark of anger that she doesn’t have to worry about any of this.
“I’ve been approached by a few different modeling agencies,” I tell Higgins. “Maybe—”
She shakes her head emphatically.
“That’s not the kind of talent I was talking about, dear.” She hands me a booklet from her stack of papers. “Here’s a list of the different extracurricular activities and sports teams Oyster Bay has to offer. Sign up for a few, won’t you?”
By the time I finally make it out of her office, I’m fuming. Silly me; I thought this year would be different. I thought my mom’s latest lofty goals meant that she’d finally lay off me, that she’d be too busy controlling the House of Representatives to try controlling every aspect of my life. But she’s still determined to turn me into her perfect image.
Chace stands when he sees me reemerge outside the office. He takes in my expression and doesn’t speak until we’re alone, in the relative safety of the hallway.
“You okay?”
“I have something to confess,” I tell him, feeling a shot of adrenaline as I imagine how Mom would cringe if she heard what I’m about to say. “I knew who you were yesterday. My mom works with your dad at the Capitol, and she wanted—”
“She wanted you to get close to me.” Chace finishes my sentence, leaning against one of the lockers in the hallway.
I stop, taken aback.
“Well. Yeah.”
Chace gives me a half smile.
“My dad told me to do the same.”
“Really?” Now I’m intrigued. “Why did they both…?”
“Your mom is the majority whip, but my dad has the president’s ear. They each want something from the other. Isn’t that how Washington works?” Chace rolls his eyes, and I feel a sudden rush of affection for him. I wish it didn’t have to end like this—before it even started.
“It’s not only that,” I admit. “I think my mom has some kind of dream of a…I don’t know, a power alliance through us. Or something like that.” My face heats up. “So were you just playing along yesterday, then?”
“At first.” Chace reaches out and briefly touches my shoulder. “But my dad failed to mention how cool and un-Washington you are.”
I laugh in spite of myself.
“She was cool and un-Washington. That should be my epitaph one day.”
“And so pretty, it’s almost blinding.”
He says it under his breath, and I wonder if I misheard. But when our eyes meet, I know he meant it.
“I wonder…” I bite my lip, daring myself to say it. “I wonder if giving our parents what they want could be its own kind of rebellion.”
“I like the way you think,” he replies.
We fall back into step, and for the rest of the walk back to the dorms, we’re quiet. It’s as if we’ve said too much, and must now make up for our confessions with silence. When he drops me off at the door to the girls’ dorm, he doesn’t say goodbye.
“See you soon,” he says instead. And I know something is beginning.
“Though time may help you forget
All that has happened before…”
The cop and the detective finally dismiss me after an hour of questioning, tearing open my insides and forcing me to lay myself bare as they searched the hidden corners of my heart. I know my answers left them dissatisfied; I saw the frustration written in their eyes every time I had to say the words I don’t remember or I don’t know. But at last they let me go, handing over their business cards and urging me to call if I think of anything that could help the case.
“We’ll be in touch,” Detective Kimble says, patting my arm as she walks me to the door. I hope she’s wrong about that. I hope I never have to see either of their faces again.
I manage to keep it together as I shuffle out of the headmaster’s office and back into the hallway. My eyes remain trained on the carpeted floor, my head down, trying to block the sound of my classmates’ grief from my ears. I keep it all in, holding my breath, as I step outside and cross the quad.
Then I’m running.
The tears lodged in my throat break free and I can’t see where I’m going, the moisture blurs my vision. But I know where I’m headed. My body shudders with sobs and I crumple to the ground, gripping fistfuls of grass and dirt.
“Whenever I’m alone with you,
You make me feel like I am home again.”
His warm voice fills my mind, singing a song that once was ours. I look up wildly, half expecting to see him standing before me, extending a hand to help me up as he tells me about the elaborate prank he pulled. But I’m all alone, lying in the field of dandelions beneath the wooden bridge—the place we used to call our little sliver of heaven.
“Whenever I’m alone with you,
You make me feel like I am whole again,”
I whisper back.
There’s no answer, of course. I lie back against the grass, curling into the fetal position, and close my eyes. Maybe if I stay like this, if I don’t move…it will all go away.
“Nicole. Nicole.”
I blink back into consciousness. A boy’s tall shadowy frame stands above me, hi
s head bowed as he watches me with a frown. It’s Ryan Wyatt, Chace’s roommate and closest friend at Oyster Bay.
Chace. The horror of it all comes flooding back and I sit up quickly, the blood rushing to my head.
“Did—did—” My throat is like sandpaper. “Did you hear?”
Ryan kneels down to my level. The broken expression on his face tells me everything I need to know.
“He’s gone,” I whisper. My throat closes up around the words, I’m struggling to breathe. Ryan grips my shoulders.
“Nicole, you can’t fall apart,” he warns me, but the ragged edge to his voice lets me know he’s been crying, too. “You’ve got to keep it together. Do it for Chace.”
I shake my head violently.
“Why? He’s—he’s—”
“Then do it for you,” Ryan says more sharply. “The cops are in my room right now, digging into everything of Chace’s—his phone, computer, all of it. That means they’re going to find out about you guys. You’ve got to get your head straight.”
I fall back against the grass, spreading my arms like some sad snow angel.
“You’re too late. They already questioned me.”
Ryan was always the nicest out of Chace’s friends. Or maybe I should clarify: he’s the only one who actually acknowledged me. In those brief, heady days when I thought we were going to be together, Chace confided in Ryan about us. To my surprise, Ryan didn’t immediately assume it was a joke, or tell Chace he’d be crazy to give up Lana’s exotic beauty for the plainness of me. He actually seemed to…get it. And after my accident, he was one of the very few who didn’t cringe when he came face to face with me and my scar.
“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask Ryan now.
He lowers his eyes.
“Chace told me this was where—”
I nod quickly to stop him from talking. We remain in silence for who knows how long, me lying on the grass with my face tilted up to the cloudy sky, a numb, drugged feeling washing over me, while Ryan sits upright, hugging his arms to his chest.
“I should go home,” I finally say. “Back to Pittsburgh, I mean. I have to get out of here.”
“You can’t,” Ryan says heavily. “There’s Chace’s funeral to figure out, and—”
“As if Lana would ever dream of letting me be involved,” I cut him off.
“You still have to be there,” Ryan insists. And he’s right. Even though it might kill me, I know he’s right.
“After the funeral, then.” I turn onto my side.
“You don’t get it, Nicole.” Ryan looks at me seriously. “You can’t go anywhere until the cops figure out what happened. You’re a person of interest now.”
Person of interest. Of course, I sensed that’s what I was from the moment the detective and the cop started grilling me, but the idea is too ludicrous, too unfair, to be spoken aloud.
“Why are you even here?” I snap. “What do you want, anyway?”
“I’m here because I know how Chace felt,” Ryan says. “So I can only imagine how you feel right now.”
An invisible fist takes my heart and twists it, the words too late, too late taunting in my ear. I was too late to realize he still cared for me, too proud to ask or give us another chance. The photo in his pocket, his best friend’s words, they are proof of my irreparable mistake.
“I spoke to Chace’s parents.” Ryan’s voice is barely above a whisper. A terrible shiver runs through me at the thought of what they’re facing. “They’re flying in from Washington tonight. There’s going to be a candlelight vigil.”
Stop talking. Please stop.
As if he can read my thoughts, Ryan gets to his feet. “I’ll leave you alone. I just needed to—to be around someone who understood.”
I should go with him; I should comfort him. Doesn’t the best friend have more of a right to grief than the illicit non-girlfriend? Doesn’t he deserve to have me asking what I can do to help him, letting him cry on my shoulder?
I’d like to think I will, and soon. But not yet. I need to stay out here, alone in our special place, for as long as I can—before the world rushes in to disturb it.
I lie there past sunset and into the darkening night, staring up at the changing sky. Could he be up there already, one of the stars gazing down from above? Or is he still here, mingling with the air and the wind surrounding me?
My hands are twitching, unaccustomed to going this many hours without playing the violin. It will be a relief to have the Maggini cradled in my arms again, to exhaust my pain into the music, and practice until my muscles ache and my fingers bruise.
Lights flicker in the distance. I hear a pack of footsteps, followed by the sound of mournful singing.
“Well, I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord…”
I recognize the voice. It’s Mandy Taylor, a choral student from the Virtuoso Program. I’ve accompanied her a dozen times before, but tonight she sings alone.
I pick myself up off the grass and cross the little wooden bridge, leaving our special place to follow the singing. This must be the candlelight vigil Ryan told me about. While I couldn’t imagine attending before and sharing my grief with all of them, I’m now frantic at the thought of missing it.
Mandy’s voice, intermingled with the sound of marching footsteps, leads me to the southernmost lawn behind the school. I fall into step with my classmates at the entrance to the soccer field, blending into the crowd. They are a blur of stricken faces and dark clothing, of shaky hands clutching candles and waving signs reading WE LOVE YOU, CHACE and CHACE PORTER, FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS. The sight sends dread churning through my insides all over again.
I spot Brianne trailing behind our orchestra group, her face pale in the glow of candlelight, but I duck before she can see me. I don’t have it in me to make conversation, to explain where I’ve been.
As we file through the open fence onto the field, I’m caught in a flood of memories. I haven’t been back here since junior year, and a montage of happier times plays in my mind—sitting in the stands with Lana, cheering whenever Chace scored a goal, the three of us plus Ryan goofing off when the field was ours after practice, and later…waiting for Chace alone, catching his eye and watching him smile just for me.
Mandy’s singing stops, and I’m yanked out of my reverie by another familiar voice. Lana steps up onto the stands, a microphone in her grasp.
“Today we lost one of the best guys we’ll ever know,” she says, her voice catching on the words. “From the moment Chace arrived at our school, he brought with him an energy you couldn’t help wanting to be around. He was the greatest friend to all of you, and the best boyfriend to me.”
Is it my imagination, or does Lana find me in the crowd just then, giving me a pointed stare?
“He was an amazing teammate, big brother, and son. And—” She swallows hard, and through the candlelight I can see the torment on her face, belying her composure. “We owe it to Chace to do everything we can to help the police find the monster who did this to him.”
This time I know I’m not imagining things. Lana is definitely eyeing me, her mouth curling in distaste. But she can’t think—
The sound of car tires roaring onto the field startles me out of my thoughts. My classmates turn to look, murmuring to each other. Headmaster Higgins is going to have a conniption over this. The Oyster Bay grounds are strictly car-free zones. But then I take in the black limousine, and I understand. Lana drops the microphone into someone’s palm and starts running toward the limo.
The uniformed driver jumps out and hurries to open the rear doors. Mrs. Porter steps out first, unrecognizable from her polished press photos. Her face has a deadened expression, her body hunched over as if carrying the entire weight of the tragedy on her back. The congressman steps out next, his mouth set in a grim line. Twelve-year-old Teddy follows, taking his mother’s hand. The scene is too much to bear, and I turn away, a searing pain blazing in my ches
t.
But out of the corner of my eye I can see Lana rushing toward them, wrapping Mrs. Porter in a tight hug. Ryan threads through the crowd of classmates to join them, embracing the congressman and crouching down to talk to Teddy.
No one wants me here. And if I thought or hoped that I might feel Chace with me at this moment…I was wrong.
I make my way through the throng and off the field, keeping my eyes on the ground so I won’t have to witness one more sight that breaks my heart.
You’d be surprised at how challenging it is to pull off a decent party at boarding school. With nothing but a corridor to separate the girls’ wing from the boys’, Oyster Bay Prep could be a breeding ground for all sorts of deliciously fun shenanigans—but the constant supervision they keep us under nipped that prospect in the bud a long time ago. So when our astronomy teacher, Mrs. Wakely, announces that a midnight meteor shower will be lighting up the sky on Friday, I’m gifted with a momentary flash of genius: What if we threw a school-sanctioned Meteor Shower Bash (aka coed outdoor slumber party) to take advantage of the last blush of summer while doing something kind of academic?
“I mean, doesn’t it sound incredible? We can take turns looking through the telescope and then sketch what we see by the light of bonfires. We can stargaze and roast marshmallows,” I urge Mrs. Wakely after class. “And instead of just going back to our dorms after the meteor shower and forgetting the whole thing, we can fall asleep in our tents beneath all the action in the sky. What do you think?”
In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not some kind of astronomy fanatic. The first two weeks of classes and the accompanying boatloads of homework have me itching to shed my buttoned-up school uniform, to dance barefoot and sneak sips from a flask, to flirt with Chace Porter and let him see others flirt with me. But I manage to convince Mrs. Wakely that my interest in this whole idea has nothing to do with the social perks.