It’s a text, but not from Liam.
It’s from Sophie: Hi Caroline! Your mom asked me to send her flight info. Details below. Two weeks from tomorrow! :)
Two weeks. I stop on the sidewalk leading to Brekken, my feet frozen in place, even as people are forced to flow around me.
My plan is in pieces, and I don’t have anything to replace it. My mom is going to show up here and find that everything is exactly the way it was in high school. I’m alone. Not fitting in. Only it’s worse this time, because I chose to be here, I had a chance, and somehow I messed it up. She’ll take me home for sure.
But does that even matter anymore? What’s the point of being here if . . . if Liam is not my Ben? My breath catches in my chest, and despair feels like a knife digging deep into my lung.
How did it all go so wrong so quickly?
The Scavenger Flag players nearby give a cry of triumph, making me jolt and drawing my attention.
There are four or five of them in green armbands, high-fiving one another, and then one of them, a guy, picks up a girl teammate and spins her around until she shrieks with laughter and pushes at him to let her down.
Envy and anguish are twin pulses in me. That might have been me. That could have been Liam, picking me up.
Wait. Wait. That guy . . . his blond hair, the way he throws his head back to laugh.
I’m not close enough to see his dimples or the scar on his chin. But it’s Liam.
My stomach churns and then falls. He’s here.
He’s not too busy. His phone didn’t die. He’s not trapped in his room with a broken leg, waiting to be discovered. Or any of the other increasingly ridiculous scenarios I’ve conjured for why he wasn’t returning my texts.
Not that I really thought any of those were true, but—based on the horrible sinking feeling in my stomach—I guess some part of me was still hoping against hope that they might be.
But no. Liam is hugging a pretty redhead who is not me.
And then, suddenly, I’m moving, feet no longer stuck to the ground. Instead they’re carrying me easily, mechanically, across the sidewalk and the grass, to the Scavenger Flag players.
To Liam.
“Caroline. Hey.” Liam gives me an uncomfortable smile when he sees me coming. And I want to die.
But anger rises up hot and fierce, burning away some of the humiliation.
“Can we . . .” I jerk my head, indicating a spot a few feet away.
His pause is infinitesimal, but I sense it anyway. “Sure. Give me a minute, guys,” he says to his teammates.
“What’s up, Caroline?” he asks, when we’re out of earshot. “Are you okay?” I hear more than a hint of wariness in his voice.
“I thought . . . I thought we were going to . . .” I tip my chin toward the armband tied around his bicep.
He glances down at it. “Oh. Yeah. I was talking to some guys, and it turns out that Granland had a couple teams already going, so I thought I would just join them.” His forehead furrows. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”
“You didn’t text me back.”
His cheeks flush, and he looks away from me, staring at some point in the distance. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
The lie hangs in the air between us.
I fold my arms across my chest, hugging myself. “You kissed me,” I say. “You invited me back to your room.”
He makes an exasperated sound. “I know that,” he says. The muscles at the back of his jaw are tight, standing out beneath his skin. “But I didn’t know you were going to be all . . .”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“. . . weird about it.”
He said it. Tears flood my eyes and roll down my cheeks.
“Are you serious right now?” I try to ask, but my voice only comes out as a whisper.
“It was one night,” he continues, avoiding my eyes. “We were both lonely and missing home. It was no big deal. You’re acting like I owe you something, and I don’t.”
The one person who made me feel important, who made me feel seen, is now pretending like I don’t exist.
“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice clogged and congested. “This isn’t . . . this isn’t like you.”
He scuffs his shoe against the grass. “Caroline, we don’t even know each other.”
“That’s not what you said the other day,” I say, scrubbing the back of my hand against my cheeks, trying to wipe away tears.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean . . . This is college—I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously. We were keeping each other company for a few days, making it feel less scary, that’s all.”
Past tense: We were.
“But I came here for you.” The words are out before I can stop them, before I even realize that I was thinking them.
His eyes go wide, and he takes a step back. “Caroline . . .”
“You were always nice to me,” I say quickly, trying to explain. “I figured any place where you went would be the same, and that we could be friends once we got the stupid high school baggage out of the way. You were my Ben, you know? Like on Felicity? You showed me that I could have more than . . .” I trail off, seeing that my words are only making it worse. I wish that the ground beneath me would tear itself open and swallow me whole.
But it wouldn’t help. Because Liam’s teammates, who are now close enough to hear at least some of what we’ve been saying, are whispering and exchanging significant looks. It won’t be long before some version of this is all over campus.
Oh God. “I have to go.” I turn away.
“Caroline,” he says with a mix of impatience and apology, lifting his hand in a half-hearted attempt to stop me.
But he doesn’t succeed, nor does he put any more effort into it.
And he doesn’t follow me.
Chapter Fifteen
On Sunday afternoon, Lexi drops a plastic takeout container of food—half a turkey sandwich, prepackaged apple slices, and a cookie—on my bed when she comes back from her study group at the library.
I haven’t left our room since Friday except for the bathroom. I even canceled my appointment with Wegman, claiming a migraine, though I’m sure that made him suspicious. But what’s the point of trying to keep him on my side? It’s not like I have any reason to stay here now.
Lexi doesn’t say anything about the food, doesn’t wait for thanks. Just goes to her side of the room and begins emptying her backpack.
For some reason, though, this gift out of nowhere makes me equal parts angry and grateful. And then even more angry at the thought that Lexi has taken pity on me. “I’ll be out of here soon,” I say. “So you don’t have to worry about it.” I can’t quite bring myself to call my mom and confess, but she’ll be here in a couple of weeks anyway and she’ll pull me out, no question, once she sees how I’ve failed.
I reach for my earbuds again. I’ve been hiding beneath my covers with Netflix and the mind-numbing comfort of Beachfront Bargain Hunt.
“Did you sleep with him?” she asks without turning around.
“Close enough.” My eyes begin to well. “I don’t need you to say I told you so.”
“Did he tell you he loved you and then make fun of you to his friends? The way you dress, the way you talk? How hickish your family seems?” Her voice is taut with anger and pain. “Did he lie to you repeatedly when you confronted him about the rumors?”
I freeze.
“Did he beg you to take him back, but only in private because he couldn’t stand up to his fraternity brothers?”
I drop my earbuds. “Did that . . . was that you and Jordan?”
She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling with it. “The summer before my senior year in high school, I was lifeguarding at the pool on campus. They open it up to the community once school is out. Swimming lessons, aquarobics, all that shit. Jordan stayed on campus after his freshman year to take summer classes. But he used to
come in early in the morning to swim laps. We started talking. A lot. He’s from Baltimore, never felt like he fit in here in Iowa. Because, you know, it’s Iowa. Nothing like the East Coast. Plus, his mom is white and his dad is black, and he . . . I guess he never felt like he fit in anywhere.” She shakes her head. “It’s not the same, but I understood. I’m tied to Ashmore, the town and the college. In town, my dad’s job sets us apart. Tuition costs more than most people in Ashmore make in years. I’ll get a degree, have a chance to leave, unlike most of my friends. But I’ll never belong to the college, either, not completely. Not the way the real students do, the ones who can afford to be here.”
I resist the urge to point out that she is a real student too. She’s taking classes, like everyone else, and that’s all that should matter.
“But with Jordan it was like we belonged . . . together. Like we just fit because we didn’t fit anywhere else. If that makes sense. It did at the time. Anyway, I don’t know, things progressed. And suddenly we were spending every second together. And I . . .” Lexi’s voice breaks.
“You love him,” I whisper, drawing my knees up to my chest.
“I did,” she allows. “I thought I did.”
“What happened?”
“School started. He decided to rush PBTs.” She shrugs. “You know the rest. He was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Either to me or his brothers, I’m not sure which. It ended . . . badly.”
He betrayed her—that’s the word I would use. Taking the parts she felt most vulnerable about and handing them over to people who wouldn’t hesitate to use them against her. Then he lied about it.
Suddenly the change in her appearance—from the black sweater and pearls in her senior photo to who she is now—makes sense. It’s an aggressive fuck-you to Jordan and anyone else who thinks she’s lesser.
In spite of myself, I’m impressed. That takes guts.
“But why would he do that?” I ask.
“Because he’s a fucking coward who desperately needs approval from a bunch of jerks to feel better about himself ?” She drops onto her bed across from me.
“I . . . maybe. He still cares about you, though. I’ve seen it.” I sit up.
To my surprise, she nods. “Maybe.”
“So . . . ,” I prompt. In spite of my own difficulties, I feel the flicker of investment in their love, in her story.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lexi says, reaching for her laptop and a notebook. “He doesn’t love me enough. And I might only be the hick townie daughter of the school janitor, but I deserve better than that.”
My mouth falls open.
Lexi straightens her shoulders, her chin going up in challenge. “You think I don’t?” she asks, like she’s daring me to say yes.
“No! I think that you absolutely do. I just . . . I don’t know how you do it. How you don’t care about fitting in.”
She looks tired as she opens her notebook and uncaps a bright pink highlighter. “Who says I don’t? Every damn day. I want to belong here like everyone else. I want someone who loves me because of who I am, not in spite of it. Is that so much to ask?”
“No,” I say.
“The mistake, I think,” she says, “is believing that once someone else checks the ‘yes’ box on you, then you’ll have what you need. Then you’ll be happy, then you’ll be okay with yourself. I don’t think it works like that.” She glances at me pointedly.
I fidget with the edge of my comforter. “My situation is more complicated than that.”
“I’ve heard,” she says.
The blood drains away from my head, making my face go numb. I knew it was a possibility, a strong possibility, that rumors would start after my conversation with Liam in front of his Scavenger Flag teammates. But having it confirmed . . . I swallow hard. “So I’m the psycho creeper who followed a guy to college.” I’m hoping, praying, that no one has made the Felicity connection yet, even though I was stupid enough to reference it when I talked to Liam. That will only make it more humiliating.
“I don’t think I’ve heard it described quite that way,” Lexi says. “But something like that, yeah.”
I drop back onto my bed and pull the covers over my head. “Oh my God.”
“It’s not that bad, Caroline. And even if it was, who cares?” Lexi asks.
“I do!”
“Why?” she demands, getting up and yanking my covers back. “What makes him so perfect and wonderful? Why does he get to ruin everything?”
“He didn’t ruin anything. I did.”
“Because you believed him when he flirted with you. Thought it might mean more?”
I nod miserably.
She sits on the edge of her bed. “Caroline, if every person who made that mistake left campus, it would be a ghost town around here.”
“But I followed him. I—”
“So? I’m sure people have done stupider things for stupider reasons. You liked him, right? You guys were friends and you thought he was picking a good place?”
I hesitate, then dodge that part of the question. “He seemed to have it . . . life figured out,” I admit in a whisper. “I wanted part of that for myself.”
Lexi snorts. “No one has it figured out. Some people are just better at faking it than others.”
An automatic denial is on the tip of my tongue before I remember Liam’s confession that he thought coming to Ashmore might have been a mistake.
It hurts thinking about that memory, a time when it seemed Liam and I were on the same level, but I can’t deny that it’s also evidence that Lexi might be right. “I don’t know,” I mumble. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not going back out there.”
Lexi gives me an exasperated look. “Do you not know how this works? The more you hide, the more you act like the rumors are true, the more people are going to—”
I jerk upright. “But they are true!”
“As far as you and a few others know. But that’s it.”
“So far,” I say.
“Caroline, it’s not like everyone on campus is talking about you,” Lexi says as she picks up her highlighter again. “Most of them don’t even know who you are. And anyway, even if they did, acting like a kicked puppy and cowering up here is only going to confirm their suspicions.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Hey!”
“I’m sorry, is that not what you were doing?” she asks, opening her eyes wide with faux innocence.
“Whatever.”
“You haven’t even tried,” she says, shaking her head.
That pisses me off.
I sit up, nearly toppling my computer. “You have no idea how much I’ve tried, how hard I’ve tried!” I say, my voice shaking.
“To be what you thought he’d like, to do what he wanted?” she asks with a sneer.
I shut my mouth. Her words are too close to the truth to deny.
She puts her highlighter down on the notebook next to her. “What about you? What’s here for you, Caroline? Did you even try to make Ashmore yours? Instead of lying to your mom about all the friends you’re making, why don’t you actually go out and try to make some?”
I knew she was listening that day.
I feel the burn of humiliation spreading across my skin, and I can’t resist snapping back at her. “Great advice from someone who actively hates it here. I don’t see you trying.”
Lexi slaps her notebook closed and shoves it, along with her laptop, into her backpack and heads for the door. “Just because some advice is easier to give than it is to take, Caroline, doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” she says. Then she leaves, letting the door bang shut after her.
I flop back on the bed, fuming. What difference does all this make to her anyway? She’s made it very clear that we’re not friends.
And I don’t need her help. If I want to hide in here and give up, what business is it of hers? Maybe she’ll even get to keep the room as a single next semester. Everybody wins.
I try to return to Netflix, bu
t Lexi’s words continue to eat at me. I’m not cowering. I’m . . . removing myself from a bad situation, that’s all. And I did try here. Maybe not exactly in the way she described, making it mine. But what are the odds that Ashmore would end up being the one place where I fit in as myself ?
After about another twenty minutes I get up. I can’t stand lying there, listening to the Lexi in my head. Even Chip from Fixer Upper can’t drown her out.
I’m beginning to suspect it’s because some part of me thinks she might be right.
After peering cautiously into the empty hallway—I’m not sure what I’m expecting, a crowd whispering and pointing fingers?—I head for the bathroom, scurrying with my clean clothes and shower bucket in hand.
Maybe a shower will help. It has been a while.
Out of habit I avoid the puke shower, and then I feel a surprising wave of nostalgia when I realize I won’t have to deal with that issue anymore once I’m home.
Why, though? Not having to deal with that should be one of the awesome things about going home, not something to miss.
It’s just that . . . going home, as tempting as it is right now, also feels like failure. All the challenges, the things I have managed to do successfully here—not as many as I’d like—will be gone. I’ll be starting over somewhere else, with new pitfalls. Assuming my mom ever lets me out of her sight again. If I give up on Ashmore after pushing so hard to go here, that’s only going to panic her further, make her feel even more guilty for moving us to Arizona and somehow permanently screwing me up.
Yet, at the same time, the thought of leaving my room to go to classes tomorrow makes me shudder beneath the weak spray of the shower. People will stare; they’ll whisper. And it’ll feel like it’s all about me, even though logic says there have to be other disasters-in-the-making on campus besides me.
Of course, Lexi’s point is that they’re doing that already. But if I’m out there and acting like I don’t care, that at least suggests a different side to the story.
But it also means the possibility of running into Liam somewhere on campus, and I . . . I am not ready for that.
After I’ve finished showering, I brush my teeth and put fresh yoga pants on; then I gather up my stuff and head for my room.