by M. F. Lorson
If I was really lucky and he was willing to give me another chance, no one could fault me for dating him right? Not when he was co-captain of the lacrosse team. Even Rachel had to admit he’d come up in the ranks. I wanted to see him but not knowing how or when was making me crazy. I wondered if anyone would have warned him not to go to new student orientation. It’s not like he had a lot of time to make friends and the lacrosse team wasn’t particularly welcoming to new blood. Not when it meant certain seniors would be sitting on the sidelines. I hoped he would be there. I hoped his face would light up when he saw me and everything in my letter would disappear from his memory. It was hoping a lot, but I knew in my heart that this could be our second chance.
I ran until my body ached and the tip of my nose felt like it would fall off. Covered in a thick sheen of sweat I grabbed my shower caddy from the room and headed down the hall to the girls’ bathroom. There was only one shower running. My late run meant I had missed the before bed rush. I hung my towel on the hook outside my stall, set my shower shoes on the floor, and prepared to get undressed. Across the room, the lone running shower clicked off.
“This is awkward,” came a voice from behind the curtain. “But I left my towel on the bench.”
I smiled, retrieving the towel and handing it to the pale white hand extending from the far curtain. Definitely a newbie, I thought. Only the new kids worried about who saw you in the shower. By the end of the term, we could barely be bothered to close our room doors to sleep at night.
“Thank you,” said the girl, a blush covering her damp cheeks as she came around the curtain wrapped in the towel. She had to be a transfer student, but something about her face made me feel like we had met before. Like maybe I had seen her outside of Shelfbrooke. It could have been the plane ride over. The Chicago airport was a major travel hub after all. I opened my mouth to ask her where she was from, but her shower shoes were already flip flopping out of the bathroom and into the hallway.
Chapter Three
Never in the history of mornings had I ever been so excited for my alarm to go off. When the buzzer vibrated on my nightstand, I sprang from my bed like a five-year-old waiting to see Santa. I’d spent all night imagining how this day would go. I had already mentally composed my hair, make-up, and outfit. It was the last day before classes started, which meant we could wear whatever we liked. For now, I still got to be me. In a few days, I would don the Shelfbrooke uniform like everyone else. I dug a faded graphic T-shirt from the bottom of my chest of drawers. I hadn’t worn it in years, but I kept it there, as a talisman to another time. I remembered everything about the night I bought it.
I’d gotten permission from Dad to stay out past curfew for the end of summer concert at Fort Warren. The band was local and mediocre at best, but the night was the stuff teenage diary entries are made of. Christopher and I arrived just before dusk with one of Aunt Ginger’s handsewn lap quilts tucked under my arm. We spread it on the lawn beneath a tree toward the back, as far away from the rest of the crowd as we could get. He sat with his back up against the tree, and I leaned into him, his arms wrapped around my middle. I couldn’t tell you a single song the band sang that night, because the only thing I remember hearing was the sound of Christopher’s breath, gentle and warm, as it passed by my ear. It was the last time we would be together, and though none of our conversations addressed that, I think we both felt the weight of departure in every moment of that evening.
I bought the T-shirt at intermission, wanting something tangible to take with me to Shelfbrooke.
When I returned from the shower fully dressed and fancified, I was greeted by the rhythmic rhino-like stylings of Rachel’s mid-morning snore. One look at my cell phone reminded me that we were supposed to be in the common room in twenty minutes. I could gently tap her or speak in a low, soothing voice to wake her, but that wouldn’t be nearly as fun as what I had in mind. There were only two things that got under Rachel’s skin, attractive boys with bad personal hygiene and Blondie’s, “Tide is High.” I crept over to our speaker system and cued up the song, and with my eyes fixed on Rachel, I hit play.
Rachel shot out of bed like a cannon.
“Noooooooo!” she cried, glaring at me through sleepy, startled eyes. “Whhhhy?”
“Time to get up, sunshine,” I replied. “It’s orientation day.”
Rachel groaned, “Make it stop!”
“What, this?” I asked, staring down at my phone. “But I thought you liked…” Rachel’s pillow came flying across the room. Where in her past Blondie had done her wrong, I did not know, but she was serious in her hatred for that song. I dodged the pillow and cranked up the chorus. “The tide is high, but I’m holding on. I’m gonna be your number one. Number oooooone.” I muled into my imaginary microphone.
“Okay, okay!” cried Rachel pushing herself out of bed. “I’m up already.” With a smirk, I turned off the music.
“We have twenty minutes,” I warned. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you motivated? There is more to that playlist.”
“Do you want to wake up tomorrow with no eyebrows?” she asked.
I held up my hands in surrender. “I will behave.”
“Good,” said Rachel, stretching her hands above her head in a yawn. “Because you don’t have the face for that.” I shook my head. I had learned to live with Rachel in the morning, but that didn’t mean it was easy. That girl was not built to interact with society before 7:00 a.m.
“You do remember this was your idea, right?” I asked, watching as she tamed her long blonde hair into a messy bun with just the right ratio of mess to glam.
“I feel like calling it my idea is a bit of a stretch considering I am basically forced to do it,” said Rachel, tossing her hand to her forehead for dramatic flair.
“It won’t be that bad. It might even be kind of fun.” I hinted.
Rachel looked at me skeptically, “Why are you being weird? There is no way you are excited about giving campus tours.”
I fluffed my pillow before setting it back on my now perfectly made bed. “I’m making the most of a bad situation. We might as well try to enjoy it.”
Rachel cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not telling me something. I’ll figure it out, you know. Need I remind you of the time you tried to hide the fact that you kissed Nate Penderwick? It took me less than three days to weasel it out of you.” I smiled wickedly. Keeping Rachel guessing was a bright spot in an already brilliant morning.
“After you,” I said, ushering her out the door of our room.
Down in the common room, Ms. Bingley stood. Just like yesterday, she held her clipboard. Just like yesterday, a circle of students surrounded her. I scanned the faces around us. The girl I’d met in the bathroom was there along with a pretty hunky guy irresponsibly dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. He clearly didn’t realize we were leaving the building. That or he was from somewhere much warmer this time of year. There were a few other newbies, mostly underclassman. I didn’t see Christopher in the circle, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here. I looked around the common room in hopes that he was just holding back from the group. I scoured each darkened corner. In the back of the room, I spotted a figure with blue jeans and great hair sitting in a large wingback chair. His face was hidden by the book in his hand. I took two steps toward him. I wasn’t sure what I would say, but my body had a mind of its own. He lowered the book, and I felt my entire being deflate. I should have known it was Will. Who else thought they were too cool to stand with the others?
“Try not to look so disappointed,” he mocked, standing to take his place at my side. I knew I had been excited to see Christopher, but I hadn’t realized how bad I would feel not to see him. I had been happy at Shelfbrooke for years, yet now I felt an overwhelming wave of depression. Like suddenly I was missing something, or someone to be specific.
“What is up with you?” asked Rachel noticing the change in my face. I shrugged. I could clue her in later. Now was not the time.
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br /> Just then, the door to the common room swung open. My eyes lifted from Ms. Bingley to the doorframe. I knew it was Christopher before he even stepped into the room. My heart had already started beating at twice its normal speed. There he stood, late, disheveled and so, so beautiful. I couldn’t speak. That bravery he’d instilled in me years ago took a back seat to self-doubt now that I was face to face with him. His eyes locked with mine, and I waited for him to break the barrier of silence. Instead, he turned his back and addressed Ms. Bingley. All of that excitement that had been building inside of me wooshed out like an untied balloon in a child’s hand. All night I had anticipated this moment. I was waiting for his eyes to meet mine. I’d imagined some awkwardness, maybe a transition period where it took us some time to unbury old roots. This I wasn’t prepared for. He looked at me as if I were background when I used to be the center of his universe.
I couldn’t keep the disappointment off my face.
From across the circle, Rachel mouthed, “You know him?” I nodded, trying to keep the heat from rising in my cheeks as tears began to prickle behind my eyelids. What the heck was I expecting? A confession of undying love on day one? Instalove like in all the movies?
Oblivious to my emotional turmoil, Ms. Bingley assigned us each a student partner. I watched Rachel’s face go from disinterested to opportunistic as Ms. Bingley assigned her the boy in cargo shorts. Sure, his attire was questionable, but his face more than made up for it. She wound her arm through his and led the charge out of Stratford Hall. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly she connected with another human being. From zero to friends forever, that was Rachel. My partner’s name was Carter; she was a quiet one which bode well for me since I wasn’t really in the mood to make small talk.
Small talk would have gotten in the way of the subtle eavesdropping I was currently engaged in. Much to my dismay, Christopher had been partnered with Will.
“How do you know Anne?” asked Will as we took our seats in Kellylynch Hall.
If Christopher was taken back by the fact that other people noticed our not so natural interaction in the common room, he didn’t show it.
“We hung out a few summers ago,” said Christopher with a shrug.
“Planning to hang out again,” nudged Will with a quick glance in my direction.
Christopher kept his eyes on the front of the classroom. “She looks different now.”
“Different good?” asked Will.
“Just different,” said Christopher.
Will smirked, leaning back in his chair. Apparently listening to someone else tear me down was just as appealing as doing it himself.
Christopher’s words cut like a thousand little knives. Just different. What did he mean by that? I didn’t have time to dwell on his statement because no sooner had we sat down than Ms. Bingley began passing out the calendars. I turned to Carter and flipped open the socials calendar. If we weren’t in a classroom, I’d have told her the truth, that none of these things would help her make friends. Official clam bakes and ice cream socials weren’t where the real connections were made. Those happened in the dorm rooms, or if you were part of the Snub Club (what we called the rich elite) invite-only parties in discrete locations. Carter pointed to the ice cream social scheduled for tomorrow night.
“That looks fun,” she said, barely raising her eyes from the paper. “I’d like to go to that.”
I smiled weakly, “You should go. You’ll have a good time.”
She looked up at me hopefully. “Yeah, but...I’d be too nervous about going alone.” I really did not want to go to the ice cream social. At the moment, the only place I wanted to be was curled up under my comforter with a box of tissues. I racked my brain for an excuse.
“What about your roommate?” I asked.
Carter took in a sharp breath. “I don’t think this is her scene. In fact, I don’t think we’ll be spending much time together at all.”
“Her roomie is Lydia Musgrove,” interrupted Will with a laugh. “If the social involves sacrificing small animals, I’m sure she’ll make time for it. Otherwise, you’d better take her,” said Will. “Besides, you love the ice cream social. You had a great time when we were sophomores.”
My face turned ten shades of red. I so did not want Christopher thinking I had ever had a great time with Will Brooke. Fortunately, he wasn’t paying attention to anything going on around him. At some point during the conversation, Christopher had slipped in a pair of earbuds and gently bobbed his head to the beat of whatever played inside them. I wondered if he still liked the same type of music: acoustic guitar, folksy, the kind of songs that always had a story.
By the time we made it to the dining hall for lunch, I was exhausted. Who knew it took so much energy to pretend not to care that someone else didn’t care about you? Rachel may not have known who Christopher was or how we were connected, but she knew me, and she knew something was wrong. She wrapped her arms around my waist as we entered the large double doors to the dining hall.
“Keep it together, girl,” she whispered. “We can buy stock in tissues later tonight, but you can’t let them see you crumble.” Them. We were always worried about them. For once, I really didn’t care what the other students thought. I only cared what one student thought, and apparently, it wasn’t much. In the buffet line, I filled my plate with chocolate pudding and a handful of strawberries. Carter looked at my plate with concern.
“That’s what you’re eating?” She eyed the rest of the spread: fried chicken, baked potatoes and green beans with little bits of bacon tossed in. Shelfbrooke’s fried chicken was a personal favorite, but nothing sounded appetizing at the moment.
“I’m not so hungry,” I replied. What I really wanted to say was, ‘Sorry, I can’t eat right now. My stomach is slowly filling with despair.’
“You should try the chicken,” I suggested. “It’s really good.” That seemed to be all the approval she needed. Carter filled her plate to the very edges. Once we took our place at the long, wooden dining table, Carter dug in with vigor. I was glad she was hungry because making small talk was starting to feel impossible. I should be making her feel at home, that was the whole purpose of Admiral Circle, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how Christopher had disregarded our whole relationship as ‘just hung out a few summers ago.’
“Hey,” said the girl from the bathroom, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m Ashley, and you’re Anne, right?”
I nodded. She must have gotten my name from the whiteboard attached to our dorm room door. “Thanks again for rescuing me last night. I should have stopped to introduce myself, but I’m still adjusting to the whole ‘public nudity’ thing.”
I laughed. Her easy-going manner helped take the edge off.
“How long have you been here?” she asked between bites of green beans. There was something familiar in her mannerisms, or maybe it was the crinkle around her eyes when she smiled. I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Like in the bathroom, I got that feeling that we knew each other from somewhere. Maybe she was wondering the same thing because she kept peppering me with questions, questions that apparently Christopher was interested in because from the corner of my eye I could see that he had pulled his earbuds out and was listening intently. When I was sick of talking about myself, I turned the conversation around and asked Ashley what brought her to Shelfbrooke. Across the table, Christopher’s ears perked to attention.
“I followed my big brother” she said, with a glance at Christopher. And then it dawned on me. I didn’t know her, but I had heard a hundred stories about her. The little sister back home, who hovered over him like a mother and would probably end up too pretty for her own good.
The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“You’re Christopher’s sister!”
Ashley smiled and nodded her head. “And you are the girl from the ferry.”
Chapter Four
You are the girl from the ferry. I kept repeating the phrase over a
nd over again in my head. If I was the girl from the ferry, then Christopher talked about me. Would a boy talk about a girl he just casually ‘hung out with’? I knew that I was desperately clinging to hope, but it felt like the first good sign that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. It hadn’t escaped me that Christopher’s face tinged red at the sound of his sister’s words.
Back in our dorm room when I showed Rachel the photo from my sock drawer, her eyes went wide with understanding.
“This is salvageable, right? He’s a bit of a dreamboat.” Shaking my head, I turned and slugged her hard in the arm.
“Ouch,” cried Rachel, rubbing the point of impact. “What was that for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Somebody told me I should break up with him!” I said, glaring at her accusingly.
Rachel shrugged, “Well, that was then. This is now. Now he’s a captain. You can’t very well go wrong dating a captain.”
“A captain who clearly hates me,” I said, plopping on my bed and hugging my pillow tight to my chest.
Rachel made a psh sound with her mouth before taking a seat at her computer. “Hate, schmate. You’re hot; he’ll get over it. Boys are especially resilient in that way.”
What if he didn’t get over it though? What if I had really hurt him and that’s why he hadn’t written back all those years ago?
“What did you think of his sister?” asked Rachel having already moved on from the subject of my despair. I was tempted to bring the conversation back to me and demand she overthink it with the same dedication I had, but I didn’t want to exhaust her just yet. Chances were she was going to be hearing me whine about Christopher for months, possibly years. When I’m thirty and still a spinster there’s a good chance I would still be bugging her about Christopher Wentworth.
