by Amy Sparling
Because even though Declan has shown me kindness, no one else has. I’ve also just given up on the idea of trying to make friends with people. Now all I want to do is make it through the rest of the year as fast as possible, graduate, and go back home.
“I loved your line about corporate shills,” Declan says as we pack up our stuff at the end of class.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I was proud of that line.”
“I’m going to write a few pages tonight. You should read over them later and see if anything I said sounds stupid.”
“I will.” I slide my laptop into my back and sling it over my shoulder. “And you can point out anything in my passages that sounds off, too.”
Declan sucks in air through his teeth. “I’ll try, but your writing is pretty perfect already.”
A subtle warmth spreads through my chest at his kind comment. When he says stuff like that, the teensy little secret crush I’m harboring over him seems to grow tenfold. But I tuck it back down. There’s no reason to crush on some random Shelfbrooke guy. As soon as I cross the stage at graduation, I am so out of here.
A couple of Declan’s friends say hi to him in the hallway, so I take the opportunity to slip off by myself and head to my next class. No need to obligate him to walk with me any longer than necessary. I eat lunch with Belle in our dorm, which is now our tradition. The dining hall is a beautiful building, but I’ve only stepped foot in there to grab my food as quickly as possible and then walk back to the dorm. Before I arrived, Belle’s lunch was delivered by a lunch lady each day. Now I just pick it up and bring it to her. I’m pretty sure that one lunch lady was the only human contact she’s had for most of her school life. My aunt stops by on occasion, but she doesn’t really count because she’s Belle’s mom.
When the weather is nice, I’ve also settled into my favorite after school routine: the gardens. I now know the simple way through the paths, the largest most walked paths where I got lost that night when Declan rescued me. But I also know smaller, less-used pathways too. I have a few favorite spots, little off the path places to sit and be surrounded by the beauty of nature and the tall, lush greenery that makes up the garden’s walls. As long as it’s not raining, I spend my evenings here, sitting on a blanket or a concrete bench with my laptop and my homework.
Like my cousin, I’ve become sort of a hermit too, in a way. I go outside but I keep to myself. I bet my Cali friends wouldn’t even recognize me now. Oh well. This is what I have to do to survive. I am done trying to make friends when the whole school just ignores me.
As I settle down on my black and red plaid blanket, my parents cross my mind. And then I roll my eyes and try to forget about them. My mom hasn’t called me once in the last two weeks. Dad tagged me in one of his online posts, which I guess is his form of acknowledging that I exist, even if it was on a tweet about some news story he found hilarious. My parents don’t care about me. And if they don’t care about me, then I won’t care about them.
Ironically, the only person who does check on me every few days is my Aunt Kate. She calls and makes sure I’m doing alright, and of course, I always lie and say I’m fine.
I open my laptop and tell myself to focus. I will not let the pain of being unloved by my own parents bother me today. I won’t think about the Shelfbrooke kids and how they don’t talk to me. I won’t think about Viv, and the five unread Snapchat messages I’ve sent her this week.
I pull up the essay I share with Declan online. It’s saved in the school’s cloud-based server, so Declan and I can both work on it at the same time. The little icon in the top corner tells me he’s also logged in right now, working on the essay. Since we have split up the work evenly, he writes some pages, and I write others.
A message pops up on the screen. I didn’t realize this document website had a chat feature.
Declan: Someone isn’t pulling their weight with this project.
I lift an eyebrow and type back.
Sophia: Excuse me?
Declan: I checked the word count. I’ve written 4081 words and you’ve written 4044 words. Tisk tisk, Sophia…
I grin, and think of a comeback.
Sophia: I shouldn’t be punished for my ability to eloquently state facts without extraneous words.
Declan: Ouch. Insulting my intelligence… Hold on a minute while I delete 38 words… There we go. I am now one word more efficient than you.
I throw my head back and laugh.
“Sophia?”
I freeze. That was Declan’s voice I just heard, coming from the other side of the garden wall. “Declan?” I call back.
A few moments later, he appears, laptop tucked underneath his arm. He’s wearing his Shelfbrooke uniform because the rules state that they must be worn on campus at all times.
I, however, how know to sneak the short distance from the staff dorms to the gardens without being seen. And once I’m behind the garden walls, it doesn’t matter what I wear. So I’m in jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. Still, even in uniform, the boy is really attractive. I swallow.
“What are you doing here?”
“Me?” Declan says, putting a hand to his chest. A little dimple appears in his right cheek when he smiles. “These are my gardens. I’m always here. The question is what are you doing here?”
I shrug and slide over on the blanket, offering him the spot next to me. “This is my sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary…” he says, settling down next to me. “I like that. All my hard work that keeps this garden looking beautiful has clearly paid off.” He brings the smell of his cologne with him and it makes my heart race. He smells so deliciously like summer and boy, and I wish I could breathe him in all the time.
“How much of this is your work?” I ask.
He gazes up at the pink rose bush across the pathway. “A lot. But if you count my family history, then most of it can be attributed to the Moss Family.”
“What do you mean?”
He opens his laptop and logs in. “My family made these gardens from the roots up. A few generations ago. They were hired as the gardeners, and they grew and tended to the gardens. The labyrinth was the creation of my great-grandfather. My family’s soul and blood and sweat are in these gardens.”
“Wow,” I say. “So you’re related to the other gardeners I see around campus?”
His expression darkens, his lips pressing together. “No. A few years ago, one of the Big Five took over the school board—”
“Big Five?” I say.
“The five most prominent families around here. Their kids are the meanest, most entitled students here.”
“Ah,” I say with a nod. “I think I’ve seen some of them.”
He snorts. “Well, the school board changed, and they took over the gardens. They didn’t want to pay my dad’s company, which was the same company passed down through my family each generation, and instead they hired outside gardeners. But my dad needed a job, so he got hired on by the new company. You should have seen it. Within six months, this place completely fell apart.” He shakes his head and exhales. “Companies who hire random people with no gardening knowledge and tell them to garden, well, it was a disaster. My dad worked so hard to get the gardens back to where they should be, and as soon as I turned sixteen and could legally work, I got a job here, too. Even if the gardens aren’t officially my family’s any more, I can’t let them get ruined. They’re a Shelfbrooke tradition.”
I look over at him. “I’m sorry I made fun of you for being a gardener the day I met you.”
He shrugs. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
The sound of voices makes us both look up. Three senior girls who I recognize from my classes turn the corner and walk down the path that’s right in front of us. They’re talking about some girl named Amber and how she has bad skin. Then they see us, and their conversation immediately stops.
I look at my computer and type a few words of nonsense, just so I look busy.
The
y stay silent as they walk past us, and when I glance up to see if they’re gone, Declan is looking, too.
“Why is everyone so mean here?” I whisper, just in case anyone else is around.
He shrugs. “People are mean everywhere, Sophia. You just have to find the nice ones and surround yourself with them.”
Chapter Ten
There’s a little pep in my step as I walk back to my dorm after an afternoon spent sitting next to Declan in the gardens. I feel like we became friends today. Not just partners, or acquaintances, but actual friends. And there’s nothing wrong with having an incredibly attractive friend.
I do the little familiar knock I’ve invented on our dorm door just before I unlock it and let myself in. Doing the same knock each day calms Belle’s nerves because she knows it’s me. I still think it’s weird that she gets scared of the idea of a stranger being at the door, especially since her traumatic episode didn’t involve anyone hurting her. But her panic attacks are her thing, and I’m trying to make it easy on her. I’m pretty sure she could go tell the administration if she wanted me gone, and they’d send me to live with two roommates in the real dorms where they have shared bathrooms. No thanks.
“You look happy,” Belle says. Like always, she’s sitting on her bed, on the computer.
I shrug. “This lock is getting easier and easier every day. It just needed a little elbow grease to make it work.”
“That’s not why you’re happy,” she says. “You look happy for other reasons. Boy reasons, perhaps?”
“What kind of nonsense are you going on about?” I toss my bag and plug my laptop into the charger and then steal a bag of Skittles from Belle’s bookshelf candy stash.
“I’m talking about Declan.”
“He’s just a friend. A classmate.”
“A romantic classmate?” Belle says, grinning at me like a kid who just saw their parents kissing.
I throw a Skittle at her. “No! What’s gotten into you?”
She turns the laptop around and I briefly see a photo on the screen. It’s me, in my Harvard sweatshirt, and Declan in his school uniform. The photo was taken from behind us, secretly, because I definitely didn’t know about it. It shows us walking next to each other just as the sun is getting low on the horizon. That must have been taken ten minutes ago.
“What kind of stalker crap is that?” I say, diving onto her bed.
She quickly closes her laptop. “Someone posted it to Knight Watch. There’s a rumor going around that you and Declan are a thing.”
“I want to see it,” I say, making grabby hands.
Her hands fold over the top of the laptop and she tugs it toward her. “It’s not a big deal.”
My lips press into a tight line. “That means it is a big deal.”
I haven’t signed up for Knight Watch yet because I haven’t seen a need in looking at school-specific social media page. It’s not like I have any friends to add on there, and it’s not like I have anything to say. Plus, my own social media accounts have pretty much gone ignored since I was forced to move here against my will. I have nothing to share with the world while I’m stuck in this boarding school.
Still, Belle doesn’t know that. “I’ll just make my own profile and see for myself,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you can’t get upset because I tried to protect you from this.”
She slides the computer over and I open it, looking once again at that photo of Declan and me.
A: looks like someone is getting cozy with the Cali brat.
“Who is A?” I say, clicking on the little circle with the letter in the middle of it. Nothing comes up.
“It’s anonymous. You can post as yourself, or anonymously.”
“Awesome,” I say sarcastically. Then I read the comments below. Some of them are posted by anonymous accounts and others are using their real names. But it’s not like I know any of these people, so I don’t pay attention to the names.
Someone tell him he doesn’t have to take pity on the new girl.
Ugh, Declan Moss is too nice. Like, so nice it makes him slightly less hot.
Didn’t he get the memo that We Hate Her?
Quick, someone tell him!
I skim over the comments, trying not to grow angry at them in front of Belle. I don’t want to prove her right, after all. Then, I see Declan’s name pop up. He’s just left a comment.
Declan: She’s my English project partner, guys. Chill out.
I frown. So that’s what I am. That’s all I am. All these days of flirty comments in our shared essay document. Today at the gardens, talking about his family and his love of gardening. Me, laughing and enjoying his company. It was all just nothing.
We’re just partners. He couldn’t bother saying: She’s actually nice. She’s cool. She’s my friend.
Of course not.
I know Belle is reading over my shoulder, so there’s no point in showing her Declan’s new comment.
“See?” I say. “It’s nothing. We’re just friends.”
The screen refreshes with dozens of new posts to the main feed. Someone is clearly trying to get their message heard because there’s gifs of people dancing and flailing and confetti.
PARTY ALERT
Belle and I watch and read the screen as more information is posted.
Party tonight in Kingsbere Hall. Upperclassmen only. Sorry, kiddos. All cool peeps are invited! We’ve got that DJ from the pizzeria spinning some jams tonight. Be there or be square!
A person by the name of Mikey posts: Cool kids are invited? Am I on that list?
You know it
Of course, bro! If you’re cool, you’re invited!
Dozens of new replies show up faster than I can keep track of them as the homepage reloads. Most people are just excited about the party. A few underclassmen complain that none of the good parties allow them to go.
Someone named Brady says he’s a band nerd and wonders if he qualifies under the ‘cool kids only’ rule. Someone replies yes, he’s invited.
I get bored and realize I’m glad I didn’t make myself a profile on there. It’s all just stupid social media crap that doesn’t matter. I’m happier not knowing anything about it.
“Look at this,” Sophia says a few minutes later. For not wanting to socialize with anyone in person, the girl really loves looking at Knight Watch. Her eyes go wide. “You’re invited.”
“What?”
She points to the screen and I read over it.
Someone should invite Declan’s new girlfriend.
Seriously? We’re inviting spoiled California heiresses now?
Why not? All the other spoiled east coast heiresses are invited. XD
“Why are these people so obsessed with me?” I say, throwing my hands in the air.
“Because you’re the new girl,” Belle says. “They need someone to talk about. Trust me, it’s always someone getting anonymously talked about on here. Today it’s you, but they’ll move on to someone else soon.
“Maybe I should go to that party,” I muse.
“It didn’t really work out for you last time though.”
“Last time was … stupid,” I say, unable to come up with a better adjective. “It’s been a couple weeks and Declan has warmed up to me. Maybe other people will, too. Plus, I’m tired of sitting in this dorm every single day. No offense.”
My cousin doesn’t look affected by my off-hand comment. She lays down on her side, still watching her computer. “If you want to, go for it.”
My lips spread into a grin. “I think I will,” I say. “What should I wear?”
Déjà vu sweeps over me as I make my way down to Kingsbere Hall for the second time in as many weeks. I try not to think about that first night, when I was clueless and fell apart at a couple of snide comments from random girls. That won’t happen now. I’m the talk of the school, clearly, and they said they wanted me to come. Well, at least someone with an Anonymous A next to their name said that. Plus, this p
arty is open to lots of people this time. My dad always says that success is given to people who reach out and take it, again and again, without letting a few failures stop them.
Tonight is my version of reaching out. I like my cousin, but I don’t like spending all my time with her. I need to make new friends.
There are two rather large senior guys standing at the doors of Kingsbere Hall. They’re not in uniform, but some of the students walking into the building are still wearing the annoying school-issued clothing.
“Upperclassmen only,” the guy on the left says, tossing his thumb out. “Get out of here, kid.”
A short, wiry boy who is so very clearly a freshman groans and turns around. I guess he thought it was worth a shot to try to sneak into the party. I fall into the makeshift line behind a few people who don’t pay any attention to me. This is great. If I’m not noticed, I can blend in. I can finally start making friends.
The people in front of me are let into the old building without a word. The two guys close the door when I walk up.
“You’re not invited,” the guy on the left says.
“I’m an upperclassman,” I say, putting on a smile. “A senior, actually.”
“I don’t care what grade you’re in, Brass. You’re not invited.”
I glance at the other guy, but he just folds his arms over his chest and stares at me, emotionless.
I open my mouth to speak, then close it again. Are they joking? Is it some friendly hazing to the new girl?
The first guy claps once in my face. “Why are you still here?”
The old me, the girl in Cali, would have never put up with this kind of disrespect. But I’m so thrown off guard here, that I just step backward, and turn around. That’s when I see Declan, walking up with two guys about our age. His eyes meet mine for a split second and then he looks at the two guys who are self-imposed bouncers for this event.
