by Sophie Davis
“Read message,” I told Sirius.
“Incoming text message from (475) 898-0189 reads: Hey, it’s Adam. Any chance you want to have lunch with me before I head back to Normalville?”
I didn’t let the question linger long enough for me to convince myself that seeing him again wasn’t a good idea. “Send reply: Absolutely.”
NINETY MINUTES LATER, I walked up the steps to Chez Ripert, a quiet French restaurant on Central Park West. As the maître d’ greeted me with a pleasant smile, I swept my gaze over the small space and saw that Adam had yet to arrive.
“Kingsley?” the man asked, raising one overly groomed eyebrow when he looked up from the reservation book.
I nodded and smiled pleasantly.
“Deborah,” he called to a girl standing behind him, pronouncing her name as if it rhymed with menorah. “Please see Miss. Kingsley to table seven.”
“Of course,” she said politely. “This way, please.”
The blonde hostess led me across the small dining room, the slight sway in her step causing her black dress to swish back and forth. She stopped and gestured to a table right next to the fireplace. I felt her appraising gaze as I took a seat. This was one of my mother’s usual haunts, which was probably why the maître d’ placed me at their most coveted table. The blonde was peering curiously at me, as if trying to decide whether she recognized me, and if so, from where.
“Thank you,” I said kindly, reaching for the menu in Deborah’s hands.
“Of course,” she replied, snapping out of her musing. “May I get you something to drink?”
“Not right now, thank you. I’m waiting for someone,” I told her. “He should be here soon.”
With a nod and a promise to send Adam over when he arrived, the hostess left me alone with the menu and my thoughts. The heat from the fire drew my attention, and I became caught up in watching the flames dance. I zoned out, thoughts wandering down memory lane, to Adam, and to the real reason my family had left Connecticut.
“Man, it’s good to see you.”
Adam’s voice broke through my reverie and brought me back to the crowded dining room.
“It’s only been twelve hours,” I said with a laugh, standing to greet him with a hug.
“You know what I mean,” he replied, rolling his eyes. We both sat. “I thought last night was a dream. That maybe I’d wake up and find you gone ag—”
“Again?” I guessed, interrupting.
Adam’s cheeks flamed brighter than the fire. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” I said. “And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
Lie number one. How many more are you going to tell him before lunch is over?
“Good. Me neither. Now, give me the Cliff’s Notes of your high-school years. I want to hear everything, but let’s start with an overview.”
The waiter arrived, rattling off the specials in a bored tone. Adam and I both chose one of the chef’s salmon dish instead of perusing the menu, and soon we were alone once again. I busied myself with arranging my napkin in my lap, buying me time to come up with a short synopsis of my life the last few years.
“So?” Adam prompted.
“Let’s see: great friends, especially Annie—you met her last night; lots of frivolous scandals and over-the-top parties, many in the name of charity; school is hard and a ton of work,” I rattled off. “Oh, and there’s Blake. He and I met last year and have been hiding and making out in dark hallways ever since. That about sums it up.”
“Well, Blake is amazing. I had a great time talking to him last night,” Adam replied. But he hesitated before adding, “Are you sure you’re not making a mountain out of a molehill? You’ve always been a worrier….” He raised his eyebrows as he trailed off.
I averted my gaze. “It’s complicated.”
Adam laughed. “I love complicated.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “And it seems we have plenty of time. So…?”
I sighed and met his questioning stare. “Okay, fine. See…well, you know my mother. And she’s gotten worse since we moved to Manhattan. It’s like…it’s like if I don’t date a guy from ‘the right family’, then I can’t date at all. And Dad doesn’t want me dating at all.” I shook my head. “In Connecticut, no one seemed to care all that much about who I was, you know?”
“You were only thirteen when you left,” Adam pointed out.
“Right. That’s true,” I conceded. “New York has been so different, though. I’ve actually been photographed walking down the street, leaving Bloomingdales with packages, running in Central Park. I mean—that’s crazy, right?”
Adam let out a low whistle. “I see your point. You’ve become a socialite,” he teased.
My laugh was derisive. “Exactly. And Blake doesn’t deserve scrutiny. He doesn’t deserve a write-up on the online gossip sites, just because he’s my boyfriend.”
“Okay, so I see why you’ve kept him a secret from your parents, and why you’ve avoided public appearances. But what about your friends?” Adam grabbed his water glass and peered at me over the rim as he took a sip.
I mirrored his gesture, trying to figure out a way to explain the situation with Blake and the Eight. But this was Adam. I didn’t need to lie. Not about this. “At first, I worried they would be just as judgmental as my mother. Then…then I just liked having him to myself,” I said truthfully.
“And yet, you introduced me to them when we hadn’t seen each other in four years.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but Adam’s eyebrows rose.
I rolled my eyes. “I was a little tipsy when I made that decision,” I admitted. “Plus, you come from a long line of esteemed politicians. You’ll probably be president one day.”
“Eh, only if my dad has his way.”
We both laughed, and Adam raised his water glass in toast to overbearing parents.
“Your turn,” I proclaimed. “What has your life been like without me? Devoid of all happiness? Full of misery?”
“Terrible,” he replied, playing along. “Every day has been a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.”
“Ahh! You loved that book! Do you still carry it everywhere you go?” I teased.
“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “No, my life sounds a lot like yours, particularly the last part.”
“The secret boyfriend?”
“His name is Gabriel,” Adam said devilishly, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “And he isn’t a secret. But my parents are a lot like yours. Dad wants me to focus on my future in politics. Mom, well, it’s not that she wants me to date the ‘right person’ so much as she wants me to date any guy but Gabe.”
“Does he have an eyebrow ring? Oh! Or like a teardrop tattoo on his face from his time in prison?” I joked.
Adam’s laughter drew weird looks from nearby patrons.
“No, nothing like that. I mean, he has had some issues with the law.” Adam’s cheeks colored with the admission.
“Bad boys are hard to resist. Please, do tell all,” I said, intrigued.
Adam cleared his throat. “Well, Gabe is…a hacker. He was caught infiltrating some congressman’s personal email.” Cringing, he added, “At the age of fourteen.”
“Your life is so much cooler than mine,” I replied, shaking my head. “So, was he arrested?”
“No. Not exactly. But he isn’t allowed internet access until he’s twenty-one.” Adam’s blush deepened to the color of a ripe eggplant.
“Well, I see the issue,” I said. “Has your mother forbid you to see him?”
Adam hesitated, wrinkling his nose. “No, she hasn’t gone that route. Instead, she makes snide comments and is just shy of rude to Gabe when he’s around. Like, the other day, Gabe and I were a movie in the screening room, and my laptop was on an end table, closed. Neither of us had touched it. Still, when she came down with popcorn, she was all: ‘Darlings, do you really think it is best to have a computer so close to Gabe? We wouldn’t wa
nt to tempt him.’”
I bit my lip to keep from giggling. The situation wasn’t funny, but I could picture Mrs. Ridell saying those words in the same voice my mother used when she said things like: “Lark, dear, is your concealer not working? If those dark circles are any indication, it must not be.”
“Anyway, I guess I’m just glad that the hacker thing is a bigger issue than the boyfriend thing,” Adam finished with a shrug.
“What about your friends? How do they feel about Gabe?” I asked.
Adam smiled. “Most people are more surprised that I’m dating a guy with a ponytail than that I’m dating a guy. They’ve been really supportive, and welcoming to Gabe. So, that’s nice.”
I reached across the table. “I’m really happy for you. Gabe obviously makes you really happy.”
A goofy grin crossed his lips, and a far-off, wistful expression appeared in his caramel eyes. “He does. He really does,” Adam said. “It’s really nice to talk to you about him. Even though the gang at school has been awesome, we don’t really talk much about our relationships. Mostly, the other guys just complain about their girlfriends—Chelsea made me paint her toenails the other night before she’d give me a bl…do me a favor—that sort of thing. I can’t really relate, you know?”
“What? Gabe doesn’t make you do his man-bun?” I teased.
Adam snorted. “He has a ponytail, not a man-bun. And, no, I don’t have to brush his hair for sexual favors.”
I grinned. “Well, I’ll clear up the misconception with my friends. We wouldn’t want the rumor that you’re my boyfriend spreading. I’d hate for Gabe to read about it online. He’d hate me before he even meets me.”
“No one could hate you, Lark.” He narrowed his eyes and his expression turned serious. “Except me, if you run off again.”
Guilt gnawed at my insides, as I said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The waiter arrived with our lunches. For several minutes, we ate in silence, both of us seemingly lost in our own worlds. I was a little jealous of Adam and Gabe, and their openness about their relationship. I wanted to shout my and Blake’s from the rooftops. But I couldn’t. There had been a window, a time when I could have told my parents and friends about my boyfriend. But that opportunity was long since passed. It was a fact I only now was willing to admit to myself. The moment I gave Blake that key, our fate was sealed. One day, when I was safe in D.C., maybe then I would tell people about us. But it would no longer be their business, at least, as far as my parents were concerned.
“The salmon is amazing, you should give it a try,” Adam said, pointing to my plate with his fork.
Heat crept into my cheeks. “Yeah, sorry. I zoned out for a minute,” I apologized, and cut a piece of fish to try. It really was superb, but I had no appetite.
“A lot on your mind?” Adam asked.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I replied evasively.
“Prom? Graduation? The last summer before college?” he guessed.
I laughed. “Actually, no, none of those things. But thanks for giving me more stuff to worry about.”
Prom was only a few weeks away. How was I going to handle that situation? Blake and I hadn’t discussed it, but I had a feeling the subject would lead to our second fight ever.
“You gonna go stag? Or have I inspired you to throw caution to the wind and let your love become public?”
He was teasing me, I knew that, but his questions were valid. Honestly, prom was just not that important in the grand scheme of life. Not when I was busy uncovering years of corruption and family secrets.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” Adam said.
“You didn’t,” I replied brightly. “It’s just, well, I’ve been so busy with school and stuff that aside from sneaking off to meet Blake, my social calendar hasn’t been a top priority.”
“Well, if you decide you want a platonic date, and Blake is cool with it, I’m available,” Adam replied.
“Seriously? You’d go to prom with me? What about Gabe?” I asked.
“Believe me, he won’t mind. I’ve been talking about you for ages—wow that sounds creepier than it is.” He turned that eggplant color again. “I just mean, I’ve told him all about you. And he knows I’m super bummed about our prom.”
“Why? Have they banned future politicians from attending? I can’t say I blame them,” I teased.
Adam set down his fork and knife and gave me a look that said I wasn’t as funny as I thought I was. “No. We are having a ‘No-Prom-Prom’. Instead of actually having a dance, our class has decided to donate all of the money we would have spent on that oh-so-important-high-school-experience to charity. But, here’s the best part, we are still encouraged to buy tickets so that we can donate that money, too.” He rolled his eyes skyward. “We’re still having an afterparty, though. So I suppose that’s something.”
I nearly choked on my water. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time. Don’t get me wrong, donating to charity is always great, but seriously? A ‘No-Prom-Prom’?”
Adam shook his head and resumed eating. “I know. Believe me, I know,” he said, after swallowing some broccoli casserole. “So, the offer’s on the table. If you need a date, I need a dance.”
“Well, thank you. I will review your application and get back to you,” I teased.
Adam finished his lunch, while I picked at the salmon and played with the veggies on my plate. The waiter came back around to collect our plates—he boxed up my barely-touched lunch—and asked about dessert. Checking my watch first, I ordered a cup of coffee. Adam did the same.
“Got somewhere to be?” Adam asked as a young busboy began expertly sweeping the crumbs from our table.
Holding up one finger as a signal, I waited until the busboy finished and the waiter returned with our coffee before answering. “Actually, yes,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I’m, um…I have a meeting with my therapist at four.”
“Wow, your parents really have bought into the whole Manhattan child-rearing program,” Adam joked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, almost all my friends go to therapy. They’re considered professional parents here. But I’ve actually been seeing her since I first moved here, even before Mother became more of a lemming.
The only response Adam gave was to raise an eyebrow in question.
“I mean, um, I’ve actually been seeing someone since what happened at the end of eighth grade.”
“Oh…,” Adam replied, clearly at a loss for words. “You mean…that day in class?”
Nodding, I focused on the swirls of cream slowly dissipating on the surface of my coffee.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Adam said quickly, pausing before he continued to see if I’d object. When I didn’t say a word, he went on. “But…what did happen that day?”
“Honestly…,” I said softly. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
A frown immediately clouded his features.
“I mean, just tell me what happened from your point of view. What you saw. I genuinely don’t remember. I recall sitting in class, and the next thing I remember is being curled up on my couch at home, both of my parents screaming at me. Then, they…they started talking about me to each other, but none of it made any sense. They kept shouting about broken promises and…I don’t know, the whole situation was weird.”
Adam took a deep breath, holding his coffee between both hands. “I’ve gone over that day so many times,” he said softly. “I have replayed ever minute of that English class, but nothing sticks out. One minute, we were passing notes, talking about our end of the year party, and then….” He trailed off, steam curling out of his coffee as he brought the mug to his lips.
“And then?” I asked quietly.
“I don’t know, Lark. I mean, it was the class after lunch. We were all antsy and restless…and then you started crying.”
“Crying?” I asked. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“Yeah,” Adam continued. “You just started crying. It was a quiet cry at first, almost silent because no one noticed. But I saw you, and you never cried…. It scared the crap out of me. You didn’t cry over boys, you didn’t cry out of stress, you didn’t cry when your mom was being an asshole. So, of course, I was really worried. I tried to ask you what was wrong, but it was like you didn’t hear me. I had to say your name several times before you even looked over at me.”
“And?” I asked breathlessly, not recalling even a moment of what Adam was describing.
“You didn’t say anything. You looked at Mrs. Edelmen and then began sobbing and babbling. I couldn’t understand a word you were saying. You sounded, you sounded….” Adam trailed off, evidently searching for the right word and coming up empty.
“I sounded like what?” I demanded.
He hesitated, locking eyes with me before shrugging. “You sounded like a baby...or like a little girl? But not like you when you were little. I mean, you were always well-spoken. You never talked like that. But I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“That’s insane,” I blurted, quickly regretting my choice of words. “I mean, you know…that’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” Adam said quietly.
Shaking my head to clear the mental image, I pressed on. I needed to know the truth. This was something that had haunted me for almost four years, and now the answers sat in front of me. There was no way that I was going to let my fear stop me from retrieving them.
“What happened after that?”
“At first, Mrs. Edelmen called to you from the front of the room, but you didn’t move. She came over and asked you what was wrong. When you didn’t answer, she offered to let you leave. But you weren’t responding to what she was saying. It was like you were trying to tell her something, but couldn’t find the words—it just sounded like more babbling. She tried to console you. You still weren’t answering her, but you kept tugging on her sleeve. Eventually, she told the rest of us to go to the library. I tried to stay with you, I insisted on staying with you, but then…
