So Wrong

by Camilla Stevens

  “How was the ride up?” she asked, walking between them, one arm wrapped around each waist.

  “Fine, fine, but your father is hungry so let’s go get lunch and you can tell us all the trouble you’ve gotten into up here in New York City,” her father said.

  “Dad,” she protested, laughing.

  “Oh leave her be, Maurice,” Juanita said, reaching over to slap him lightly on the shoulder.

  He just laughed and hugged Bonita closer.

  “So how is the church?” Bonita asked, carefully eyeing both her parents to watch their facial expressions as they answered.

  They were at the Italian restaurant near campus that Bonita had passed by a few times but had never tried. The conversation had been the usual sort that parents and offspring go through after months apart. Now, they were down to serious business.

  Her father sighed and put down his fork. “I know what you’re doing, Bonita,” he said.

  “What?” she said getting slightly defensive. “I’m just—”

  “It was an awful period for us all. It was just as hard for your mother and me as it was for you.”

  “Only because I had no clue what was going on,” Bonita said, her voice getting slightly elevated.

  “You were a child at the time,” her mother chimed in.

  “I was 17 years old. I think I could have handled it,” she responded a bit too snarkily. “Better than watching a bunch of men in suits going through our offices and—”

  “That’s in the past,” her father said tersely.

  Bonita relaxed. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dredge up the past, it’s just you both kept so much from me for so long and I saw what it did to you—to us. And I still don’t even know how we came up with all the missing money.”

  She didn’t miss the brief look that passed between her parents. It instantly put her on edge. Before she could address it, her father spoke up.

  “A church is a community. Our congregation understood exactly what happened. Yes, I took full responsibility for hiring the treasurer. I also took responsibility when he took off with the money. As pastor, the buck, so to speak, stops with me. That doesn’t mean that everyone in the community can’t play a role in helping out and making sacrifices for the sake of the church.”

  “It was ninety-thousand dollars, Daddy!” Bonita argued. “I still don’t understand how tithes and church raffles paid it all off so quickly. I mean I’m sure that Congressman West,” she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at the name, “helped with the legal—”

  “The point is, it’s over. The back taxes have been paid, and the coffers refilled,” her mother interrupted, her voice getting just a tad high at the end.

  “Speaking of Congressman West, how are you getting on with Darryl? He said you haven’t been keeping in touch since you started at Pierre.” She gave Bonita a chastising look. “He also mentioned something about a shirtless boy he found you with a few weeks ago.”

  Of course he did.

  “Your father and I don’t want to pry or smother you, mija. You know we’re probably more liberal than a lot of church families would be, we just want to know what’s going on.”

  Bonita gave an exasperated sigh and put her fork down. “Okay, you want to know what’s going on? I’m not interested in Darryl. There, I said it. I don’t know that I ever was. I mean yes, he’s good looking and smart and the ‘perfect catch’,” she used air quotes while rolling her eyes, “I just don’t feel it.”

  “But you both seemed so perfect together,” Juanita protested. “He was always coming down to visit you on the weekends and you spent the two summers before this one going out all the time.”

  “Why do you think I transferred from Howard to Pierre? Speaking of which,” she was more than happy to have a segue to the main topic she had wanted to bring up today, “I think it’s fair for me to have control of my college fund. The money for my books didn’t even come through until right before classes started. Don’t worry, I’m not going to—”

  “It didn’t?” her mother interrupted. “Why not?” Juanita’s eyes shot over to her husband’s.

  Maurice ignored her and addressed his daughter. “The fund is…complex, Bonita. It would be extremely complicated to put it in your name and there are all sorts of legal complications.”

  A feeling of unease came over Bonita.

  She looked back and forth between her parents. Something was going on here. She replayed the conversation in her head, reviewing certain details: Her mother’s voice when she brought up the money for the church; the way she changed the topic to Darryl; the look that passed between both of her parents.

  The signs were all there.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  Both of them looked at her in mild surprise, noting the tone of her voice. Then her mother turned her eyes to her father.

  “Tell me!” she insisted. “You promised. After the church thing you said you wouldn’t lie to me anymore. I’m not a child. I can handle it.”

  “Tell her, Maurice,” Juanita sighed. “She has a right to know. Especially now…with Darryl.”

  Bonita blinked at her mother. What did Darryl have to do with this?

  Her father sighed on the other side of the table. “Your mother’s right, Bonita; you have a right to know.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked warily, now unsure if she actually did want to know.

  “Now keep in mind, the only reason we didn’t tell you everything is because we didn’t want you to feel any unnecessary pressure or guilt. You didn’t need all that on top of going to school.”

  He gave another heavy sigh before continuing.

  “When I found out that the church’s accountant had been embezzling and worse, not paying our taxes, I panicked. At first I thought maybe I could handle it with a private loan or something before the congregation found out. Then the feds showed up and it just became a circus and…well, I didn’t want to seem like a failure in the eyes of the congregation.”

  “Daddy, you’ve been pastor there since I was a little girl. They would have supported you no matter what.”

  “Well, as Proverbs reads: Pride goeth before destruction.” He gave a rueful chuckle as he stared at the table. “Pumpkin, I’m afraid I did something that you may never forgive me for.”

  Bonita held her breath.

  “You can’t blame your father entirely.” Her mother said before he could continue. “We were about to lose the church, or at least he was about to lose his position as pastor. I fully supported him, as I always do.”

  She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. He gave a tight grin in response.

  “I’ll just get it out then,” he went on. “I used your college fund.”

  Bonita gasped. She was too shocked to respond, so Maurice quickly continued. “We still had every intention of you going to college, Bonita. I just figured when the time came your mother and I would take out loans, and you could get some financial aid and scholarships. Then…” he paused.

  Bonita stared at him. “Then what?”

  “Benjamin West learned about our predicament and offered to restore the funds.”

  “He what?” Bonita said a bit too loudly.

  “With his investments and the properties he owns, that money was nothing to him, a drop in the bucket. It was meant to go toward the church, but by that point I had already…well, you know. When I told him, he didn’t hesitate. He even considered it a scholarship of sorts, doing a good deed for someone else. Unfortunately, he is the one in charge of the fund.” Her father frowned at the table. “He went along with keeping it from you for my sake.”

  Bonita wanted to comfort him, let him know that he was her father and she’d never hold anything against him. After all, it was her parents who had scrimped and saved since she was a baby to build the original college fund, so technically it was their money. Then she thought of Darryl showing up at her dorm out of the blue a
nd became angry. Not necessarily at her father or mother, but at the situation that had brought them all to this point.

  “Maybe if you had told me from the start, I would have had a chance to apply for real scholarships and financial aid instead of going this route. Now it’s the middle of the semester and I’m tied to Darryl,” she spat the name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “You are not tied to anyone, mija,” her mother insisted, taking her hand and squeezing as she looked her daughter in the eye. “Don’t you ever think that, ever.”

  “Your mother is right, Bonita. If you want to break up with Darryl, I’m sure that Benjamin won’t hold it against you. He’s an honorable man—”

  He stopped when he caught the look from both his daughter and wife.

  Growing up around Washington D.C. Bonita had learned more about politicians than she ever wanted to know. Congressman West was hardly the worst, but “honorable” would not have been the first adjective to come to mind when she thought of him.

  It made her perk up. “What exactly did he get in return for the money? It can’t have just been me dating Darryl.”

  Maurice’s lips tightened. “I’ve never been one to use the pulpit for politics. I always liked to remain neutral, even when it came to local politicians and party affiliations. It is what has earned my respect with my parishioners and fellow pastors. All he asked was that I give my support, my active support, when it came time for his run at Senator next year.”

  Bonita fell back in her chair. So that was it. The Jackson family was firmly in the clutches of the West clan.

  16

  “Bonita Jackson.”

  Bonita quickly scooted out of her seat and squeezed past Marianne to accept her first graded paper back from Professor LeFlor. It was over a month into the semester and things were finally starting to get hectic in terms of her class load. Perhaps her mother had a point about the double major.

  She didn’t dare take a look until she was well out of view of the front of the class. Since the dress incident, River had surprisingly kept his distance. For some reason it made her think about him all the more.

  It was almost as though he was practicing some sort of reverse psychology to make her chase after him now. A ridiculous thought, of course.

  Still, she snuck a peek at him out of the corner of her eye as she made her way back to her seat. He was studiously facing the professor, not even paying attention to her. She nearly stopped when he leaned over to whisper something to Miss Hopeful sitting next to him, causing the girl to freeze. Her eyes grew big like a poor, little rabbit that had finally been captured by the big, bad wolf. Then a nervous giggle escaped her as she realized River was finally acknowledging her existence.

  So that was that. Good luck, Miss Hopeful.

  Bonita had bigger things to think about these days than River Wright. She thought about her lunch with her parents Saturday and frowned. She wasn’t sure where that put her with Darryl, but she was more than happy to avoid him for as long as possible.

  Halfway back to her seat curiosity got the best of her and she finally took a small peek at her paper…and nearly stopped in her tracks.

  C

  It was scrawled across the top of the page along with a scribbled note.

  I see what you were going for, but you didn’t quite get there. Good effort.

  Her heart stopped. Then she realized she was basically outing herself to anyone who cared to look. She immediately put on a poker face and made her way back to her seat.

  “That bad huh?” Marianne asked in a soft voice.

  Bonita just pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word, already feeling the humiliation creep in. Had she been that obvious?

  “River Wright!”

  Her eyes shot up. She watched him slide out of his front row seat to stroll over and accept his paper.

  “Very insightful Mr. Wright. I have to say this was one of the best papers I’ve read in a while. Très bien, très bien!”

  Bonita felt a wave of resentment run through her, especially when she saw the way River so nonchalantly ignored the professor’s praise, even scowling a bit as though he were embarrassed.

  Bonita had never in her life received anything less than a B, now River of all people was outperforming her in the very major she had chosen. He wasn’t even interested in French literature, only taking the class because he spoke French.

  Pretentious interpretation of Camus, Sartre, Dumas, yadda, yadda, yadda, my behind.

  She hated River Wright.

  It was a stupidly unfair reaction. However, the combination of this slap in the face of a grade and River being praised so openly was just too much, on top of the other stresses in her life. River no doubt had daddy to pay for his tuition. Heck, he probably even had a trust fund!

  Bonita had to somehow scramble the funds for the rest of her education, while double-majoring so she would at least have some semblance of a career when she graduated. No silver spoon for her.

  She spent the rest of the class glaring at the back of his head.

  “Bonita,” Professor LeFlor said with that amicable smile of his. He got up half-way out of his chair to guide his hand toward one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

  “Sit, sit, s’il vous plaît. Sit, sit!”

  She closed the door behind her and took a seat.

  He leaned back in his chair to give her an appraising look. “I take it you weren’t too pleased with your grade today.”

  “I just don’t understand how I could have done so poorly,” she said, giving a frustrated sigh.

  “Don’t think of it that way,” he offered. “This was your first attempt, you just need to absorb yourself in the actual story, fully understand what Dumas was going for. I see you up in the back row, scribbling in your notebook, taking down every word I say, instead of actually listening with your ears.”

  Bonita blinked at him in surprise.

  He just gave a sympathetic smile. “Try this. Don’t take notes for the next few classes. Relax, enjoy the discussion. Participate. It well help you in the long run. I get it, you’ve been plopped right down in the midst of the graduates from the best schools money can buy in New York. That already puts you at a disadvantage.”

  Bonita frowned.

  Professor LeFlor gave an amused chuckle. “I look into most of my students’ backgrounds, especially the promising ones,” he gave her a meaningful look as he said this.

  “I know what they say about me: easy A; sucking up to the Gascony alumni. The truth is, Andre Bernard is an exceptional teacher. He has helped even the most obtuse Gascony student grasp the French authors.”

  He gave her an assessing look. “Now, I could go easy on you for the sake of leveling the playing field, but you don’t strike me as the sort to go for that.”

  She stared at him, then her shoulders sagged in agreement. No, she didn’t want him going easy on her.

  “Perhaps it might help if you tapped into some of those Gascony grads. I see you are friendly with Marianne, she did fairly well. Then there’s River. I saw you conversing with him last week—”

  Her body stiffened at the name. One thing she most certainly would not do was “tap into” River as a source of help in class. Already she resented the implication.

  “Thank you, Professor LeFlor,” she said grabbing her bags. “You’ve been helpful.”

  He just watched with a perplexed expression as she hurriedly exited the office.

  The main library at Pierre was amazing, and amazingly underutilized. This was one of the reasons River loved it. Although it had all the modern amenities that any contemporary center of learning had to offer, the aesthetics embraced tradition, with oak paneling, cathedral ceilings, long tables with individual lighting, and a hushed air that instinctively urged you to keep your voice to a whisper.

  Right now he was focusing on Statistics. He should have taken it before now, but his scores on GMAT were already good enough to get him into Columbia Business
School. Not that he had anything to worry about, being the son of Richard Wright. River’s two older brothers, Michael and Alex had failed to forge a path toward taking over the helm of the Wright Empire, so now all Richard’s energies were focused on River.

  River sighed and flicked his pencil away. It wasn’t that Statistics was difficult, it was that he had no interest. He leaned back in his chair thinking of the trip he’d taken to upstate New York again this weekend, and smiled. Richard Wright was in for a surprise if this little endeavor was successful.

  He yawned.

  That was it, Statistics was done for the night. He stuffed his work back into his backpack and grabbed his helmet.

  He was halfway down the center row of tables when he saw her. The large reading room held row after row of tables. With so much space it was easy to miss someone, even with a face like hers.

  River slowed down, eventually just grabbing an empty seat to watch her inconspicuously. He pulled the hood of his hoodie over his head to observe her with more anonymity. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his jacket as he leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  Although every part of him longed for her, certain parts more than others, he realized that pressing too hard would be just the sort of thing to push her away. Since he couldn’t tell her about the secrets in his past, he had to go with the best option available: he stopped talking to her, period.

  The little stunt with Brown Eyes (Laura was her name as it turned out) in French Literature had been just a tad cliché and immature, even though all he had done was wish the girl good luck on her paper. Still, he had noticed the slight pause in Bonita’s step as she made her way back to her seat. Sometimes cliché and immature worked.

  Bonita was sitting cross-legged in her chair. She had on a black long-sleeved shirt and the standard pajama bottoms of your average college coed, tucked into faux UGG boots. What struck him was her hair. Even though it was piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, it was much curlier than before, tiny corkscrews coming out to frame her beautiful face. River liked it.