by Tara Brown
“Me too!” Sarah ran at me, and it snowballed until everyone, even hateful little Ella, was in the hug.
We clung to each other, and for the first time in my life, I was grateful I had them.
We had become the real friends we’d always pretended to be.
Tragedy had brought us together, but strength would bond us for life.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ROBOT WARS
Cherry
I watched the scenery fly by as I drove to MIT. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t even tell anyone I’d left. I just took my car and drove until my ass hurt from sitting in the car for so long.
I was a bit exhausted and a lot stressed. But I needed to find him.
What was I going to say when I found Ashley, assuming this was where he’d gone?
Why was I going to say it?
He didn’t want to be with me.
He’d left.
He’d even taken the money.
Why was I chasing after him?
It felt like a strange thing to do, going after him, possibly because my mother had brainwashed me into thinking that women were made to be chased. Men hunted women down, and women coyly feigned disinterest.
There was also the issue of where I would find him. MIT was a start, but not a great one. It was midsummer. Would he be there? I didn’t think so, but I hoped someone would know him and give me a hint. Brown was my next stop.
I pulled in and parked, heading across campus to the one place I knew here: the Post-it note wall.
When I got to the wall, I sighed, seeing how sparse it was.
There was still a gap in the middle, where Andy had pinned the note that Ashley responded to. The note that set off this whole crazy chain of events and changed my life in the most unexpected and necessary ways.
Nervously I glanced over at the stack of sticky notes and the pens tied on strings, contemplating what to write.
I closed my eyes for a second and thought of Andy bursting in behind me, like last time. I imagined what he would write as he called me a pussy and scribbled.
Invoking that spirit, I grabbed a pink Post-it note and wrote, speaking it as I got it down. “In search of a guy who got paid to date a girl in a plot to ruin lives and destroy society. I need you. I miss you. I’m sorry. Email [email protected].”
I glanced at it and then placed it on the board, where the empty spot was.
It wasn’t exactly what Andy would say, and definitely not what I wanted to say, but it got the point across. I wanted to be wordier. I wanted to ask questions, like those brave souls who bared themselves on the other pieces of paper.
I stepped back, seeing movement next to me. A couple of guys walked in, both glancing at me. “Excuse me—” Another idea popped into my head. “Do you know where the engineering building is?”
“Yeah.” One guy nodded. “I’m in engineering. I can show you the way.” He pointed like his finger was magically answering this for me.
“Thanks.”
“It’s this way.” He led and I followed, not saying anything.
It was an awkward and uncomfortable silence, so I broke it. “I’m looking for a friend. I know the campus is massive and there’s not much chance you’d know him, but, Ashley Jardine.” If that was even his real name . . .
“No, I don’t think—wait. Robotics engineering?” He scowled. “Tall guy?” He said it like maybe there was a chance.
“Yeah. Dark hair. Looks like Clark Kent.”
“Sure.” He didn’t agree. “I think I remember him making a robot last year for the robot wars that was awesome. It had a lobster claw—”
“Do you know if he’s here now?” The robot wars? Jesus.
“No.” He scowled. “I don’t know. Maybe. We’re not that close.” He furrowed his brow again. He was a confused sort of guy. Or awkward around girls. He held a hand out. “This is the building. See ya round.” He waved and stalked off.
What an odd guy.
Or maybe he was the norm here.
I’d heard students at MIT could be more intense in school and less versed in human interaction.
But maybe that was a stereotype too. God knows, the stereotypes that once defined me no longer meant anything.
My phone rang as I climbed the stairs.
I smiled seeing Ella’s name. “Hey.”
“Where are you? I’m in the middle of my takedown, and there’s no one to appreciate my brilliance,” she said in her usual brisk manner.
“I’m actually in Boston for the day—a couple of days if I have to go down to Brown.”
“Boston?” She sounded confused. “Brown?”
“Yeah, at MIT. I’m trying to find him.”
“You went to Ashley’s school to find him in the summer?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” I snapped, pacing in front of the building.
“You didn’t think to ask me?” She sounded insulted.
“I did, but then I thought you might try to talk me out of it. Like leave the poor boy alone.”
“Cherry.” She sighed. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Let me help you. What have you done so far?”
“I’m at his school building. Sort of hoping I could find someone who knew him. He doesn’t have Facebook or Instagram. I couldn’t find any Jardines in the phone book. His parents are listed at Brown, but I can’t find a number for them, just an email.”
“Give me a minute.” Typing filled the background noise. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “He’s in England, you hammerhead. His parents are in Stratford-upon-Avon at some festival. His mom posted a picture eight hours ago, and guess who’s in it?”
“England?” I grimaced.
“I’ll meet you at JFK with your passport and book you on the next fight out. I’ll arrange a car and keep tracking him as long as his mom keeps posting.”
“Thanks, Ella.”
“I can’t believe you drove all that way without asking me for help. I’ll try not to be offended this time, but never underestimate my powers again.” She hung up, and I stared at the phone, wishing I could defend myself, but there was no chance.
What did one say in defense to that?
I jumped in the car and started the long journey back to New York, contemplating everything that was about to happen and whether or not I deserved the second chance I so badly wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
THE WOLFINGTON BROTHERS
Cherry
I stared at the passport and the British pounds Ella had brought.
I almost wanted to ask if this was real. I was so exhausted from all the driving and panicking and desperate pain in my chest. I hadn’t slept since he left.
“Don’t screw this up. Be the person he thinks you are.” She hugged me again, a third hug in one summer. Things were changing. “Text me when you land.” She turned me and pushed.
I glanced back as I stuffed the pounds in my purse and dragged the carry-on she’d packed me. God only knew what was in there.
She waved and I waved back.
“Don’t be a dipshit!” She smiled wide and watched me leave, as if she were the big sister and I were the little one. It was always this way.
I hurried to the security checkpoint to go through, flashing my ticket she’d emailed me.
By the time I was on the flight, I was lost in thought and exhausted. I stretched my pod out and made a bed, closing my eyes.
But I couldn’t sleep.
I saw his face, heard his voice, and felt his arms around me.
For the first time in my life, I began to glimpse what real heartbreak was.
I wasn’t feeling it yet.
I knew it was there on the horizon.
It was hovering, waiting for its moment to blanket me in sadness.
There was a chance he would tell me to get lost, that he genuinely didn’t want to be with me and my heart was wrong.
The blanket would fall, then, smothering me.
&nbs
p; The heartbreak would be profound, and I might not recover. I would know real agony.
I dreaded and oddly enough welcomed the feelings. They had to be better than this, this limbo. I didn’t want to face reality in England, fearing the worst, and yet I didn’t have the strength or ability to fight it. It overcame me, dragging me to it.
By the time the flight was over, I was cramped and uncomfortable. I sat the seat up and tried to stretch it out.
“We’re making our descent, Miss Kennedy. If you could straighten your seat, please.” The flight attendant spoke with a beautiful English accent, the kind you thought all English people had.
The way she said Miss Kennedy was the exact way my name should always be said. Like it was coming from Mary Poppins’s own lips.
We landed, and I hurried to customs, staring at the officer as he asked me the purpose of my trip.
“I’m here to tell a guy I love him.” It wasn’t a lie.
“Well, he’s a lucky lad then. On with ya. Good luck, miss.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed my passport after he stamped it, and hurried from the airport.
It was four in the morning UK time as I staggered through the arrivals gate, seeing my name on the card held by a driver.
“Miss Kennedy.” The driver recognized me.
“That’s me.” I let him take my bag. I still didn’t know what was in it.
With my luck, Ella would have packed nothing but lingerie and Ashley would turn me away, and I would end up in a hotel in London, eating sheet cake and crying in my skimpiest clean clothes while drinking champagne from the bottle.
“We’re headed to Stratford-upon-Avon. Your sister said that the man you’re looking for is staying there.”
“Okay.” He led me to the Bentley.
I climbed into the back, feeling a little sleepy but mostly terrified of what I was about to do.
The last time I surprised a guy my heart was crushed.
The image of Cait and Griffin in that bed and the noises they’d made still haunted me.
Fucking Cait Landry.
She’d ruined so many things in my life, with my help of course, but this one was tops. I couldn’t. I pushed away those negative thoughts and believed that deep down, there was a chance Ashley would forgive me. That we were more than stupid games played by some stupid rich kids over some stupid videos.
My driver started the car, moving away from London toward Stratford-upon-Avon. I didn’t know where that was, just that it tied into Shakespeare in some way.
The countryside was stunning.
I stared out the window until the car was parked between two red brick buildings. The sun was completely up, and yet I knew it was still early.
No one moved outside.
I was barely able to move, so exhausted and stressed that I was starting to come round to the other side and get energy again. Or maybe it was being here, in the town where he was.
“Your rooms are ready, miss.” The driver opened the door, letting cool air take over the car.
“Thank you.” I carried my purse and followed him up the stairs to the lobby.
“This is Christopher. He’s the valet and your personal butler. He’ll take care of you from here.” My driver smiled. “Here’s my card, if you need anything. I’ll come straight away.” A slip of a grin toyed with his lips, like he was hinting at something else. Who knew what Ella had told him?
“No, I shouldn’t need you. But, thanks?” I said, unsure of what I was really thanking him for. I tipped him and followed the butler. The room was on the top floor with two rooms and a large bathroom overlooking the village and river. It was a stunning view. I had the impression this was the best room they had—maybe the best room in all of town. I’d have to thank Ella for hooking me up, especially since the trappings weren’t her personal style.
“Is there anything you want at this time?” The butler drew the curtains and turned on the lights by the bed, then opened the zipper to my bag.
“No, thank you. And I can unpack that. Thanks.” I cut him off, handing him ten pounds. “I think I’ll try to get a bit of sleep since the village is likely doing the same and the person I’m looking for won’t be awake yet.”
“Who is it you’re here to see, if you don’t mind my asking? I might be able to find them for you.”
“No, that’s okay. My sister is already on the case. She’s quite the detective, actually,” I joked, even through my exhaustion.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” He pocketed the money and left with a slight bow.
I sighed and locked the door, then headed for the bathroom to wash my face before getting into bed.
When I was finally lying down, wearing nothing but underwear and fatigue, I tried not to imagine how this was going to go.
Fear suggested one way it might end, perhaps protecting me from being too optimistic, but my heart was desperately trying to stay positive.
I closed my eyes and snuggled into the crisp sheets, sleeping too easily. Almost as if my body knew he was nearby—sensed him.
I slept like I did that first time he held me in his arms.
I woke that way too. Well rested and sated.
I glanced at my phone and grimaced. It was one in the afternoon.
Hurrying, I got up and opened the bag, dreading what I would find. I was pleasantly surprised to pull out shorts and T-shirts and flip-flops and sunglasses. She’d packed me a couple of bras, a few pairs of underwear, and a bathing suit. There was even lip gloss, mascara, and a few key items I couldn’t really live without.
I was amazed. And then I recoiled.
A huge purple dildo greeted me, still in its wrapper. It had a Post-it note stuck on it. “Just in case you don’t find him. Also fun for security,” I read aloud. “I hate you, Ella,” I whispered, and pushed the huge thing back in the bag, thanking the gods I’d been cautious with the personal assistant. I dragged my underwear off and jumped in the shower, leaving the dildo behind.
When I was clean and dressed and semiready for the day, I hurried downstairs, disappointed it was already two.
I hadn’t even blow-dried my hair. I was desperate to find him. After a bit more primping, I dialed Ella and walked out the front doors.
“Hey.” She sounded sleepy. It was only ten, and she was much more of an eleven girl in the summer.
“Can you locate them?”
“Maybe,” she grumbled. “How was the flight?”
“Fine. But I’m anxious. I have work to do.”
“All right, all right. I get the hint.” Keys tapped over the line. “The last time his mom posted, he was at Shakespeare’s house. There’s a garden there. His mom posted a picture half an hour ago. They’re watching plays in a garden or something.”
“Thanks. Go back to bed.”
She hung up before I had a chance to respond, as usual.
I stopped the first person I found. “Can you tell me which way to—”
“Shakespeare’s house?” They laughed. They were American too.
“Yeah.” I chuckled along with them.
“Go that way, turn left on Bridge Street, and then stay right at the roundabout. It’ll be on your right. There’re signs the whole way. You honestly can’t miss it. They’re obsessed.” The man pointed.
“Thanks.” I waved and hurried off.
I walked so fast I was nearly running by the time I got to the house. It looked like something out of “Hansel and Gretel.” I bought a ticket to tour the entire house, making my way past art and artifacts. One side of the old house was actually quite a modern museum.
I tried not to stare and get lost in the writing and newspaper articles. It was fascinating to be here, especially having studied Shakespeare in school. I’d never been the scholarly type, but I’d always enjoyed literature. It was the easiest part of school. Reading a book and discussing it; how hard was that?
I made my way through the garden into an area filled with people. It was beautiful. There was a crowd surr
ounding a woman speaking. She wore a beige cloak and a pale cream-colored dress, all of which was old fashioned.
I recognized that she was reciting Hamlet, not because I’d read the book. The Mel Gibson movie was my Paulson English teacher’s favorite.
I paused, listening to her perform, all the while scanning the crowd for the one face I was seeking.
But he wasn’t there.
The garden and the performance my sister spoke of were all in place, but no Ashley.
The actress finished her dramatic set, and we all clapped as I headed for the other part of the museum, the house tour. I got inside as a lady started speaking of glove making and tanning leather.
She spoke of life at the time, the hardships and styles of living. My heart was racing as I listened impatiently and waited for her to stop.
Her monologue lasted several minutes before I was freed to go about the house myself.
I stopped looking at the tiny beds and small dressers and started searching faces.
When I knew he wasn’t here, I sighed, defeated, and left the homestead, heading back out onto the street.
It was a busy place, filled with small artsy shops and streets you couldn’t drive down.
I wandered down the road, smelling coffee. Good coffee.
Following my nose, I ended up in a cramped little café. I sighed. Glancing up at the shelves I saw “Monsoon Coffee” printed on all the plain brown bags. A name I didn’t know.
“Help ya, miss?” a tall man asked as I stared at the coffee bags.
“Yeah, I’ll get a cappuccino.” I glanced at the pastry case. “And, oh shit. Is that custard pie?” I smiled. “I’ll get a big slice of that.”
“They’re precut quite small.” He winced.
“I’ll get two slices, please.” I beamed, not even caring. Ella was right, I had an unhealthy relationship with eating my feelings. And I was going to eat the hell out of them right now. I handed him the cash, leaving a tip in the jar with the witty joke pasted to the side.
He made the espresso, giving me a weird look. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You from that TV show, with the wolves? The man wolves, werewolves? My sister watches it, and I always call it the Wolfington Brothers, but that’s not quite right.”
