The campus took on a more subdued tone with the change of the seasons, the predominant brown coloring blending in with the muted bricks and ivy.
She came to Main Street, which spilt the campus in two. Emily still marveled at how a Harlow student could approach the street and cross it without even looking both ways for cars. They just stopped. Every time. The residents of Henley seemed to know the students were either off in their studious daydreams or arrogant enough to think they were invincible.
Crossing the road, she saw the building that had first most impressed her. Ahead on her right stood the Academy building; months ago she had only dreamed about belonging to this institution, about entering the doors of these old world structures and sophisticated classrooms.
Although she still felt a sense of not belonging, and wonder how on earth she had ended up here, the mystery of Harlow was fading slowly. Nearing the end of her first trimester, she felt this was her home.
Home. That was supposed to be a place in Minnesota. Thanksgiving was just around the corner and it was the first one in her entire life that she would not spend with her family. They couldn’t afford to fly her back for the short week off and then again at Christmas.
Admitting her scholarship status to Xander turned out to be a godsend. He swiftly organized an invitation to his house for the week so she didn’t have to celebrate on campus with a small, lonely pack of international students who were unable to leave for the sheer logistics.
“You seriously can’t have sweet and sour chicken for Thanksgiving. I’m just not going to allow that to happen,” he had said, “Just don’t eat the green bean casserole. It’s the only thing my Mom makes. And there’s a reason she doesn’t touch anything else.”
The respect and care that Xander still had for her after all they’d been through made her more appreciative than ever. It felt as though in such a short amount of time she had gone through so much with this person. They shared secret identities; they triumphed over evil. It may have seemed extreme to some but there were days when they did feel like superheroes.
But even though she trusted Xander, she didn’t tell him where she was going that day. In fact, she hadn’t told anyone where she was headed that day. She had felt a strange mixture of feelings when arranging the meeting with him. But she needed to see him. It was a long time coming.
Even though this meeting was so required, so necessary, she was almost glad that it hadn’t happened sooner. In some strange way, she had been glad to experience the rise and the fall of these past few months. Her friendship with Xander might never have been so solid without them weathering a storm. And right now, that friendship may very well have been the most important thing in her Harlow life.
Emily still had Andy dreams nightly. What happened with Pierce had left her feeling raw and exposed, like she never had a chance to put her clothes back on. The dreams morphed and changed and unlike her first year without Andy, where she had the same dream every night, the content was random now.
It was no longer just Andy saying hi from within a bathroom mirror. From the Wizard of Oz, to Andy talking to her from the casket, to him being at Harlow with her, the fact that they were changing was scary. Variety is good for a playlist. Sleep should be predictable.
She arrived at the site of the meeting and pushed open the door to the stark, white building. It was one of the few on Harlow campus not made of brick.
She walked up to the reception desk.
A friendly looking young woman sat there typing away. She stopped, looked at Emily and smiled.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Phillips.”
“Up the stairs and to the right. It’s the only room up there. His name is on the door.”
Emily thanked the receptionist and walked to the narrow stairwell. The buildings at Harlow offered polarizing experiences. Some had grand, sweeping staircases that seven students side by side could easily ascend, others, like the stairwell Emily was now in, were so narrow they didn’t need railings.
As the stairs creaked beneath her, she started to breath more heavily.
“You can do this, Em,” she said to herself, “You’ve got this.”
She turned the corner, and it was the first door she came across. The plaque on the door read:
Mr. N. W. Phillips
Therapist
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE CONUNDRUM ARTICLES were short and punchy but it was hard for Xander and Emily to figure out how they would write this thing. To be witty, and to establish themselves as different from Leila took all of their brain cells. The first article was only about 400 words but it took them three hours in total to write and they had both had sweaty palms pushing play. If it sucked, only one person would know about it, but that person was Leila.
Emily had asked Xander to push the “publish” button on Thursday night after they finished the Pierce article. She didn’t think she could bear to do it.
“I’d owe you one. Seriously… I’ll take the brunt of the Beard Hall work and research and writing if you just kind of, make this one happen…” she promised.
“You don’t owe me anything, Em,” Xander said kindly, “And I know it’s easier for me to write this than you but… I have to admit, it’s pretty hard for me, too. I don’t want you thinking that I don’t care or am taking this lightly just because of the way it’s written. You know we can’t be emotional and we can’t… well, we can’t grind him too hard. It’s just not how we decided to write Conundrum. We can’t lose our voice.”
She supposed that their time writing Conundrum might be a little like being a surgeon. You had to get over what the task at hand represented. The moral implications, the life or death, the chilling consequences of one wrong move and just get on with.
News travelled fast at Harlow. And people were way too smart. The Conundrum story ran, and it really didn’t take long for people to start whispering that the girl involved in the nanny cam scandal was Emily. Pierce hadn’t been involved with any other girl since his Lower year so it was an easy deduction, although nobody knew for certain.
It was especially hard with Georgia.
At 7:30pm on a Thursday night, Emily was sitting on her bed when she got a text from Xander saying: The deed is done.
It took less than five minutes for Georgia to burst into Emily’s room.
“Em,” she said, “Have you seen Conundrum today?”
Emily pretended to look at her history book.
“No, why,” she said, composing herself before looking up.
“I think you should read it. It’s about Pierce.”
Emily feigned surprise, rushed to her computer and tapped, waiting for it to load up the browser.
“Ugh,” said Georgia, “Internet is slow. Here, I’ve already got it.”
She shoved her cell phone into Emily’s hands. There was the latest story. Her story.
She started to read.
“Don’t you have alerts set up for Conundrum?” Georgia asked, “You might miss a story if you don’t.”
Almost everyone on campus set up notifications for when new stories were posted. It was practically in the new student handbook to follow Conundrum. Emily and Xander had some big shoes to fill.
“Uh… no, just haven’t gotten around to it yet,” Emily said, “hold on, let me just read this for a second.”
Georgia went hushed.
Emily read the words that she and (mostly) Xander had put together:
Peeping Pierce
Watch Out Girls- He’s a Keeper
Pierce Donahue. The last time you heard about him he was winning a crew race, charming his way into a B instead of a C or commanding a table in Oak Street in his own special spirit way. He’s hot. He’s popular. He’s mesmerizing.
But you’re about to see Pierce in a new light. Moon light. Pun intended.
Caught red handed by a clever campus hacker, Pierce is now known as “Peeping Pierce” here at Conundrum. It has been confirmed t
hat Pierce has placed nanny cams in rooms of girls here at Harlow. I’ve seen footage. I can confirm that he has recorded himself doing the dirty with at least one girl, right here, in a dorm, on the Harlow campus. Although at first I wasn’t sure, only witnessing the wrong cheeks, he soon turned around and carelessly showed his own face on camera. The innocent victim had no idea that this was happening.
Girls beware. You never know when Peeping Pierce will strike. He’s more clever than the average window shopper and he’s got tech. If you aren’t an aspiring porn star, you might want to check out some of the other hunks around Harlow instead.
As always, this blog ends with a of story-related joke to brighten your day.
-What happened to the Peeping Pierce who got caught?
-He was beaten so badly he ended up in the ICU.
Pierce, I wish you luck. I highly doubt you will be ‘beaten up’ but you might end up in the ICU with blue balls.
“Whoa,” said Emily, “I don’t know what to say.”
Georgia stared at Emily. She wasn’t sure if she should ask Emily the question. But she couldn’t resist.
“Was, uh… you know… was Pierce in here at all,” Georgia asked, hesitant.
Georgia knew that Pierce had been in the room. She, with her own bare hands, had given him the key. She dreaded the answer. She would have never forgiven herself if Pierce got a cam in the room because of her.
While Georgia chewed on her dread, Emily snacked on a bit of her own. She had worried over this moment since she and Xander had decided to run the story.
Should she lie to Georgia and save face or tell the truth? Could Georgia be trusted not to spread rumors? Should Emily even expect that level of maturity from anyone around here? She wasn’t Leila.
She had spoken to Xander about this for hours. He was such a supportive person. He never tired of it. He always listened with the same intensity no matter how many times she had said the same thing. He didn’t want to give her advice, she could tell, but when she really pushed him, he did.
“One last little white lie, Em. One last time. Just say it wasn’t you,” he had said.
What she didn’t realize was that his advice hoped to benefit them both one day. He didn’t want Emily to have a reputation anymore than she did.
Emily had also asked Leila for advice. She had agreed with Xander not to say a word.
“Why should you take any of the shit that’s going to be circling around campus? If the girl or ‘girls’ in the article are named, the venom behind the rumor will be shared out. He should be the only one who feels the burn. Lie. Lie through your teeth. I won’t be telling anyone if you’re worried about that.”
Xander was her best friend at Harlow. Leila would probably not call herself a friend but had treated Emily like one in this circumstance. What was the point in asking for advice and then not taking it?
“No, he’s never been up here,” Emily told Georgia, “… this is all kind of embarrassing. I thought he really like me but all along he’s been hooking up with other girls. And worse than just your average every day hooking up…”
Georgia rushed over and hugged Emily.
“Aw, sorry, Em..”
Emily felt a current of guilt rush through her. Georgia didn’t deserve to be lied to. But it was probably the best thing for both of them.
She pulled back.
“I know you really liked him at one point,” she said.
Emily had. She had liked him a lot.
“Well, like I told you… things were going really fast and, you know, I’m not sure it was going to work out anyway. I guess now I’m glad things didn’t.”
Emily just hoped with all her heart that Pierce took the content down from the cloud. Leila had told her she was confident nothing would emerge, but if it did, Georgia might not forgive her for lying. Georgia had been really good to her and she wouldn’t want to mess that up.
Everyone was counting on Randy to also keep quiet, and he didn’t even know it.
Georgia shook her head in agreement.
“You can say that again. It’s definitely for the best that you two are off. I mean, can you imagine?”
She paused wondering if it was too raw to ask Emily so soon, but she couldn’t resist, “Who do you think it is… or they are?”
“No clue,” said Emily, “All I know is that nobody deserves to have that happen to them. I don’t even want to speculate because it’s Pierce that deserves the negative attention.”
Emily couldn’t help but say it.
“Too right,” Georgia agreed.
But she didn’t mean it. Everyone, including Georgia, wanted to know the identity of the mystery girls.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
EMILY WAS NEVER named officially. Xander said nothing. Leila said nothing. Randy said nothing. But rumor still spread that it was Emily, among a couple other (poor) girls under speculation. Thoughts of who could have done the dirty on camera fascinated people.
Emily felt sorry for the other girls. At least she was on the right side of the truth in the rumor. They must have felt hated. Why would anyone point at anyone but Emily, unless out of spite? At least she made sense.
Fortunately, the Conundrum article not only got the girls a reputation, but it also did wonders for Pierce’s. Even some of this female friends didn’t want to hang out with him anymore and in Graves Hall, while waiting for a monthly meeting not long after the article came out, lots of girls chatted about boycotting him officially for the next two years.
It would be a very particular kind of person who could overlook his crime. Nevertheless, Emily was sure that one day he’d find someone to date. Even serial killers had wives after all.
Something that really surprised Emily (and Xander, especially Xander) was that she really didn’t hate Pierce. And she didn’t want him to suffer forever. She didn’t think two wrongs made a right. She wanted him to never do that again. She wanted him to treat girls with more respect. But most of the feelings Emily had were about herself. She wanted to forgive him. She wanted to feel confident for once in her life and rise above this whole thing.
Emily had only seen Mr. Phillips a few times, and it was doing amazing things for her. Not only was she able to talk about Andy but she allowed herself a session on Pierce as well. Emily didn’t say exactly who the guy was (she called him “Sam”) that she had an issue with, or what had transpired, but it didn’t matter with Mr. Phillips. He always seemed to sense what the real problem was. Usually it was something unrelated to what Emily thought it was.
“So this guy, this Sam,” he said, “let’s figure this out. It isn’t uncommon to look to other people to restore our sense of self-worth. People do it all the time.”
He thought for a moment, looking out the window and then continued, “A few years ago, a monk came here to do an Assembly. I asked him, given my position on campus, for some time and for some wise stories that I might be able to impart with students when they come to me with certain struggles. So, if you’re willing to listen, I’ve just thought about one of his stories that really works well for this particular challenge you are facing.”
“Of course,” Emily said. She loved fables.
“Great… So, the story begins with a young monk asking his elder, ’Master, what is the value of my life?’ The elder smiles at him but doesn’t give an answer. Instead, he tells the young monk to complete a mission. ‘Go outside in the garden and find a big stone. Quite a large one. Then, take the stone down to the market. If someone asks you for the price of the stone, don’t say a word, just lift two fingers in response. If someone offers money for it, don’t sell the stone! Don’t say a word. Just two fingers. I need you to bring it back to me if I am to answer your question.’”
Mr. Phillips wiggled in his chair a bit, scooting forward on the front edge of it. He animated his arms and his face lit up.
“So, the young monk found a stone and he set off early to the market, carrying his large stone. The market was crowded that da
y, and all the people were really curious about this mysterious young monk and his stone.
Suddenly, a lady came over to him and asked, ‘How much are you selling the stone for?’
The monk stretched out his two fingers just like he had been told.
She asked, ‘Two dollars?’
The monk didn’t reply.
‘Twenty dollars,’ she said, fully prepared to buy it. She thought the stone looked nice and would make a great paperweight.
But the little monk did nothing. He kept the stone and ran back to his elder. He really couldn’t believe that someone would pay twenty bucks for a worthless stone from his garden!”
Emily smiled and listened intently. Mr Phillips went on, becoming more and more magical.
“Well, the young monk got back to his master and said, ‘You won’t believe it. A woman was going to pay me twenty dollars for that stone! But, I did as you said… now, can you tell me, what is the value of my life?’
The elder monk shook his head and looked very satisfied. He said, ‘You did very well but your mission isn’t over. Tomorrow morning, I want you to try again. This time, take the stone to the museum instead. Do all of the same things. No talking, just two fingers as a response. And return the stone here so I can answer your question.’”
The monk must have been so frustrated, Emily thought, what was the answer?
Mr. Phillips leaned forward a bit more with a look on his face as though he was about to translate the Rosetta Stone.
“So the NEXT morning, at the museum, there were all sorts of curious onlookers, whispering amongst themselves wondering about the stone.
‘It looks like an ordinary stone,’ they said, ‘There must be some hidden value or something the monk knows that we don’t. It must be worth a lot.’
One of the people near the monk came over and quietly asked, ‘Hey monk, would you be willing to sell the stone? How much?’
The End Defines the Beginning : A Boarding School Coming of Age (Harlow Academy Series Book 1) Page 19
