Page 19

T HE WEEKS UNTIL THANKSGIVING ARE like an entirely different experience at Camden, one that erases every single doubt I’ve ever had about going to boarding school.

Yes, I’m still in Rumson, but no one dares mess with me about it anymore. Having your boyfriend upstairs is a pretty damn huge perk, especially when the housing office looks the other way because dealing with it is too complicated.

Sabrina and I keep up the GSA, and sometimes, Salem or Heather even joins. Eventually, Sabrina finds out that a Ewing resident is nonbinary, and together, we all agree to re-petition for an official club for the spring.

I find actual study groups for the classes I don’t share with Salem and am reasonably certain I kick ass on all my midterms.

The biggest surprise of all, though, is what doesn’t change: Salem and I decide to continue our pact, in a way. Every week, I get to make him do two things I think are good for him, no questions asked—this usually involves either going to study groups he was gonna blow off, shooting around with Matt and the other guys in the gym, or joining me for the nature options on weekends, which I point out accomplishes both our goals by making me a hiking, climbing badass and him a do-gooder nature lover who takes gorgeous pictures of fall foliage for his mom.

And every week, he gets to suggest two things that he thinks will further my experience in badassery, which usually means either working on my “musical education” or making out. (Often both simultaneously, which I suspect is Salem’s master plan of giving me positive associations with his faves. Unfortunately, it’s working.)

But the day before we head home for Thanksgiving, he has a different request, and for the first time, I say no.

“You really don’t think it’ll make you feel better?” he asks, twirling one of my curls around his finger as we lie intertwined in my bed, watching but not watching an episode of Stranger Things on my laptop. My room is slightly more decorated now. Salem got Claire to send him a file of the two of spades art and had it printed and framed; Sabrina gave me the cards from my original tarot reading so I could hang them over my bed; and Isabel picked up the world’s most hideous LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE sign she could find in a clearance bin and presented it to me with a flourish.

“I don’t think talking to my sister has ever made me feel better in my entire life,” I say sourly, fiddling with the soft hem of his flannel. “Why would it start now?”

“Because now you have a dreamy boyfriend.”

I snort into his side. “Great, so she can try to lure you away. And considering her track record, it’ll probably work.”

“Interesting. She hot?”

“Don’t you dare. ” I whack him right over his belly button, hoping he’s cursing having no body fat to protect him right about now, but he just laughs.

“One Riley woman’s enough to handle, thanks very much.” He tilts my face up for a kiss, and as I melt into him, I can’t help but think that maybe he has a point. I have to see her tomorrow when I go home anyway. Maybe it’s best to break the ice from here, where I feel good about my friends and boyfriend and the space I’ve created for myself, rather than waiting until we’re both back on what, let’s face it, has somehow always been her turf, even while being my home.

I’d kill to have a sister like Sabrina; for all that she and Salem torture each other, I know they’d take a bullet for each other. Hell, that’s basically what Salem did, coming here. And I thought she’d kick my ass for getting with him, but the only thing she said about it when she saw me at lunch that first day was “So you’re screwing my brother. Gross. But at least that’ll keep my parents’ heat off me for a while. Welcome to the fam.”

“What would I even say?” I ask when we part. “‘Hey, how was rehab? Wanna talk about why you banged my ex?’”

“How about you start with ‘Hi’? Chatting about banging the ex is more of a ‘five minutes in’ conversation topic.”

“It all sounds terrible. Why exactly are you making me do this?”

“I’m not making you,” he says gently. “But, selfishly, I’m asking you to because you’re right—it’s probably going to suck. And if you wait until tomorrow, when you’re home, then I won’t be there for the aftermath. But if you do it today, then you can use me as a human punching bag for those tiny balls of rage you call fists. Or get a hug. Or both.”

Oh. That is… nice. And compelling reasoning. And I wish it weren’t making me a little teary to have someone like that in my corner. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a whole lot in it for you,” I say, sniffing.

“Well, I’m assuming you’ll end up desperately grateful for my presence, which can only translate to extreme horniness and/or letting me choose what movie we watch tonight.”

“You are the literal worst,” I tell him, but he isn’t, not at all, and so I kiss him again.

I stare at my phone for a solid five minutes after Salem goes back upstairs, playing endless games of “What’s the worst that could happen?” in my mind. There’s such a disconnect between me at a poker table and me trying to function in reality; in the latter, I never seem to see anything coming, can’t call anyone’s bluff or guess their next move.

There’s a reason I love cards.

But what is the worst that could happen? I have nothing to do with her going to rehab. I have nothing to do with whatever punishments my parents have meted out. I already know she hasn’t successfully brought Claire over to the dark side, and if she has taken Craig, well, I can’t imagine something I’d care less about at this point.

So I guess there’s not a whole lot to worry about.

Maybe.

I make the call.

But the voice that picks up on the other end isn’t hers.

“Evie?” Mom sounds puzzled. “You’re trying to reach Sierra?”

“I figured maybe we should talk before I see her tomorrow, but that’s okay. I can definitely wait.” I pause. “Why do you have her phone?”

She sighs. “Sierra’s phone privileges have been restricted. But I think we can make an exception in this case. Hold on, I’ll get her.”

So much for that out. I mutter a “thanks” and wait for a full two minutes before I finally hear the voice I’ve been avoiding for six months.

“Finally decided to acknowledge my existence, huh?” is a hell of an opening line.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

On the other end of the line, Sierra whistles. “Wow. Somebody got a spine up at fancy boarding school. Maybe Mom and Dad taking out a second mortgage so you could get away from your loser boyfriend was worth it after all.”

“Apparently it’s more than you learned in rehab,” I snap back. “And was that free because it was court-ordered, or…”

“Fuck you.”

“Right back atcha, sis.” I can’t believe I bothered calling. I can’t believe I let Salem convince me there was even an ounce of merit to this. I want to hang up on her, run upstairs, and yell at him for even suggesting it, but then I remember that’s exactly what he wanted to enable me doing today, and it cools my temper, just a little. “Anyway, thought maybe we should connect before seeing each other tomorrow, but turns out I haven’t missed a thing—you’re exactly the person I left behind.”

“How could I possibly be anything else? Perfect Everett Riley’s screwup sister. God, you had everything and it still wasn’t enough for you.”

I had everything. I had everything? My jaw drops to the floor.

Last fall, Claire was experimenting with lenticular prints, and I remember her going on about how fascinating it was that one piece of art could have completely different sides never seen at the exact same time.

Clearly, my sister and I are a lenticular print, because I have no idea what the hell she’s imagining if she’s thinking about the Evie of a few months ago.

“You think I had everything? No, I had two things you didn’t in the entire world: a boyfriend and a best friend. And you, who had friends and parties and apparently a boatload of drugs, took them both without even really wanting either one. I came here without anything or anyone, because of you. ”

She snorts. “Yeah, great friends I had. No one’s even talking to me anymore.”

“That certainly isn’t my fault.”

“Of course not. Everything’s my fault. Everything is always my fault. Craig hit on me, you know.”

“You’re aware that just because a guy hits on you doesn’t mean you need to reciprocate, right? I feel like ‘Hard pass, you’re my sister’s boyfriend’ is a pretty solid rejection.”

“Okay, this was like a million years ago. How can you possibly still be hung up on that guy? He’s pathetic.”

“I’m not hung up on Craig; I’m hung up on how you hurt me, and how I can’t trust you, and how shitty that is.”

“Yeah, well.”

I wait for a follow-up, but nothing comes. “Is that seriously all you have to say about it?”

She lets out an aggravated sigh. “What do you want from me, Evie? It happened. It’s over. Neither of us cares about him anymore. And as for Claire, I assure you, no one’s trying to steal your boring friends. My life is shit. Your life is great. Tomorrow you can gloat about it in person. We all set?”

God, I knew this conversation was gonna be bad, but I truly didn’t know it would be this bad.

The thing is, though, at this very moment, my life is great. I do have everything. And while I’m sure Camden will continue throwing its curveballs, fighting with Sierra right now is basically just kicking a dog when it’s down. What’s the point? She isn’t sorry. I’m not forgiving. And this isn’t worth the mental energy for either of us.

It’s time to wrap this up, but I’m not going to let her make me the bad guy as we do it.

“I don’t want to gloat, See. I’ve never felt worse in my entire life than when I came here, by myself, having begged Mom and Dad to spend money they didn’t have, minus a boyfriend, a best friend, and a sister. Whatever you think I had when I started here, I’m telling you now, you were wrong.”

I take a deep breath, half convinced she’ll hang up while I do, but I can still hear her breathing on the other end of the line, and I forge forward. “I’ve made choices since then, some bad, but most really, really good, including the one to come here and start again out of your shadow. And now, not only am I happy, but I see the things that broke me for the minor setbacks they actually were. Whatever else happens between us, I hope you’re able to say the same someday.”

There’s no response, only more quiet breath, and I realize I don’t want one. “Good night, Sierra. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then I hang up and head to the stairs to collect my hug.

The next day, it takes both Salem and Sabrina to help me carry my stuff out to where my parents are picking me up, mostly because I’m taking advantage of the round-trip rides to bring home as much laundry as possible. Add to that my laptop, the books I’m bringing home to study from, and my clothes for the long weekend, and it’s definitely a group effort.

And okay, yes, maybe I need the extra fortification after yesterday’s miserable phone call.

“This is completely ridiculous, you know that,” Sabrina says flatly, readjusting the bag of sheets slung over her shoulder. “Does Rumson not have laundry?”

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t have to share her machines with twenty-two filthy, sweaty, horny boys.”

“You mean twenty-one filthy, sweaty boys and one who’s completely dashing and pristine at all times,” Salem amends.

Sabrina and I roll our eyes. “I notice you didn’t strike ‘horny’ for yourself,” she points out dryly.

“Well.” He gives a slow, languid shrug, and she puts on a dramatic retching show.

“You guys are gross.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” I protest.

“His hand is literally in the ass pocket of your jeans.”

Oh, so it is. “Okay, well, maybe you would find our coupledom less annoying if you would give a certain somebody a chance.”

Sabrina rolls her eyes again. I’ve been trying to get her to at least talk to Isabel for weeks, but she’s insisted she has no interest in having anything to do with that group of friends, and she’s been sticking to it. And since Isabel refuses to do any pursuing… “Move on, Skeevy. It’s not happening.”

“Okay, first of all, can everyone stop calling me that? And second of all, she’s Isabel McEvoy. And she wants to put her hand in your ass pocket.” I pause at that and note everyone’s expressions of mild disgust. “I hear how that came out and that is not what I was going for. But you know what I mean. She is literally the hottest girl in this school. How are you not even gonna talk to her?”

“Just to be clear,” says Sabrina, “in college, when you finally have that ‘oh shit, I’m bi’ moment, and try the whole ‘Whaaat? But there weren’t any signs!’ thing, I’m going to direct you back to this conversation.”

“I’m not not feeling threatened,” Salem adds.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think I enjoy this Grayson twin onslaught.”

“We get that a lot,” they say simultaneously, and I groan, but in truth, it warms me to see them getting along so well, even if it’s a stark reminder that I’m heading home to a very different sibling interaction.

“That is not a happy face,” Sabrina observes, squinting at me. “Are you only just realizing who your boyfriend is? I was afraid this would happen. There’s still time to take it back. I’ll pretend this never happened if you do.”

Salem scratches at his nose with his middle finger, then looks down at me. “Thinking about your sister again?”

“How can I not?” I groan. “What if we just wandered off into the woods? Tell my parents to turn around and go home, would you?”

“You can handle this,” Salem assures me, taking my face in his freezing hands, because of course he refuses to wear gloves. “You are a badass. Sierra’s got nothin’ on you.”

I stand on my toes to press my lips to his, circling my arms around his neck, and there’s another retching sound before Sabrina says, “That is definitely my cue. Happy Thanksgiving, pervs.”

“Bye, Sabs!” I call after her before Salem reclaims me for another kiss, and then another, and then all talk of my sister and going home flees my mind completely as it turns into a full-on makeout.

A loud cough sounds nearby and we pull apart to see Hoffman glaring at us from where he stands with a clipboard, checking off departures as parents come to claim their kids. My cheeks are already rosy from the cold, but I can feel their color deepening and I bury my face in Salem’s shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he says, amused, but he holds me close anyway, keeping me warm in the crisp late-fall air.

“Ridiculously cute?”

He yanks my knit hat down over my face. “Sometimes.”

“Hey!” I swat his hand away and readjust the hat. “Don’t make me send you back inside.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might.”

“Not in a million years. You kinda sorta like me, remember?”

“Oh, whatever. You kinda sorta like me too.”

“Kinda. Sorta.” He pulls me into another kiss, but we keep this one brief, for Hoffman’s benefit. “This is gross, right? Do we make you as sick as we make me?”

“Sicker,” I admit. “But I still like us.”

“Me too.” He squeezes my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. “Hey, is that your car pulling up to the gate? Black SUV?”

“That’s them.” I hoist my duffel bag higher up, followed by my laptop bag. “If you wanna bolt in order to avoid a Meet the Parents scenario, you have about one minute.”

“Up to you.” He rubs a thumb over my jaw, and I melt into his palm. “You met Ted and Naomi. I can be charming for two minutes, if you want me to be.”

“Why do I have a feeling they wouldn’t come away from this conversation glowing about your social grace?”

“You’d be surprised,” he says with a smirk.

“You know, I do believe that.” His fingers are cold, but I take them anyway, and his strong arm curling me into his side more than makes up for the chill. “But given everything I already have to talk about with them, I’m gonna give you a pass. For now,” I add with narrowed eyes. “No promises come winter break.”

“Deal.” He rests his chin on my head. “Before you go, I just need to say something nauseatingly romantic, and then I need to retreat like a turtle into my shell for at least the length of Thanksgiving, but then maybe like an entire six weeks of winter.”

My stomach flutters gently in response. Forthcoming as he is with physical affection, verbally, “It’s cool that you don’t suck” is about as sweet as he gets. I’ve been waiting weeks for “nauseatingly romantic,” especially considering that’s a pretty good descriptor for how I feel about him. “You’re mixing up turtles and groundhogs, but okay, go ahead. I’m ready.”

He takes a breath and places his hands on my waist. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had that I also wanna make out with.”

I don’t know why I let myself get primed for actual romance, but somehow, I got fooled. “ That was your nause atingly romantic goodbye sentiment?” I splutter. “God, you really had me for a second there.”

“That’s not romantic? To feel like being with you is the most comfortable thing in the world but also gives me butterflies? Dude, that’s romantic as fuck.”

“That… actually is pretty romantic,” I concede, “but it’s not what you said the first time.”

“Well, it’s what I’m saying,” he mumbles, tugging his beanie down until it nearly covers his eyes. “Okay?”

I pull him down for a kiss. “Okay.”

His gaze shifts to some point in the distance, as if the drying grass has somehow become the most fascinating thing in the universe. “You get that I’m saying I love you, right?”

Wrapping an arm around his waist, I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his beating heart. “Now I do,” I say, listening to the healthy thump as I feel my own race. “You did it, Grayson. That was officially romantic. Romantic enough for me to tell you that I love you, too, even.”

He grunts in response, but I feel another kiss ghost the top of my head before my parents pull up and he steps away. “Now get in the car, because that was embarrassing and I can’t look directly at you at least until we FaceTime in a few hours.”

“I thought it was six weeks, because you don’t know the difference between a turtle and a groundhog? Which is much more embarrassing, by the way.”

He groans. “I’d like to take everything back now.”

“Don’t you dare.” I rise on my toes one more time and curl my fists into his sweatshirt for a breath-stealing kiss. Hopefully my parents have better things to do than watch us in the rearview. “You’re my turtle-groundhog now, and in the animal kingdom, there are no take backs. It’s very vicious.”

“I have so many regrets,” he mutters, but the way he kisses me, cradling my jaw with strong, callused hands, it’s like he’s never had one in his life.

And maybe I have a few, and always will. But right now, as I get in the car and watch him fade away behind us, knowing he’ll be here when I return, I feel extremely good about my life choices.