Page 23 of Little Pieces of Light

Emery

After the Weekend from Hell, I’d arrived at school Monday morning just in time to duck into calculus.

But I couldn’t avoid my friends at midmorning break.

I reluctantly joined them at our spot—a little courtyard off the cafeteria with wrought iron tables and chairs—and braced myself for questions about Jack.

It was obvious they’d all been talking about him; the whole school was talking about him.

There was even a video going around that someone had taken with their phone, but I didn’t want to know who.

So I don’t go and claw their eyes out.

“Jack’s going to be okay,” I announced to my friends impatiently, as if I were already bored of the subject. “He got wasted and tripped. It’s not a big deal. He’ll be back at school in a week or two.”

I took a seat beside Tucker, hoping my little act was the end of it. But clearly, I didn’t know my friends very well. They surrounded me immediately, asking questions. Most with sympathy. Others—like Aria, Rhett, and Elowen—not so much.

“We’re glad he’s okay, Em,” Elowen said, as if speaking for the whole school. “But you weren’t there. A bunch of people saw him put his hand in the fire. Like… deliberately .”

My stomach clenched, and I fought to keep my face neutral. “Yeah, because he was drunk . Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”

Glances were exchanged, like birds darting through the air all around me.

“It’s just that we’re worried about him,” Aria said with a sweet smile that didn’t touch her eyes in the slightest. “He seemed like he was in a bad way, and he was talking about your brother. The one who died—”

“All right, that’s bloody well enough,” Orion cut in. “He’s going to be okay, and that’s the long and short of it, eh?”

“Thank you,” I said, then glared at Tucker.

He glanced back with a stupid “What did I do?” look on his face.

The conversation moved on to other subjects, but I knew it’d swing right back to Jack as soon as I was out of earshot.

Every single one of us at CHA had pressure to excel, so seeing someone else crack was almost motivating.

Like reassurance that they might have it hard, but hey, at least they weren’t sticking their hands into a raging fire.

They killed him…

Jack’s words haunted me. I was too scared to look at them, but my parents’ neglect of Jack was bad enough. Mom had eventually visited him, maybe staying five minutes, and my dad lectured him the entire time about “family image” and “media scrutiny.”

Neither had asked him why he’d done it.

I have to get out.

At lunch, I went directly to the library, pulled up UCLA’s webpage, and printed the application forms. I filled them out and took them with shaking hands to Ms. Alvarez’s class. She looked up from her desk, where she was eating a sandwich and grading papers.

“Hello, Emery. What brings you…are you all right? You look pale.”

I set the application forms on her desk.

“I can’t send this from my house, and I can’t receive any responses there either.

And I have no way to pay for this college.

Not while being attached to my parents’ money, which I will be until I’m twenty-four.

So basically, this is probably a waste of time, but… here we are.”

Ms. Alvarez scanned the forms. A small smile touched her lips, then was dampened by concern. “Are you in danger, Emery? I have to ask.”

“No, nothing like that,” I said automatically. Then I thought of Grant walking out the front door to meet that train and Jack’s burnt fist. “I have to get away from here, Ms. Alvarez. The farther away, the better.”

“I see.” Ms. Alvarez looked grave. “Well, I can use my mailing address, though it might jeopardize my job if your father interferes like he did with my curriculum.”

“Oh, God. I didn’t think of that. No, forget it…”

I started to reach for the papers, but Ms. Alvarez was faster.

“A PO Box will do the trick. And as for the financial aid, it might prove difficult, given your family’s wealth.

I would suggest applying for any scholarships available to you and maybe even private loans.

” She pursed her lips. “Although I don’t like that you should be buried in college debt when your family has all the means in the world. ”

“I have to get in first.”

She smiled. “I think UCLA would love to have you. But it says here the application fee is ninety-five dollars.”

“I know, and I don’t have it. They watch my money. Every cent. But I have these really expensive boots I’ve hardly worn and a few other things. I’ll sell them and pay you back. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Emery, only because I want you to do this on your own. To have as much authority and autonomy over your decisions as you can. Okay?”

My head bobbed in a nod. “Thank you, Ms. A. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I don’t know exactly what your situation is, but you’re not the first student to sit across from me this year already crumpling under the weight of their parents’ expectations.”

“That’s exactly how it feels,” I said. “Sometimes I can hardly breathe.”

Ms. Alvarez reached over and took my hand in hers. “It’s a big step, and I’m proud of you.” She cocked her head. “They don’t tell you that, do they?”

I shook my head, blinking away tears.

My teacher gave my hand a final pat. “You’d better get to your next class. I’ll take care of this and let you know when I hear back.”

I let out a shaky sigh and got to my feet. “Holy crap. It’s real, isn’t it? I’m really doing this?”

Ms. Alvarez smiled. “It’s scary to break free of all that’s familiar—and financially secure—and jump into the unknown. You’re a brave girl, Emery. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll try not to.”

But as soon as I got back home—into the tense, suffocating dome of my house—all my bravado fled.

Holy shit, what have I done?

At the dinner table, I could hardly move, paralyzed by fear. Any second now, my father would look at my face and see the defiance painted all over it.

“So, Emery,” he said. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

I swallowed hard. “Nope, nothing.”

“We’ll be formalizing your application to Brown soon.” He salted his mashed potatoes. “I presume your tutoring sessions are going well. No surprises?”

I nearly dropped my fork. “Um, no. No surprises.”

“Good. Given how often you spend tutoring with that boy, not to mention the cost, I expect straight As.”

“Yes,” I said stupidly, my brain in panic mode. “In fact, I have homework I should get a jump on. May I be excused?”

My father frowned. “I suppose so.”

I practically ran up to my room. Safely inside, I sat on my four-poster bed and grabbed my sketchpad to take refuge in my art.

The first prom committee meeting was coming up, and I wanted to get a jump on the theme.

To make it beautiful. To show my dad what I could do.

That way, I wouldn’t have to run all the way to California, and Dad would never have to know that I’d made an escape plan.

You think your dad’s suddenly going to become impressed with your art and let you walk away from his plans?

“Maybe he will,” I said in a small voice. I hated how my courage drained out the second I stepped foot in my house. I wanted to feel how I felt when I was with Xander. How life felt open and full of possibilities, instead of cold and shuttered.

“So make it real.”

I picked up my phone and texted him.

I applied to UCLA.

Xander’s reply came a moment later. You did?

I did. I have no way of paying for it, but it felt nice to try. Even a little.

No reply.

It’s all your fault, really, I sent after a minute. All that talk about escape velocity…;-)

Nothing.

The hopeful buoyancy deflated out of me, and I tried not to feel as hurt as I did. “Okay, good talk.”

I turned my phone face down and tried to focus on my prom design, but I’d lost my spark. I went to shut off the light and dive into sleep when my phone chimed a text from Xander.

In order to attend UCLA and be eligible for financial aid, free from your parents’ income, you must qualify as an independent student. The criteria for which—in part—are as follows:

You’re homeless or about to become homeless

You’re emancipated

You’re married

I stared at his orderly, formal text. Like a message coming from far away—a shooting star that landed in my lap.

Then another text followed.

If you can’t get emancipated I’ll marry you.

“Oh my God…” My shaking fingers hit call.

Xander’s voice was low and quiet when he answered. “Hi, Emery.”

“You’ll what?”

“It’s strictly for practical purposes. You’ll be able to break free of your dad’s money and have more access to aid.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“We both have to be eighteen,” he continued, all business. “My birthday is on November tenth. Yours?”

“March fifth. But Xander—”

“I have nothing, Emery. Only a pension that’s going to go to my dad’s care when he needs to be institutionalized. You might still incur massive debt for the rest of your life—”

“When you put it that way…”

“But you’d be free.”

Tears stung my eyes and clogged my throat. “You would…do that for me?”

“Yeah, Em, I would.”

“But you’re going to MIT.” Thousands of miles away…

“Yes, but that won’t matter,” he said. “It would be a pretend marriage. No expectations. Nothing permanent”

“I…” I shook my head. “No, this is crazy. I can’t get married unless it’s…real.”

For love…

“It would be real,” Xander said. “A real piece of paper that gets you out of Rhode Island. Nothing more.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure that made me feel better. “Right. Just a piece of paper. We wouldn’t actually call each other husband or wife or use it against each other somehow.”

“Never.”

“Okay. It’s not going to come to that, anyway,” I said quickly. “I still have my prom idea. I’m still holding out hope that my dad sees what I can do and supports me.”

“He might,” Xander said, doubt lacing his words. “This is just for backup.”

“In case of emergency, get married?” I sniffed a laugh.

“Something like that.” A pause fell and then he said, “Anyway, I wanted you to know that you have options.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Xander,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

I heard him hesitate, heard his throat click as he swallowed hard. “Goodnight, Emery.”

The line went quiet. I lay back on my pillow, my phone on my chest. Tears blurred my vision, my heart full imagining Xander in his room, researching how to help my dreams come true.

Marriage was an extreme option—a total break from my family.

Exile. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to make that leap or even go through with UCLA in the first place.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone. I felt like I did back on that rock, seven years ago, with Xander’s hand on my back, gentle and hesitant, but letting me know he was there.