“You know what,” I say, turning back and throwing the door to the shed wide. “If you want him more than me, then go have him, and don’t you ever come to me like this again. Don’t touch me, don’t kiss me, and don’t even bother talking to me. If you can’t be genuine with me in public, then stay with your little clique. I hope you enjoy losing yourself to them.”
I turn on my heel and stalk out onto the lawn. I’m done with him. It’s over.
It has to be.
For the sake of all of us.
Chapter 7
I’m determined the get the boys out of my mind, but they aren’t making it easy. After my little run-in with the tour, I hear back from several of the clubs I finally applied to join … and they’re all suddenly and suspiciously overbooked.
Rather than admit defeat, however, I submit an application to anything I can get my hands on. By the end of my second week, the rejections are pouring in. Amidst the chaos I find two little beacons of hope; two clubs that, either by mistake or a headstrong desire to be outcast like myself, accept me into their fold. Drama and photography. They’re not really my thing, I’ve always considered myself a bit of a realist without much room for make-believe and shadow play, but it’s something.
And now it’s more than just a chance to dive headfirst into something that will keep me busy. It’s a direct snub at those who tried to ice me out in the first place … and walking into the meeting rooms for the first time after class feels like a massive victory.
Because it is.
To top it all off, Dana gets in touch with her father and lays out the details of Ms. Martin’s abuse. He’s appropriately shocked and outraged—and promises he’ll look into it as soon as he can. These two triumphs carry me through the next couple weeks of school, even as Blair keeps trying to corner me at every possible opportunity. I just keep my head down and my mind focused on staying out of trouble as much as Astor and his goons will allow.
I don’t forget them though. Every sight of them, the glorious holy trinity, still feels like a knife twisted in my stomach. I just learn to get used to it, to accept it as my sort of penance for last year’s lies. I keep telling myself that one day, and one day soon, I won’t have to see any one of them ever again. It’s simultaneously relieving and heartbreaking at the same time.
Dana drags me down into the auditorium one weekend for a college fair. I’m a little reluctant to go, since I know they will be there too. I’ve made a point to eat at odd hours and shied away from any sort of social events where I might run into them … but I guess they can’t be avoided forever.
Besides, Dana makes a compelling argument for why I should go. This is big for me. Like she and so many others have been happy to point out—I’m going to have to rely heavily on my life story to even be considered by most colleges. Back at my old school, I was jus
t another underprivileged kid, no different than the dozens, or even hundreds, in my classes. Here … I’m a novelty. An anomaly. I should capitalize on that, since my life could definitely use some direction right now.
We’re not ten feet into the packed auditorium when I see the Columbia college table, and who should be in front of it, but Astor, Blair, and Wills. I watch them out of the corner of my eyes, trying my best to be subtle about it. They’re talking with the rep like they’re all old friends. Chances are, this is all just some formality. People like Astor, Wills, and Blair … they’re basically a shoe-in to schools like that. They probably got their acceptance letters pinned neatly to their birth certificates at the hospital the day they were born.
Dana steers me well away from there, right past Victoria at the nearby table for Princeton. She’s going on and on about how her parents went there, yada-yada, but she keeps eyeing the table for Columbia and mentioning that she’s still ‘entertaining other options’.
I can’t help but snort, and I think she hears me. She shoots a nasty look my way, and I try to pretend to bury my nose into the plastic brochure they handed out at the doorway. No point in giving her even more reason to make my life hell.
I just can’t imagine Astor ever asking her to change colleges for him. Even if they are an item, and the thought makes me feel nauseous just for thinking it, I doubt he actually wants to carry on with her through college.
Right?
I feel a seed of jealousy sprout in me at the idea. She wants to be where Astor is too, and while I can understand it, because I’m feeling the same way, I don’t like it. So far I’ve tried not to read too much into their newfound closeness. At first, I just assumed it was another way to get back at me, something just for show. But now, as she leaves the table to go stand by Astor’s side—her hand reaching for his—I feel that wrenching in my stomach tighten.
But Astor barely looks at her and then pulls his hand away, turning his attention back to the Columbia rep and his friends. A part of me, an embarrassingly large part of me, is pleased to see it. It’s plain as day that he’s still not into her. At least, not in the way he was into me.
I take some solace in that thought, and return my distracted attention to Dana and the reps she’s hauling me around to.
All of them basically tell me the same thing, without actually saying it. They bandy around with words that really don’t mean anything, but all get around to the same point—I don’t have the family legacy to get into a big college, and I certainly don’t have the grades.
I could’ve told Dana that myself, but somehow, hearing it makes it all the worse. I try to keep a good face, but even I can only see that look of pity and disdain on so many faces before I just want to give up.
Dana sees my dejection and pulls me aside.
“What’s wrong?” She eyes me intently. “Something’s changed since you got here. Is it them?”
She points at the holy trinity, and for once … that’s not it.
I shrug. “I guess I’m kind of feeling like I don’t really belong here, you know? This is all a mistake. I don’t know what I was even thinking, coming here.”
Determination flashes across Dana’s face. “That’s not it at all. Don’t say that. The students who graduate from this school have excellent chances of getting into the big colleges … regardless of how they got here in the first place.”
“Really though?” I say. “I’m pretty sure a requirement to get in here in the first place is a certain caliber trust fund.”