Moving as fast as I can to keep up with his long strides, I ask, “Why did you say we’re not supposed to be together?”
At this, he stops, pulling in a hard breath. “Because it’s a condition of my probation for coming back here.” He uses fingers to quote, “Vandy Hall is off-limits.”
Off-limits.
Story of my life.
“Why?” I blurt. “Because I’m so pathetic? So vulnerable? So—” Broken.
The words won’t emerge from the tightness in my throat. It feels like the last three years crashing back down on me and
I’m drowning in it, fighting against a current I can’t beat back.
He stares at me for a long moment, eyebrows pulling together. “What? That’s not—” He waves a hand, something irritated and dismissive about the gesture. “I’m the one who’s the problem. I’m like the bad fucking seed around here. Got to keep me away from sharp objects, you know. I’m a danger to pretty girls, sweet old ladies, and small fluffy animals.” Despite the thread of levity to his words, the tight smile he wears is edged with bitterness.
Of course, all I can think about is the fact he kind of just called me… pretty?
I work so hard to push that thought away that I physically shake my head.
“You’re not—” He looks away, that tight smile transforming into a stony frown. “You’re not pathetic.”
“Tell that to the rest of the school.” I snort, following his gaze to where a puddle is collecting nearby. “They treat me like I’m a delicate flower. One swift wind or a hard rain, and my petals fall right off.”
“Well...” He reaches up to rake a hand over his wet hair, back to front. “That’s lame.”
I laugh grimly. “No one seems to think so. Between Emory, my parents, and the school, I basically live in a bubble.” Except that if I lived in a bubble, I could probably breathe. “No fun for Vandy. But hey, I can get a pedicure every now and then.” I slide my gaze to his, offering my own bitter grin. “Without adult supervision, even.”
Reynolds looks back at me, blank-faced but for the single eyebrow that curves upward. “I have to get frisked by Fucking Jerry every other day.”
I counter, “I’m not allowed to go to parties.”
A corner of his mouth tugs up. “I live next to someone I’m not allowed to even look at.”
“If I’m in public and I need to go to the bathroom, my mom comes with me.”
He shifts his shoulders, seeming to really get on a roll. “If I don’t win enough games, they’ll probably pull my scholarship.”
I bob my head. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ll probably be thirty by the time I do, and Emory will probably scare him away before the appetizers arrive on our first date.”
Reynolds looks away, pushing a long ‘pssshh’ from his lips. “I think if your biggest problem is that people actually give a shit, then that’s probably a good problem to have.”
“No,” I say, nostrils flaring in anger. “My biggest problem is that I’m constantly suffocated and slowly dying of boredom.”
“You work on the paper, right?” He suddenly says, brows drawing together. “I saw you taking pictures at the game the other night. That’s…” He shrugs, seeming momentarily lost for words. “Well, I don’t know. It’s something.”
“Nice try. I get to cover sports, which isn’t even something I’m interested in.” I roll my eyes heavenward, noting the emergence of the sun. “I actually proposed a topic for the investigative journalism spot, but the school is too scared to let me really dig into the seedy history of this place.”
“What kind of history? Privileged, asshole white kids being institutionally molded to thirst for global domination?” He scoffs. “I think the jig is already up with that one.”
I shake my head. “You missed a lot of crazy stuff over the last few years. There was an underage sexual assault scandal—one that was completely covered up by the administration and involved families, might I add. Besides the ongoing bullying of one particular senior, there was the homophobic harassment of her brother, a middle school student. Like, a legally legitimate hate crime. I’m not even including the pervasive sexism among the Devils. The way they treat girls, like they’re possessions or something, is repulsive.”
Reynolds makes a swooping movement with his finger. “Wheel keeps spinning.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us are down with being cogs.” I look around the campus, noting that students are beginning to filter out from the shelters. The air is humid and smells like damp concrete. “They don’t want their dirty laundry aired, so my idea was instantly rejected.”
He levels me with a look, and I’m not sure what’s happened over the course of the conversation, but I think I’m beginning to realize that his face isn’t actually always hard-edged and blank. He’s harder to read than he used to be, more subtle, but if I look hard enough, I can tell.
Right now, he’s looking at me like I’m an idiot. “Fighting a place like Preston Prep is futile. These people will never change, even if they pretend to. You should just lay low, get out of here in two years, and move on with your life.”