“No,” my dad says, voice strict. “Your opinion doesn’t matter. Not after you’ve made this year hell for your mom and me.”
I owe them. That’s what I feel. I owe them for the nice clothes. For this house. For the cash, the car, the food and electronics.
For putting up with a piece of shit like me.
I hang my head and listen to my dad continue on.
“You need to leave this neighborhood,” he tells me. “The friends you grew up with, this atmosphere, it’s all been toxic for you. Think of Faust as a fresh start. A new school, new city, new home.” My dad lets out a breath like the weight of his troubles has finally lifted. “This is a good change, Garrison.”
Months ago, maybe I would’ve agreed. A new start. Away from all my ex-friends. Away from my brothers. Away from this place. It would’ve seemed like a lifeline, but now I feel as though my parents are cutting the only rope that grounds me to soil, to earth.
I’m doing better.
I’ve made a real friend, something I’ve never had.
If I leave Philadelphia, I’ll be leaving the one good thing in my life.
Willow.
My throat swells. “There’s nothing…” I swallow and start again, “Isn’t there anything I can do or say to change this?”
“We’ve already withdrawn you from Dalton Academy,” my dad explains. “You start Faust in January. You’ll leave in a week for orientation and to move into the dorms. It’s done.”
A week.
A week.
The timeline rings shrilly in the pits of my ears.
After the shock wears off, I stuff the crumpled brochure into the envelope and wedge the thing in my pants pocket. “Is that it?” I wonder.
My mom and dad exchange a look, and then she sets her concern on me. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it a little more?”
“What else is there to talk about?” I ask. “It’s a done deal, right?” I stand from the dining room table. Not wanting to speak to them anymore. They’ve already proven how much power they have over my life.
Dazedly, I walk out of the dining room. Neither my mom nor my dad tries to call me back, and I snatch my blue Dalton Academy beanie off a coat rack and find gloves. I think about grabbing my skateboard from the garage, but I abandon the board and just walk.
Faster and faster.
Out the front door. Down the driveway. Past the mailbox.
I pick up speed until I jog towards Loren Hale’s house. Cold rips through my lungs, and I welcome every bit of it.
Slowing to a stop, I see the red brick house and Christmas decorations. Nothing extravagant. Lights twinkle on a few trees and a wreath hangs on the front door.
As I veer up their driveway, I slip on the slick cement. My worn boots have god-awful traction, and before I face-plant, I grab onto a decorative, iron deer. My heart hammers.
Not just from almost falling.
I hope Willow is here. She has to be. One good thing has to happen today.
I need to talk to her. Face-to-face. Right now. Get this news off my chest.
I carefully climb the porch stairs. Crusted ice and snow covers the doormat, and I stand stiffly. Hesitantly. Not that many people in this house even like me. After my birthday—where Willow stayed at my house later than she intended—I can’t even tell if I’m on Loren Hale’s good side anymore.
And there’s a huge chance I’ll be met with anyone but Willow.
Everyone who lives here:
Lily Calloway
Rose Calloway
Daisy Calloway
Loren Hale
Connor Cobalt
Ryke Meadows
Maximoff Hale (six-months-old )
Jane Cobalt (seven-months-old)
So yeah—a lot of fucking people are inside.
Willow planned to stop by here for Christmas, so I hope she’s made the drive already. No cars are in the driveway, but maybe she parked in the large garage.
I’m afraid I’ll have to interact with Rose and Connor.
Loren and Lily—I don’t mind as much. They’re still celebrities, untouchable in a sense, but they’ve been cool towards me. Daisy is nice to Willow, but I don’t really talk to her—and Ryke is whatever.
He says fuck a lot, and every time I meet his eyes, I remember all the videos I’ve spliced together with his fucks and uploaded to YouTube.
After scaring his girlfriend with paintballs, I wouldn’t be surprised if he secretly despised me too.
I take out a cigarette, thinking about lighting it, but I just pinch the cig between gloved fingers. I reach for the buzzer.
As soon as my finger lands on the button, the door swings open.
Shit.
Scorching yellow-green eyes pierce me, and I curse my luck. Rose Calloway, of everyone, has opened the door.
I stuff my fists in my black hoodie, and I watch her assess my Dalton Academy beanie. Why am I even wearing it? I’m not returning to that school. The fact sinks deeper and deeper and burns a hole in my stomach.