“You’re one to talk,” she snaps. “You think you’re so virtuous because you’ve only hooked up with one girl in the past three years, but everyone knows that’s because it’s all you can get. She’s the only girl the Dolce boys don’t want, so they let you have her. Pathetic much?”
“Now that you’re in my league, I have more choices,” he says. “And hey, next semester, you may be scum while I’m king. After all, there’s only one D-bag at our school now, and if we’re on good terms with the Dolces, Magnolia and Sullivan can come back to school. Which means the balance will finally be restored—the Darlings will be on top again.”
“Like Willow Heights would ever let a troll sit on its throne,” Gloria says. “You have to be hot and play football to be king.”
“I don’t know,” Colt says. “My girl’s already the rebel queen. Maybe the rebels will overthrow the whole monarchy, and I’ll be their king. But don’t worry, babe. I’d slum it with you a couple times.”
“Gross,” Gloria says, wrinkling her cute little nose and looking him up and down. “I’d never sink that low.”
“When you change your mind,” he drawls. “I’ll throw you a pity fuck if you crawl for me the way you did for the Dolce boys, maybe eat Harper out while I hit it from the back.”
“You’re intolerable,” Gloria huffs.
They continue bickering, but I stop listening and survey the crowd. Colt’s right. The Darlings are here. And so are all the rest of the founding families, the mayor, and a judge I remember from some signs around town when he ran a few years back. I spot Colt’s dad talking to Mr. Rose, and this sense of being off-balance settles over me, like everything is slightly askew.
I think we did it. We really ended the feud.
Mr. Dolce is gone, and the Darlings are now tied to the rest of the Dolces through Crystal and Devlin’s marriage. Maybe Royal will never forgive the Darlings, but he’ll forgive his sister. He’ll move on, and that’s all I can ask.
While I eat, I take out my phone and thumb it on.
Bad Apple: At Mr. Dolce’s funeral. Think we might have fixed Faulkner.
SilverSwan: Good work, Miss A.
BadApple: u coming home? It’s safe.
SilverSwan: soon
I’m busy getting a big head about what we’ve accomplished when my eyes spot movement over in the side yard. Olive is standing next to the lilacs, breaking off branches from the bare bushes. Preston’s fresh in my mind, and his words come back to me.
“If I see a way I can help even one person, isn’t it my job to at least try?”
He helped me, and it’s time I pass it on. My chest tightens as I watch the diminutive figure—so alone and out of place, small and insignificant. I remember thinking that I didn’t have space in my heart for an Olive. That was only a few months ago, but so much has changed. Now, I have an Olive. I have to make space for her in my life, whether I’m ready or not, because I’m all she has. I won’t let her down, and I won’t let Blue down after all she did for me.
Without me even noticing, Blue saved me in a hundred little ways. She didn’t just give me cigarettes. She gave me a connection, companionship, a reminder of my roots. She let me be who I am, even when I didn’t tell her. She was a safe space for me when I couldn’t tell anyone else what had happened. She dragged me out of bed and told me I was too smart to drop out of school. When I doubted myself, she reminded me that I deserve a better life, to get out of this town, to accept Syracuse.
I’m only now coming to terms with the fact that it’s real—I’m really getting out of here. I’m doing it. I’ll be going to Syracuse next year. It’s scary, but also a sense of ease and relief have come with the decision now that it’s settled, the same way I felt when I accepted that I belong to Royal. I know I’ll always have him, no matter where we go. I’ll also have roots here.
If this is all Blue wants in return for helping me realize that, we’re not nearly even.
I stand from the chair I took and cross the grass to her sister.
“Hey,” I say. “Want some food?”
“Isn’t it just for the rich people?” Olive asks.
“No,” I say, holding out my plate. “Girls like us gotta eat, too.”
She shakes her uncombed hair back and points to something on my plate. “What’s that?”
“You know, I have no idea,” I admit. “Rich people eat weird stuff.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Does it taste good?”
“So good,” I say, popping the little pastry into my mouth.
She takes one and nibbles at the edge of it. “Come on,” I say. “We’ll get you a plate. I’ve been meaning to get you and Eliza together to go shopping, too. Just the three of us. How about it?”