I cry out a soft laugh, the kind that blubbers on my lips. It’s hard to take compliments sometimes, but this one—it hits me in the center of the chest with the weight of a bowling ball.
I lean forward and take his face in my hands, staring into his crystal blue eyes. I think I love this stupid boy.
Pressing my lips to his, I move forward until I’m curled up in his lap with his arms wrapped around me. I hold him tight, even after our kiss breaks, and I stay tucked in the safe space under his chin and between his arms for the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter24
Theo
Atwo-game suspension seems fair. I was expecting expulsion.
Mediation, however? I’m not vibing with this. I received a text early this morning to report to the headmaster’s office. I figured they’d let it go on a Sunday, but this isn’t the Jesuit Welles it once was. There are no days of rest when there’s a possible stain on the school’s reputation. Right now, I’m that stain.
They put me in a room with Raskin about ten minutes ago. Some counsellor or mediator or whatever is running late. They called a guy in from Harvard. Probably a former Welles student getting his PhD and needing hours. Our headmaster probably should have kept me and asshat separated until that someone was here in the ring with us—I mean conference room.
I will admit I’m getting a rise out of staring at him. We’re separated by a polished stone table, and we’re both leaning back so far in our chairs that our toes are close to touching under the table. Raskin is trying his best to act aloof but swiveling in his seat nervously is giving him away. So is his inability to hold eye contact. I haven’t looked away once. I may not have even blinked.
“Gentlemen.” As our headmaster walks in, Raskin sits up straight and folds his arms over one another on the table and looks to him. I don’t move an inch, and my glare is staying fixed where it is.
“I’d like you to meet Holly Asplund. She’s here to help us work through whatever conflict seems to be happening here.” Our headmaster sounds like he’s reading from a script, check-boxing keywords, likeconflict.
“The conflict, Ms. Asplund, is that Oliver Raskin thinks it’s okay to talk shit about my dead sister.” I leave that comment on its own and remain perfectly still, laser eyes on Raskin’s increasingly defensive expression. I can almost predict his words.What? I didn’t do anything.
“Sir, ma’am. He’s completely misinterpreting. I didn’t say anything.”I was close. I guessed the gist.
“You want me to repeat your words for you?” I ask.
“Fuck off, Theo. You’re talking out of your ass.” He winces at his own lack of control, and I let my mouth rest in a smug grin.
“Right, well. It appears we have our work cut out for us.” Ms. Asplund drops a set of packets on the table between us, then takes a seat at the head. Her hair is jet black, cropped in a razor-perfect line at her chin. Square, black-rimmed glasses match her angular face perfectly. She glances over her shoulder, motioning for our headmaster to leave the room. He does, though begrudgingly, and when the door is closed, she morphs into perhaps the coolest adult I’ve ever met.
“Look, guys. You aren’t getting out of here until there is some sort of mutual agreement to not make headaches for the administration. We can get there two ways. One, we can go through this packet of ice breakers, most of which will have you rolling your eyes and hating me. Or . . . you can let me level with you, as I see it based on what I know of the situation. We can clear this up in minutes if you two decide to set aside the bullshit that comes with being eighteen-year-old privileged private school boys and hear what I’m about to say and internalize it, honestly. Because we all know I’m going to have this, right? And arguing more is just posturing and puffing up chests to prove your manhood, and I am . . .” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “So over that.”
I chew at the inside of my mouth through my lopsided smile and shift my focus from Ms. Asplund to Raskin, who seems to be giving her proposal equal consideration. I nod at him, and he does the same.
“Deal,” we both say in unison.
“Excellent,” she says, bringing her hands together in a celebratory clap. She drags the packets back toward her and rolls them in her palms, like a visual aid.
“Oliver, you don’t know how to behave around Theo. What happened to him, to his family, and to this school, is tragic. Things like this often leave an awkward environment in their wake, and because you all are, well, not adults yet, you have trouble navigating interactions. You may have some leftover hostility over your car. Or, perhaps, you are embarrassed about your history with Theo’s sister. Maybe you have regrets of your own, wishing you treated her better.”
Ms. Asplund sits back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap as she studies Raskin. He’s red, but not the angry kind. He’s embarrassed because she hit some hot spots with her assessment. She’s not far from the truth. In fact, as she was talking to him, I realized her explanations applied to a lot of people on this campus since I’ve come back. And maybe a little to me and how I interact with my mom. I don’t know how anymore. I kind of think I haven’t had a good handle on it since our dad died.
“What do I do with that? Am I supposed to apologize when he’s the one who broke my nose?” His voice is stuffy, and the bruising on his face is nasty. I don’t think I actually broke his nose, though. I’ve broken one of those before, and it makes a certain sound.
“You take it in, and you think about it—honestly,” she responds. “And yeah, you probably have some things to apologize for. Doesn’t mean Theo is off the hook.”
I shift in my seat and tighten my mouth into a hard line. I liked it better when she was talking about Raskin.
“All right,” he says, hesitantly. I flit my gaze to his and he reciprocates, our eyes briefly meeting a few times while we navigate this weird space.
“Theo.” She calls me to attention. Unlike Raskin, I’m not willing to sit up tall. I’m still a little pissed off, and I think it’s better if I simmer and slouch. I’m probably a better listener by not faking it. I do turn to meet her stare, though. She offers me a sympathetic smile, her maroon-tinted lips ticking up on one side.
“You’re grieving. And yes, a lot of your behavior can be forgiven because of your circumstances. You are under an extraordinary mental weight. Your emotions are likely on a pendulum, as is your ability to trust. When we lose people who are close to us, it brings our own mortality, and that of everyone we care about, to the forefront. You don’t know who you may lose next. And you realize, even if below the surface, that you have zero control over any of it. Because of that, you try to control what you can. What people say about your sister is an obvious start. But you need to get a handle on what your emotions do to trigger your physical reactions. You can’t go through life punching people.”
Pity. But she’s right.
I nod and tuck my chin, looking down at my outstretched legs. I hit Raskin hard. And if I’m being honest with myself, in my mind, I wasn’t hitting him. I was hitting Neil.