Astor Hill

Chapter 3

3

Olivia

The start of Olivia’s junior year

I pick at the hole in my tights with the tip of my pen. If they were going to have a run in them I had to at least make it look intentional. Wrapping the thread around the point, I hear a satisfying rip. Gen’s dark tendrils bounce as she turns, looking away from our astronomy professor to raise an eyebrow in my direction.

I toss her a look that I hope expresses how nauseous she makes me feel.

“Can I help you?”

A blush runs straight to her cheeks and I roll my eyes. This is the start of my third year at Astor Hill and honestly, the atmosphere here still feels as gray as it did when I was a freshman.

I begin writing the date in my notes and get the familiar ache as I write September 8th. Two years ago today I woke up beside my best friend after the final kegger of the summer, a basketball team tradition before the start of their season. My stomach knots at the memory of her back to me, blonde curls spilling over onto my pillow, tickling my face.

“Lily, your hair is so frustrating, chop it off,” I muttered, yanking my pillow away. I was expecting her typical “I’ll do the big cut if you do,” but instead I was met with silence. She was so quiet on our way back to the dorm from the kegger the night before.

“I feel like shit,” she’d mumbled.

“I bet you’ll start your period tomorrow,” I’d remarked optimistically. She’d just shrugged.

“Can I sleep with you?” Lily knew I was big on personal space but she looked so pathetic, I threw open my comforter and let her in.

“You better not get me sick bitch.”

I force myself to look up from my laptop and focus on my astronomy professor’s syllabus being projected on the large screen in front of me. Even now I can feel the cold slipperiness of Lily’s forehead from when I reached over to check her temperature that morning. I press my fingers together to warm them up, a familiar action as I’ve done it about fifty times a day for the past couple of years. I feel the burn in my throat, the one that never left from that morning where the paramedics had to drag me out of the room, my fingers gripping the door jam unable to accept that my best friend was dead. An unexplainable brain aneurysm. Lily’s mom fell to her knees upon receiving the news. I fell too and somehow still feel like I’m falling.

“Miss Beckett, so glad to have you back in my class,” Professor Daniels says cheerfully, handing me my syllabus and bringing me back to reality. “It’ll be great to have your perspective again this year, and that TA spot still stands,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. Even with the semester I took off freshman year, I still had one of the highest GPAs at Astor Hill. My teachers were gracious during that time of course, sending me work via email so I could keep up with my peers.

“Thank you, but I?—”

Before I have time to make up an excuse the door swings open with a loud creak and there stands William Chapman in all his glory. I can practically see Gen drool even three rows in front of me, her posture perking up ever so slightly.

I grab my bag from the seat beside me, smirking at Will sarcastically to signal him over. Professor Daniel’s takes this as his cue and moves to the row below, continuing to pass out the papers in his hands. Will plops down with a huff. Normally I would associate Will’s arrogant demeanor with sloppiness but his handsome face has the ability to overpower his most egregious actions. I would know.

“You’re late,” I hiss as he throws his arm over my shoulder, crossing one leg over the other. Will was there the night before Lily died. We exchanged numbers before Lily and I left the kegger and I saw him again at Lily’s funeral. Somehow he became a constant for me in what was the most tumultuous year of my life and I fell for him, hard. His shoulders are more broad than when we were freshman, his arm muscles accentuated in his navy Astor Hill polo, the sleeves stretched taut over his bicep.

Gen has completely turned in her seat now, fully facing Will and I, the desperation coming off her in waves. Will winks and I instantly seethe pulling away from him in my seat.

“C’mon I’m just humoring her,” Will whispers, pulling my arms in his lap.

“Why don’t you humor me by not flirting with any breathing specimen in a four foot radius, especially today,” I look down at my hands, my statement which started as sarcasm ending with sincerity.

“Do you always have to do this?” Will whispers. I can see the frustration in his eyes.

“Do what?” I ask, letting how pissed off I am ring through in my tone.

“Make today a whole thing.”

“Alright everyone make sure to sign your syllabus by 8 A.M. Wednesday and submit it to our online portal. If I don’t have it by then I’ll assume you want to be dropped,” Professor Daniels calls out over the first day of the semester hubbub. I stand up, turning toward Will and toss my MacBook in my Louis.

“You’re a bastard.” I start to push by him but he grabs my hips and pulls me in, my back still turned.

“I’m sorry, you’re just a lot every year on this day and you know I’m not good at handling these kinds of things. Look, let’s not fight today. It already sucks,” he says with his lips to my ear.

I glance around the room as I turn to face Will. I can feel the eyes on us; everyone knows Will’s name and by proxy everyone knows mine. I’m the youngest homecoming queen in Astor Hill’s history, the senior editor of the paper (under Ian of course), and I toyed with the idea of running for class president until Will shot that idea down.

“The whole school’s already in our business, I really don’t need more drama,” he’d said.

I look into Will’s thickly lashed eyes. He truly is beautiful, his skin bronze, his jaw hard and sharp.

“I will do my best to not let today get to me if you promise to at least be sensitive to how I’m feeling.”

He brings his forehead down to mine and smiles mischievously. “Deal.”

I expect him to kiss me but instead he proceeds to walk by me, smacking my ass on the way out. I’m slightly humiliated, but still feeling eyes on me, I force a smile and an eye roll as I grab my bag and leave the room. If anything, I know this argument is far from over.

We’re halfway across the courtyard when I hear Will huff out, “Fucking slow down, Olivia.”

I’m walking at breakneck speed, trying to put some much needed distance between us. I know why I’m on edge today, but the awareness does nothing to quell the irritation erupting in my chest.

I stop abruptly and spin around to face him.

“Slapping my ass? Right after I ask you to be sensitive to how I’m feeling? That’s fucking disgusting.”

“Jesus, Olivia. You take yourself too seriously.”

“You don’t take yourself seriously enough.” His face shifts, and I see his jaw tense. He grabs my arm and pulls me into the notoriously empty exterior hallway of Churchill Hall, perfect for getting into domestic disputes, apparently.

“What the fuck does that mean, Olivia?” His face is close enough to kiss, but I’m not sure that would stop the anger mounting in his glare. Knowing there’s no calming him, I double down.

“It means that your incessant galavanting around school with these simple whores is not just embarrassing for me, but for you. Do you think I haven’t seen you talking to the girls from the dance team? Or look at your relationship with Gen? You basically parade her in front of me at this point. Slapping my ass like I’m another trophy on your shelf— don’t you think the white, male misogynist is a little overplayed?”

I can’t tell if Will is angrier at my words or my bored tone. Sometimes I get the feeling he would prefer a girl who would immediately sob, apologizing profusely over a wrong she never committed. Unfortunately for Will, it takes a little more to get me to bend over.

“You think you’re just so fucking smart, Liv,” his tone is disgusted, as if the fact that I won’t play good little girlfriend for him revolts him. “Unfortunately, no one wants to fuck the know it all.”

I meet his eyes and give him a venomous grin.

“Interesting. You do.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes, then looks into mine, the anger simmering down.

“I apologize for slapping your ass…” he says with one hand on his heart.

I roll my eyes. This is typical for Will and I. We get into these explosive arguments and then quickly move on from them, like an endless cycle.

Will’s eyes catch on something behind me and he lets out a low whistle. I turn just as three seemingly freshman girls walk toward us escorted by Andrew, the basketball team’s self proclaimed player. Andy is handsome; he’s from California and looks every bit like he grew up on the West Coast with his sandy blonde hair and deep tan, but his bad boy attitude is overplayed and honestly a bit obnoxious.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I violently whisper, looking back at Will.

He looks down as if remembering that I’m still standing directly in front of him and gives me a cocky smirk and winks at me. I narrow my eyes at him now simmering with rage.

“Fuck you, Will.” I move to leave.

“Come on, Liv,” he gently grabs my wrist in an attempt to keep me there.

“Let go,” I whisper shout and yank my wrist away causing me to fall backward into what feels like a brick wall. A brick wall that also has arms, that are now steadying me.

I turn to see who just caught me from completely embarrassing myself and my mind goes blank. I imagine this is the reaction I would have had as a girl meeting my celebrity crush. I feel… starstruck. I scan his face. He’s definitely not famous. In fact, I’ve never seen him before.

He’s tall— like towers over me. Taller than Will, which is saying something. His dark wavy hair is tousled in a way that shows he has good personal hygiene, but isn’t staring at himself for too long. Dark lashes frame his eyes which are so brown they feel like a bottomless pit, and maybe they are, because I’m having trouble looking away. I feel warmth rising up my neck.

What the fuck is going on with me?

He raises his eyebrows seemingly wondering the same thing.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep and masculine in a way that makes my stomach drop.

His voice sounds alarm bells in my mind, and I literally feel my defenses fly up. Before I even think about what I’m saying, “Fuck off” is already out of my mouth.