Chapter Twelve #2
I resist the urge to preemptively apologize for the publicity. Cecilia said it was fine. It was fine, right?
Ms. Dimitriou taps the paper. “I like this.”
I keep breathing slowly, searching her face for signs of sarcasm.
“It reflects well on us,” she says. “Our newest student and our most famous one, playing a game together and looking happy and at ease. Good sportsmanship. Friendly competition. Business and art, working together. It’s obviously a spontaneous shot, which makes it even better.
The board will be asking Isolde’s permission to use it. ”
My heart rate slows a little, though I’m still wary.
She continues, “You’ve fit in remarkably well, Liliana. I’ll admit, I was concerned. You’re quiet and studious, and you come from a very different background, but the fact you’ve assimilated is both a credit to you and, I believe, to our school.”
She folds her hands on the desk. “You know that Optima hopefuls must formally commit to the competition on March first. Which is tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Theo already has said he plans to commit, as have Natalia and Cosmo, but you have not, and the Optimas wish to know if you’re avoiding it because of Theo.”
“No, ma’am. I do intend to formally declare with the others tomorrow.”
Which is true. I just haven’t said it until now, because I haven’t told Cecilia, and I don’t want her finding out from someone else. But my new commitment to do better by Cecilia means I need to tell her first.
A quick smile. “Excellent. I would hate to think a promising young woman would refrain from competing with a boy.”
“Theo supports me running.”
She leans back in her chair. “Good for him. I always worry when one of our art students is the lead contender. They can lack a competitive edge.”
“Theo doesn’t. Neither do I.”
“Excellent. I’ll tell the Optimas. They were hoping to video-conference with you. Does eight this evening work?”
My mouth goes dry, but I nod. “Of course.”
—
I’m not freaking out. Really not freaking out. Also trying not to be a little pissed that Theo didn’t warn me, but it turns out that he’s never video-conferenced with the Optimas.
“I know a bunch of them, though,” he says. “And they know me.”
“I’m an unknown quantity, and they want to remedy that.”
“Apparently. You’ll need to prepare.”
“Already on it. I’m going to take lunch off and work in the library, doing research. Same during study hours.”
“Have dinner with me. Table for two. I’ll quiz and prep you.” He grips my shoulder. “You’ve got this, Lil.”
I hope so.
—
The video conference feels like one of those “informal” job interviews that isn’t informal at all. Every question—right down to “I hear you’re a reader? What’s the last book you read?”—is another nugget they can dissect for meaning.
Of the twenty-one active members, sixteen are on the call.
Half stay off-camera. That includes Bernard Dubois and Marilyn Perez-Moreno, two people I would have liked to meet.
My grandparents are also Optimas, but I’ve been warned they won’t be there.
Last week, they sent a care package from France, the sort of generic basket you might ask your PA to assemble for the teenage daughter of an important client.
There wasn’t even a note attached. I’ve decided I don’t give a shit, even if I kinda do.
As the interrogation—sorry, meeting—winds down, an older woman says, “It is so good to see you pursuing Westdale Optima, Liliana. It seems only fitting, when your mother was so close to joining us.”
I hesitate. “I thought my mother didn’t run for Westdale Optima.”
The woman smiles. “Of course she did, dear. She was the lead contender.”
That’s not what Mom’s journal says, but I return the smile. “Then I hope to join in her place, however belatedly.”
One of the men speaks up. “You thought your mother didn’t run. Why is that? Did she say something?”
“No, I just…I heard something that I must have misunderstood.”
“What did she say about Westdale?” he presses.
“Nothing.” I give a rueful smile. “I never even knew she went here. But I’m proud to think I’m following in her footsteps.”
“Following in her footsteps and filling her substantial shoes,” the first woman pipes up. “We are delighted to have a Chamberlain in the running again. Is there anything you wanted to ask us?”
So much, but I only smile and say, “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of questions, but I’m hoping I won’t need to bother you with them.”
—
I’d planned to call Cecilia tomorrow, but I can’t risk her finding out that I spoke to the Optimas.
I still kind of chicken out by texting the news instead, which gives her a chance to formulate a reply before we talk.
Or that’s the theory; her response is “call me now!” So I do and she’s furious, but when I ask what her concerns are, she doesn’t seem to have any beyond not wanting me to “waste” my time.
I gently but firmly tell her it’s mine to waste, and we go back and forth for a while before she acknowledges that it’s also my decision to make. And we leave it at that.
—
A week later, it’s a Tuesday and I’m in the library with Isolde.
We’re past the tutoring stage, but we’ve continued hanging out for study period several days a week.
It’s one of the few times we can be together without others, and I think we both appreciate that.
I like hanging out with Theo and Maddox, but I also crave female friendships, and while Polly is great, she’s busy with her career and usually only engages in group activities.
And Allegra, being Allegra, doesn’t “hang out.” Which is all fine, because Isolde is more my speed, where we can just chill and chat and get to know each other.
We’re supposed to be working on math, but we both whipped through the practice quiz, so we’re quietly talking.
I’m sitting in the usual way I sit in the library armchairs—sideways. Isolde is on her back, legs stretched up the wall, red hair fanned out on the floor.
As we talk, she’s flipping through social media, and when she holds out a picture, I recognize it from a dozen movie posters. Theo’s Mom, Trinity Nilsen.
“Can you imagine this being your mother?” she says.
No shade on my actual mom, but I get what she means. What would it be like to have one of the world’s most recognizable faces for a mom?
“She’s gorgeous,” I say. “It’s her bone structure. Theo has some of it.”
“So unfair. Perfect bone structure should only go to girls. Like a genetic law.”
“I don’t know. I kinda like it on Theo.”
She laughs softly. “I get that. He isn’t remotely my type, but I find myself just staring, you know? Like at a painting. He should be an asshole, though. Again, it’s like a law. Totally unfair that he isn’t.”
“I like that, too.”
She smiles backward at me. “Part of me wants beautiful people to be assholes, for balance, but it’s actually a relief when they aren’t.” She looks at the photo. “They’re talking about what Trinity will wear to the Quartz Gala.” She sighs. “I’m never going to that.”
“The only invitation I’ll get is a request for sponsorship.”
“But you could wrangle an invite with the sponsorship.” She glances over at me. “Make me a promise?”
“That you can be my plus-one? Sure.”
“No, just include me on the list when you throw big bashes on your billionaire yacht.”
I laugh. “Can you see me on a yacht?”
“A small one. Discreet but luxurious. I can definitely see you there, being the perfect hostess, drumming up donations for some cause while Theo charms guests into donating even more. Polly is there, getting it all on socials. Allegra’s lounging on some distant deck chair, pretending she’s so over all of us, while keeping an eye on us from her perch. ”
I smile at her. “And you’re snapping photos?”
“It’d be nice.”
“For a gallery? Or a high-end magazine?”
“Both. First, though, I have to convince my parents not to murder me for ditching a”—she air quotes—“real career.”
“Ugh.”
“I do not want to go home this weekend. Love my parents, but my brother will be there. Tristan is the perfect example of a dutiful son. I hate him.”
“Wait. His name’s Tristan? Like Tristan and—”
Her hands shoot up. “Yes. Okay? My parents named us after the opera…where Tristan and Isolde are a couple. I think they just liked the names. Luckily, most people don’t make the connection. Thanks for the reminder, though.” She mock glares at me.
“Can you get out of going home while he’s there? Make up an excuse?” I tap the textbook lying beside me. “Homework.”
“My parents already tell me I do too much homework. My grades are fine, they say. It’s the social stuff I need to work on. Why even send me to an Ivy League school if I can’t network?”
I lift my head. “Can’t network? Your friends are Allegra Khan, Polly Reeves, and Theo Dubois. You’re a Lilith.”
She sighs. “I made the mistake of talking about Allegra in the first term. My parents decided she’s ‘not a real friend.’ Same as Theo.”
An idea forms. “Cecilia wanted me staying put for a while, but I’ve been here over a month, and I really want to go out. What if you had plans with me?”
A long pause.
“Or not,” I say. “Maybe something else?”
“No, I was just hesitating because…Well, my parents may have, uh, mentioned you. They know who your grandparents are and…ugh.” She rubs her eyes. “This is creepy, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. If they’d rather you didn’t associate with me, we won’t tell them.”
“Rather I didn’t…?” She flips over and stares at me. Then she laughs. “Wow. I said that all wrong. I mean they’ve been bugging me about you. They know you’re a Lilith, and they’ve wanted to know if we’re friends, which they would freaking love. That’s why it’s creepy. And embarrassing.”
“They do know we’re friends though, right?”
She glances away. “I’ve said we hang out. I didn’t want to presume anything.”
“I consider you a friend, Isolde.”
A shy look. “Thank you. But, yes, if you and I were doing something together, they’d totally let me stay here for the weekend.
Love them, but they are networkers. So where would we go?
Oh! Let’s look up the entertainment listings for Savannah.
” She grabs her phone and then stops. “I don’t have a car. ”
“I do.” I shrug. “Part of the new heiress package, apparently.”
She grins. “That is awesome. Let’s see what’s going on in the city. We’ll ask for passes tomorrow.”
—
Cecilia vetoes the night out with Isolde. Even an afternoon out, to see a movie or something, is off the table. I’m furious and humiliated, and we argue, but the problem with communicating by phone is that it’s easy for her to duck out of the conversation, which she does.
I apologize profusely to Isolde, who waves it off and pretends that she doesn’t really mind going home, but I can still tell it stung, and that hurts.