Chapter 16
16
I slide in to stand at a bench beside Clara, just in time to say the last line of the Latin prayer at dinner.
“…ut iis sobrie, modeste atque grate utamur, per Jesum Christum Dominum Nostrum, Amen.” My eyes flick to the College Principal. He’s eyeing me back with distaste. If I had arrived a moment later, the College might have turned me away and I would have had to write a hard-copy apology letter for my tardiness. The principal turns away and I let out a breath of relief as we sit.
Clara tucks her sleek blond hair behind her ear. “Where have you been? I tried texting you.” She scans my person, obviously catching my tangled hair and academic robe thrown hastily on over my rumpled pencil skirt. I’ve lost my fascinator somewhere. “Were you mugged or something?”
My eyes skitter down the long wooden table, lit by lamps. I see several of our compatriots along the tables—Irina and David Jinesh chat amiably across from us. The rowing twins are at the other long table in the narrow, but exquisitely tall and ornate hall. It takes a long moment to find Kendall seated toward the head of our table. Alone. Petulant. He looks mussed too, his short robe—undergraduate robes are shorter, like vests, compared to the floor length ones of graduate students—potentially inside out. “I, ah, I tripped in the library.”
Clara’s eyes dart between me and Kendall, as if sensing my thoughts. And I decide I need to head this off at the pass. I turn to her abruptly. “If I tell you something, do you swear you won’t pass it along?”
Again, her eyes dart down the table to Kendall, and my stomach swoops. Finally, she nods. “Sure.”
I don’t know what possesses me to trust her. Maybe it’s just that since arriving here at Oxford, she’s the one piece of home, of normal, that I have. She hasn’t been rude or mean. She’s as lost as I am and I’m taking a chance here, but I want to bury the hatchet. I could use a proper friend in this. And it means trusting her with sensitive information, even if I’m doing it to redirect her suspicions that I have, indeed, been making out with her One True Love. Again.
“I was in the library because I found out that my grandfather went here. To Oxford.”
Shock registers in her eyes, and she doesn’t break my gaze, even as we sit back to allow the soup course to be served in front of us. “Wait, your grandfather went here? And you didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “I did not know. In fact, he forbade me from coming. I suspect I’m only here because he passed away while I was in high school, otherwise I think my father would have upheld his wishes.” I look up at the ceiling, wondering how much to divulge. “The money for my college—any college—comes from my grandfather. My parents can’t afford to send me anywhere, much less an Ivy League or a school abroad. Because I got a scholarship here…” I trail off. Had I gotten a scholarship offer because of my grandfather? “It was either Oxford or community college at home. Maybe State school.”
Clara slowly sips her soup, then nods. “That’s a lot to process. My family was against me coming as well. Although I suspect my mom is proud of me for getting in, my dad thinks this is a waste of money. He wanted me to go to his alma mater. And honestly, Oxford is probably wasted on me. I love learning, but I don’t have a passion for one specific area.”
I frown, trying to put together my thoughts. “Did anyone in your family go to Oxford? Maybe our scholarship is a family thing. Like something they offer to all children and grandchildren of graduates.
“Nope. My mom went to Penn State and my dad went to Yale on a soccer scholarship.”
“Your grandparents?”
She thinks a moment. “My grandpa went to Yale, and my grandma never went at all. She was the quintessential society wife.” A small smile touches her lips, and I gather that her relationship with her grandmother is wonderful. “They still live on the East Coast. We spend our summers with them. I can tell that my grandmother is thrilled I’m here. She’s the only one who seems happy. For everyone else, I was going to college to get a degree I wouldn’t use, and then get married.”
It’s my turn to frown. “Don’t you have sisters?”
“A sister and a brother. I’m the baby of the family. My sister is in law school at Yale, and my brother is starting his first year of medical school at Michigan State.”
I whistle. “Impressive.”
She looks away and down. “Yeah.” She says it like she’s said it a million times.
Welp, that shoots that theory in the foot. And yet, I can’t shake the thought that there is a connection between my grandfather attending Oxford and the mysterious scholarship offer I received from a fraternity he was a part of.
“So, did you fall off a ladder at the library?”
My eyes snap up to where she’s eating her soup with a slow and steady pace. “What?”
“You said you fell in the library.”
“Ah.” Dammit, I was hoping we’d avoid circling back to this. I want to tell her, I want to confess everything to her so badly. But how does one talk about problematic hate-fueled make-out sessions when one knows the other person is in love with the make-outee? “I was looking through a yearbook, and Kendall showed up. He tried to take the book from me. We…we got in a fight over the book.”
She blinks. “A fight?”
Shoving down every memory of that moment, I nod. It’s as close to the truth as I’m willing to get to. “An honest to God, knockdown fight. We both ended up on the floor. He ended up with the book and left the library to keep me from reading more, the bastard.” All true. “Apparently, he knew about my grandfather and said nothing. It just adds to all of this weirdness.”
This time, when Clara turns to eye Kendall, it’s with suspicion. “That is very odd, I agree.” She bites her lip. “He’s a much different person here than at home.”
I nod, not sure exactly what to say. “I never knew him well, but I agree.”
She snorts. “If you would have told Clara of last year that her boyfriend was the prefect of a secret society at Oxford college, I absolutely would not have believed you. He seemed normal. Talked about going to law school, but in the same way we all talk about maybe going to school for something. He rarely talked about his dad. I met him twice in three years, at Christmas. Honestly, I thought his mom was a widow for almost an entire year. Kendall did everything he could to keep me from his family. I always thought they were super religious, but now…”
I stare at my soup. Around us, quiet conversation sparkles. Except I feel like Clara and I are sitting in a black hole, sucking all the joy out of an otherwise fun evening. I can’t even enjoy the excellent food. I allow the server to take my soup, untouched, then scan the room again. No sign of the gorgeous boy from the All Souls choir. He must not actually be a Univ student, which solidifies my suspicion that he’s connected with All Saints. He’d attended that orientation not as an upperclassman from my college, but as a helper so that I would find the secret room.
“You know,” Clara says thoughtfully, more to herself than to me, “he was always weird about you. Did you guys have something going on? In high school? He always seemed so focused on icing you out in particular. It used to drive me crazy, thinking that you’d broken his heart or something.”
The insane burst of laughter that escapes my mouth, along with drooling on myself, serves as a simple reminder of why Kendall Saint James will never, ever, love me. “Definitely never broke his heart. We hated each other. Hated.” I drew out the last word. “Haven’t you ever heard of nemesises? Nemesii? I don’t know the pluralization. He is my nemesis. He not only iced me out, he actively tried to sink my fundraisers, and he turned half of the student council against me. Even if my ideas were the very best, no one ever sided with me. He took down all my posters for my Animal Friends Alliance adoption event, and got me in trouble with the front office, because I hadn’t filled out the right flyer paperwork. Hated me.” Remembering all the ways he’d undermined my efforts over the years has my insides running red hot again.
She regards me for a moment before swinging her bag over her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I was awful to you in high school. I gave his opinion too much power over me, and I shouldn’t have let it. You are really nice, and I’d like to start over and be friends. Real friends.”
My mouth falls open. “I uh, wow. Um, thanks.”
She gives me a small smile. “I am really glad I have someone to share this really weird stuff with.”
Something inside my chest thaws a little. College has already changed both of us. This feels like an almost adult, mature moment. I couldn’t quite say I’m glad that we’re sharing whatever this weird thing was, but I wouldn’t want to be doing it alone either.
“Can I ask a favor?” she asks, as they serve our duck breast as the main course.
“Sure,” I answer, leaning back to allow the server to place my plate.
“Let’s promise to tell each other everything. It will be nice having someone I can tell the truth to, and who will be honest with me. Friends do that, right?”
My soul sinks in my body, even as I manage a nod. “Yes. Of course. Friends are honest with each other.” And I mean it, I want Clara as a friend and ally more than anything. But. My eyes wander of their own accord to Kendall. We’ll be honest with each other about everything except that.
Looks like my double life as a liar starts tonight.
The music building is surprisingly modern inside, and I love the cozy feel of it. It has high ceilings in the entry, carved with gorgeous inlaid wood. But once you're in the building proper, it's blessedly human-scale and functional. I wave to the front admin woman and grab a key to a practice room. We've been seeing a lot of each other over the past few days. I’ve been hiding out in the music building this week trying to avoid Kendall and the library like the plague. Tonight I’m squeezing in a quick practice session before I have volunteer duty at a cocktail party. I’m starting to think that my entrance into All Saints depends on how much I can recall my one summer of customer service working at a restaurant downtown.
I hook a left, down a dark hallway and into a the main space, filled with individual sound-sealed rooms. "Please let me find one where the last occupant didn't have BO," I mutter to myself as I heft my bag to the side and free my arm to use the key.
The door opens with a slight hiss, like the sound of a ziplock container opening. The smell of old sheet music greets my nose. I take an appreciative huff and close the door behind me. This smell and I have become friends too. It's as intoxicating to me as cologne. I wonder if it runs in my blood. Maybe my grandfather huffed old paper in his time, and we could have bonded over it.
I plunk myself down on the piano, rummage in my bag and produce my school issued iPad. It doesn't take long to cue up Lux Aurumque alto part on YouTube. As always happens here, I enter a time vortex. Before long, I'm lost in the music, a feeling of peace coming over me. The act of singing is soothing to my body, and I love the way my voice joins with the other parts. I forget my worries about tonight, about Clara and Kendall, and about anticipating my next ASC test.
The song ends, and I open my eyes, intent on moving on to another piece. Which is when I come face to face with someone on the other side of the glass and I scream.