Chapter 24 #2
All I know is that I can’t take it anymore.
I didn’t want to come here and start again: I wanted to stay in New York and take the rap for my actions.
My own mother wouldn’t let me—and what kind of lame excuse does that sound like?
Why didn’t I go to the cops the same night I realized what she was planning and turn myself in?
Why did I convince myself that she’d do the right thing, at least until I knew what she actually had in mind?
How could I have known that taking responsibility was the last thing on her mind?
Because if your name’s Fantino, there’s no such thing as taking responsibility.
All you have is your name, which has to be kept clean, whatever the cost. And in this case, the cost is my peace of mind.
But if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that my name is the only thing connecting me to my mother.
I’m not like her, even if she keeps trying, again and again, to convince me that I am.
I wouldn’t do anything for money and power; I don’t let people slip under the bus if I can help it, let alone throw them under.
I tell the truth if the truth needs to be told, and for fuck’s sake, this is the time to prove it.
But I don’t want to. I just don’t want to, because it’ll mean Olive finding out who I really am. And whatever it is that’s grown between us in the last couple weeks, I’m not sure it would survive that. Or if I’d survive that.
I tried to fight it, but now Olive Garden, with the furious green eyes, is the person I look at and feel that my heart wants to be with.
She got under my skin, she drove me crazy, and then she lay in my arms, crying, while I couldn’t breathe.
Nobody can expect to have an experience like that and not be affected by it.
Olive Henderson has done something to me.
And every time I think about the next few months, I’m thinking about her.
I’m not thinking about New York anymore; I’m thinking about everything here, even though I still hate it, but also kind of don’t.
It’s stressing me out, especially when I realize I’ll lose all this once the truth gets out.
The fire in the west wing must have changed this school—I know that even though I haven’t been here long.
Maybe it used to be more chill. No furtive glances and hushed voices when Olive walked down a corridor or sat out a competition.
She must have been part of everything and wiped the floor with everyone.
Back when she could swim and wasn’t so mad.
Though I bet she was always getting mad.
I haven’t known her long, but I’m pretty sure that’s a genuine personality trait. Hey, I’m talking from experience.
Shit, I don’t want anyone to hurt her, and I hate myself for being the guy who’ll do that when I tell her the truth.
I shut my eyes for a moment, then walk back to the school from my favorite bench by this lake.
It’s gotten cold, but this is one of the few places I can be alone.
I actually managed not to pick up the lighter for the entire weekend.
I can feel the pressure building, but then I flash back to the panic in Olive’s face when she burst into my room and screamed What are you doing?
at me. Hopefully she didn’t figure it out.
Or, worse still, tell anyone. God, I’m a monster, but maybe I ought to tell her the truth and make clear to her that she can’t give me away.
Ava Fantino thinks she knows it all, but she doesn’t have a fucking clue how much of a problem I have here.
Let alone Dad—he’d have to show up at home for that.
And I’ve always been careful around Cleo, obviously.
Nobody has any idea, and it has to stay that way.
It’s ironic that part of me still thinks I do this fucked-up shit to get attention when I never tell a soul.
I know that’s not healthy. But I can’t face dealing with it. Not now. Sometime . . . but not now.
And now it’s Monday again, and I see Olive at the morning assembly.
I can tell immediately that she’s been crying, and I fight the urge to stand up and go to her.
Olive keeps her head down and walks quickly past the groups of kids still hanging around the auditorium.
She heads straight for the lower-sixth row and doesn’t deign to look at me, which hurts like hell.
She doesn’t look up until she’s taken a seat as far from me as possible, which makes me clench my fists. And it’s like our eyes have no choice but to meet instantly. There’s no other option.
She looks at me, and I recognize so much in that look that I gasp. Disappointment, pain, longing.
Damn it.
Over the last two days, I’ve had plenty of time to think about what my behavior made her feel, but in this second, it hits me like a knockout punch.
I walked away. She told me what happened to her, and I turned around and left her alone.
She trusted me, she started to tell me things, and I gave her the feeling that her secrets were safe with me.
And they are, nothing’s changed there, but I’m dead certain she’d never have done it if she knew who I was.
Before I know what I’m doing, I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head.
My lips form the words “I’m sorry,” and Olive’s face freezes.
She turns away and I want to die. Seriously.
I feel sick as she puts on a smile and others in our form fill the seats between us.
Olive doesn’t look at me again. She chats to Elain, laughs, and I get the feeling I’m supposed to see that she’s not fazed.
That she had a good weekend, doesn’t give a shit what I do, and that I can’t hurt her.
Nobody can hurt her, not after what she’s been through.
The doors to the auditorium shut, and I feel totally helpless.
It’s Monday, so full uniform is compulsory. I find that as ridiculous as ever, but even I get goose bumps when we all stand up and Mrs. Sinclair steps up to the lectern. She nods, and we all sit down again.
“Good morning, everyone. I hope you’ve had a good weekend and that you’re ready for the week ahead.
” Her eyes roam over the lines of seats.
“It’s a long way off yet, but I would like to use this assembly to tell you about the plans for our school’s centenary celebrations.
You all know, of course, that they had to be postponed until next year, and now I’m happy to be able to give you more details.
The whole of June will be focused on the anniversary, culminating with the official festivities just before the summer holidays. ”
The others start to whisper and murmur, but I feel numb. I don’t have to ask why the celebrations were delayed. How ironic that the school nearly burned down on its hundredth birthday. Everyone goes quiet as Mrs. Sinclair continues.
“I am happy and proud that, after the awful events of the summer, I can now lead Dunbridge Academy into this special occasion at full strength. The centenary committee has been working hard on the plans for weeks now, and I would very much like to thank them all, on behalf of the whole staff, for their dedication. It’s lovely to see you getting involved in the life of our school and all the effort you’re putting into making this an unforgettable event.
And let’s face it, a hundred and first birthday is an even more special occasion, isn’t it? ”
I sit motionless as the others laugh and nod. What’s more special about that? It would have been nicer if there hadn’t been a fire here and if Olive hadn’t gotten hurt. I don’t dare look in her direction.
I don’t get up the courage until Mrs. Sinclair starts talking about minor details of the week ahead.
Olive’s braid falls over her shoulder, giving me a glimpse of her slender neck, and now I can’t stop thinking about her collarbone.
The scars on her shoulder. I don’t want to make a big deal of that because obsessing over perfect bodies and dumb beauty ideals and all that is total bullshit, but the story behind the scars won’t let go of me.
That, and the fact that she hides them. OK, it’s fall, and I’m not one to talk.
I always pull my cuffs way down over my wrists to cover everything.
It’s totally fucked up. At this moment, Olive looks at me like she felt my eyes on her.
And her face is softer. I stop hearing what the principal says, I forget that there’s even anyone else here.
I sit in my seat and can’t stop looking at her.
She swallows, her jaw muscles working, and all I want is to go to her, to apologize for everything.
She deserves the truth, even if it’ll break her.
I can’t stand it any longer. Lying all the goddamn time.
And even if I know I ought to keep my distance from her, I can’t fight the attraction I still feel.
A thing like that can’t just vanish overnight.
I want to be close to her. I want to be the guy who makes sure she’s doing fine—not the one who does the opposite.
But I can’t. I can never be that guy, not after everything that’s happened.
I feel sick as the others stream out of the hall after assembly.
Olive stands up right away and disappears into the crowd. I push my way through, muttering “Excuse me” as I go, then start to run. I don’t find her until I get outside.
“Hey.” I’m sure she hears me because I see her jump, then pick up speed. “Olive!”
“What?” she snarls, spinning around. There’s a suspicious glitter in her huge catlike eyes, and I stop abruptly. Too close to her, but she doesn’t step back. She juts her chin like she always does, but today she can’t hide how she’s feeling. And I suddenly lose the ability to speak.
I can only face her, fighting the need to take a step closer to her. And to hug her. Like I ought to have done Friday.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice is no more than a croak.
“Stop it,” she replies. “Just stop it.”
“No. This is truly important so let me speak.” The pain in her face makes my breath catch. “I’m sorry that I walked away,” I repeat.
“So you should be,” she whispers.
“And I . . . I’d take it back if I could.”
“But you can’t.”
“I know, I . . .”
“No, you don’t get it.” There are tears in her eyes now. “I can’t bloody deal with this. I just need to be left alone. I just want a bit of peace. Is that really too much to ask?”
“What’s happened?” I ask, because I’m suddenly certain that something must have. I definitely hurt her on Friday, but Olive is too strong for it to have knocked her sideways like this.
I’m sure I’m right when she chews her bottom lip and goes to turn away. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach for her. It’s her right shoulder, and seeing her flinch is like a punch in the guts. I let go at once.
“They’re splitting up,” she blurts before I can start apologizing again. “No, that’s not true. They split up ages ago. They just kept playing at happy family so that I wouldn’t notice.” Her voice breaks and it’s obvious who she means. But I ask anyway. God knows why.
“Your parents?”
“They’re getting a divorce,” she says, so stiffly that it frightens me. “We discussed everything over the weekend. It was dire, Colin.”
I put my arms around her. I don’t just hear her sobs, I feel them. The pain shaking her body. I hold her tight and all I can think is: Fuck.
Her parents are splitting up, her family isn’t a family anymore, and I’m the one she wants to tell.
Me. After everything that’s happened. And how the fuck am I supposed to tell her what I did now?
That I’m not the guy she thinks I am. That she’d never want me to hold her if she knew the truth.
I should let go of her and tell her. It’s the right thing to do, because the longer I leave it, the harder it’ll be.
I’ve learned that much in the last few weeks. But I can’t.
“You told your dad?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t help it.” She sniffs. “But he already knew. He . . . he wasn’t fazed, and I’ve spent months feeling like crap because I’ve been keeping secrets from him.” I flinch slightly and pray she doesn’t notice. “He’s met another woman.”
“Wow,” I say quietly, because I have to respond somehow.
So this whole business is way more fucked up than I thought.
I can see why it’s sucker punched her. Her father isn’t the innocent she took him to be.
Which could actually be a good thing—nobody has to get hurt, they’re even—but obviously nobody would see it that way when it’s their own parents.
Least of all Olive, who was so tortured about not telling her dad.
I should say something, something comforting, but all I can think is how not good this all is. That if I just stand here now and tell her the truth, the way I planned, I’ll tip her over the edge.
Shit, that sucks. But Olive, there’s something else . . . Yeah, I set my school in New York on fire, and oh, yeah, somebody died. Thought you might wanna know before you tell me anything else about your life.
So I don’t speak. I’m the world’s biggest coward, and I just can’t do it.
I want to be the one she comes to when the ground crumbles beneath her.
It’s fucking selfish, but I can’t help it.
I shut my eyes; I hold her tight. And then, despite knowing I’m seriously going to regret this, I make my choice.
I say nothing.