Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Scarlett
“The Dalton Royals are coming apart at the seams before our very eyes. And Coach Kilner? If he can’t clinch the playoff berth he’s built his reputation on, the king might start looking a lot more like the court jester.”
Ever since Dylan Donovan got suspended, Dad hasn’t been keeping his cool.
“If these idiots are so damn smart, they should become coaches,” Dad mutters.
I reach over to turn the volume all the way down. “It’s seven a.m., Dad. The last thing anyone needs is you being pissed off so early.”
“Good call. So how’s the study group? Your mom told me you started tutoring some athlete.”
My heart stops. “Uh, yeah, he needs help with his senior-level course.”
“Anyone I know?”
I sigh. “Dad.”
“Okay, okay.”
I stare out the window to hide my burning face.
He drops me off at Porter’s. I’ve decided to squeeze in some time to study, and a burger. Going to the library sounds like too much when my brain’s gone awry. Except I still have to log into the study group video call.
Everyone’s already there, waving through their webcams, but I notice Kian’s camera’s off. That might be a good thing. I mute myself and continue studying.
But I realize pretty soon it’s hard to study or eat when the only thing you’ve been thinking about all weekend is your six-foot-two hockey-player tutee. The thought of resting my hands on his hard shoulders and letting my body press against his might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
Giving up, I stand to pack my things and head to the dorm. When I’ve finally convinced myself that I can still focus, Kian walks into Porter’s, gaze homed in on me.
He’s wearing a backward hat, a Dalton Royals T-shirt that’s stretched too tightly across his chest and is too short, barely covering that V that leads down into his black jeans.
“What are you doing here?”
“Came looking for you.”
I look around. “How’d you even know I was here?”
“The study group. I could recognize Porter’s anywhere,” he says. “I didn’t know you liked to come here.”
“Like?” Scott, the owner, laughs when he overhears. He lifts a few boxes onto a dolly. “The girl comes in here so often I’m thinking of selling her the photo booth.”
Kian stares between us. “Photo booth?”
I point at it. “It’s like a memory. I take a picture every time I hit a milestone. I’ve been doing it since I was little.”
“What’s the milestone today, kid?” Scott asks.
“Can’t a girl just get a burger?” I say.
“I have a milestone.”
I glance back at Kian just as Scott steps away to wheel the boxes of alcohol to the back. “You do?”
“We did it!” he shouts. “I got a B minus on my assignment!”
I gasp. One instant both of my feet are on the ground, and in the next, Kian’s lifting me in his arms, spinning me around.
“That’s amazing, Kian!”
“I know. Thanks to you.” He still has his arms around me. “No way I could’ve done it without you.”
“No, it was all you. You’re way smarter than you give yourself credit for,” I say, and then for good measure, “nerd.”
He barks out a laugh. “I totally am a nerd now, aren’t I? We should celebrate.”
“Do you know what nerds do when they get a good grade?” I ask him.
“Get drunk and eat bottomless wings at Porter’s?”
“They study to get an even better grade next time.”
Kian groans. “I’m trying to pass the course, not be an honor student. Come on, Scar, you gotta celebrate with me. Tonight? One drink, one order of wings. It’ll be quick.”
“You just said the wings are bottomless,” I say, taking my laptop and heading over to my quiet study room. “Besides, don’t you want to celebrate with your actual friends?”
His brows pinch together. “You are my friend.”
It’s juvenile, but the way that sentence spills into my chest like warm milk makes me want to blow off class and do whatever he wants.
“How about we study for an hour and then we celebrate? My treat,” he says.
He’s got that look again. Man, it’s gotta be some sort of kryptonite. “One whole hour, and I’ll treat you to wings. You deserve it.”
Kian pulls out his phone, checking the time. Then he turns to his textbook, and when he opens it, a paper falls out.
“Oh, I almost forgot. This is yours.” He picks up the envelope from the floor and holds it out to me.
I recognize the slightly ripped and yellowing paper immediately, and the smile drops off my face. My heart thumps in a slow, nearly lifeless rhythm.
The purposely misspelled opener, Deer Dad in my handwriting, peeks out of the top of the envelope. I snatch it out of his hand so quickly, Kian startles at the sudden movement.
“Y-you…how long did you have this?” I can’t stop my chest from heaving or my breaths from growing shallow.
Two slow blinks before he says, “Since our second session, I think? I didn’t realize I had it until I was studying and it was wedged into my textbook.”
Okay. That’s fine. Not like he stole it. It was a mistake.
“Thanks,” I mutter, a little harsher than I intend as I shove it into my bag.
I try to calm my breathing, hoping he didn’t notice the way my chest started to heave.
My mouth is dry and my throat feels tight and parched all at once.
It’s like having your entire life on display by opening up your every thought for the world to see.
No one should see that, and it feels like a near miss that I somehow avoided it.
I’ve spent four years in this school without a single soul finding out about my biological dad being in prison.
That isn’t the kind of story I want to follow me around.
“If you ever wanted to talk about it, I’m here, you know.” Kian’s gaze hasn’t left mine, silently watching the spiral I’d just been going down. And then his words hit me.
No. No. That look on his face, sympathetic and soft like he finally understands, feels all wrong. He’s supposed to be grinning, those eyes sparkling, untouchable and careless. Not this. And certainly not directed at me.
I feign indifference. “What do you mean?”
“About your dad. If you need someone—”
I stand so abruptly, I knock my knee against the table, shaking the utensils. “You…you read it?”
For the first time since he started talking, I think it’s finally dawned on him that he did something wrong. “I didn’t mean to, but I wasn’t sure whose it was and then I opened it and—”
“You read it. You read my letter.”
“I found it in…”
I don’t hear the rest of his explanation because my ears start ringing, my face burning from the embarrassment of him reading what I wrote.
He knows. I grab my bag, stuffing my notebooks inside and pulling my phone off the charger. I can’t do it. I can’t stand here and take someone’s interpretation of my life.
“Scar,” Kian calls in a mix of fear and disbelief, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
My jacket’s shoved in my bag, and I don’t bother putting it on even as I walk out of Porter’s and step into the downpour.
There are heavy footsteps behind me, but I can’t find it in me to stop or even turn around when he calls my name.
I’m only halfway across the quad when he catches up to me.
He continues to walk beside me, not touching me or pulling me to stop like I expect him to.
Even now, when he’s desperate for me to listen, he doesn’t force me to do anything.
“That was stupid. I shouldn’t have done that. I fucked up, Scar.”
I don’t say anything. He knows.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I even thought it was okay for me to look at that letter and then bring it up to you,” he speaks louder over the rain. “Do anything you want. Get even.”
I scoff and stop so suddenly he’s still walking before he realizes. “It’s not about getting even, Kian.”
His shoulders fall so suddenly, I’m surprised he doesn’t crumble all at once.
“I can’t do this right now. I’ll find you a tutor to make up for what I missed today.”
His face falls. “You won’t tutor me?”
I can’t look at him right now. “I don’t want this to be more complicated than it is. I think we can call it.”
“Call what?”
“You and me. Whatever this was. We’re even. You got what you wanted, right?”
“I upset you” is all he says.
“I’ll be fine.”
I don’t hear the rest of his words because I take off again. This time he doesn’t follow me.
I’m soaked by the time I get to the dorm, and so is the stupid letter.
I still manage to peel it open and skim through my word vomit.
This one is a recap letter, the one I send every year as I start school.
It’s around the same time Victor was sentenced, and I can never manage to talk through it all so I write it.
That’s the letter Kian happened to read, the one in which I laid myself bare.
Even the greeting is personal. Victor would always purposely spell it wrong because it made me laugh.
I’d even left it unfinished near the end because it felt too intimate, even for me.
The heat of shame and embarrassment covers me entirely, and I stop shivering from the cold touch of my sopping-wet clothes.
“Why are you standing by the door?” Sierra calls, popping her head up from where she was hunched by our kettle. “You’re soaked!”
I blink away the tears brimming in my eyes, bowing my head down and trying to distract her from my face. “I’m fine. Just didn’t expect the rain.”
Sierra tuts. “This is why I always have Dale on. He’d be so disappointed.”
I crack a weak smile. “You’re right. That’s on me.” I head toward my room. “I’m exhausted, I’m going to sleep.”
“Weren’t you supposed to go to the shelter today?”
“I called in,” I tell her.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I pause for a moment, looking back at Sierra.
She’s got faint bags under her eyes, and I notice the way she favors one leg, meaning she probably fell on the other a million times during practice.
She tries to look awake and alert for me, but I wouldn’t push her past her limits. She does that to herself enough.
“Yeah, it’s just been a long day. How was skating?”
She tries to hide her disappointment. “Probably just about as good as your day.”
We stare at each other for a beat, knowing that our lives are on the brink of something, likely falling off a cliff, but that talking about it makes it feel fragile, like one wrong move and we’ll mess everything up. So neither of us says anything, and that’s how it’ll be for now.