CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Grayson — 17 years old (Senior year)
“You’re too tense,” Oaklynn says, approaching with a twinkle in her eyes. She hands me a glass of white wine and I take it reluctantly.
“Thanks,” I mumble quietly.
It’s Uncle Ben’s fiftieth birthday, and we’re under parental supervision to be drinking. I wasn’t planning to consume any alcohol tonight. Except, right now, I think I might need it.
This is my first time attending a “rich” party, and it’s lavished, to say the least. Everyone is dressed up in their most expensive suits and dresses. The crystal chandeliers at the center of the ballroom give the whole place a regal, luxurious feel. The food is deluxe and in abundance. For the longest time, I could barely afford a single meal for Naomi and me. Food had always been scarce for us, so I still have to get used to seeing so much at once.
Everything is just so… extravagant.
Aunt Naveah had an Armani custom-made suit prepared for me. The moment I put it on, I wanted to rip off my body. My skin itches with the unfamiliar fabric and I feel like a foreign person in it. Like I’m wearing another layer of skin, to hide what’s really underneath.
I don’t belong here.
I’m completely out of place and I know all the guests can see that. I can feel their eyes on me, probably waiting for a lapse in my posture. Waiting to see if I’ll show my true colors.
Uncle Ben and Aunt Naveah have done everything to make me feel welcome and at home with them, and I want to be here — to celebrate his birthday with him. To have this moment with my… family.
So, even though I know I’m being judged…
Even though I feel suffocated — I refuse to embarrass Uncle Ben or Aunt Naveah. They want me here, so I’ll stay and smile and play along.
“Why are you standing here, by the window?” Oaklynn asks when I stay silent. She has straightened her dark curly hair tonight, and she’s wearing a black, pearly dress that accents her curves. Her heels are too tall, and it's a wonder how she’s walking in them without tripping all over her feet. “You’re looking particularly lonely, Grayson.”
I half-shrug in response. Oaklynn is the daughter of Uncle Ben’s close friend. We’ve met a few times already, when they’ve been over for dinner. I’ll be attending Berkshire Academy next week after being home-schooled for a year. Oaklynn is a Berksire student and she’ll be helping me with the transition, as Uncle Ben called it.
She places a hand over my arm. “Do you want to go somewhere else? We can go outside and get some air.” A coy smile plays along her lips. “We can take a walk in the garden.”
Oakylnn leans into me, her chest brushing against mine. She teeters on her tiptoes, bringing our faces closer. Her breath fans over my lips. “I can show you a good time. I mean, you won’t be so bored if it’s just the two of us.”
“No,” I tell her, my voice harsher than intended.
I take a step back before her lips can touch mine. She frowns when I grab her hand, forcing her to release me. Her arm drops to her side. I clear my throat, keeping my words passive and kind when speaking again. “I’m fine, but thanks for offering.”
“Do you have a girlfriend that I don’t know of?” There’s almost an accusation in her tone and her lips purse unhappily.
Golden locks of hair and hazel eyes flash in front of my vision.
Oaklynn mentioned a girlfriend and all I can think of is the girl with sorrowful eyes, the one who frequently visits my daydreams and my heated ones at night.
I wish I had asked her for her real name.
I wish we had more time together.
I wish she had asked me to stay longer.
I’ve gone back to the park many times, waiting to catch a glimpse of her again. But she never came back. I lost her before I could find her.
And maybe we’ll never meet again…
Sometimes I stay awake at night, wondering where she is, what she’s doing…if she’s okay, if she’s happy or sad. If she’s sitting on another bench, lonely and tragically hopeless.
Somehow, our fake names were fitting. I am as captivated by Goldilocks, as much as Jay Gatsby was obsessed with Daisy Buchanan.
I know Daisy is not her real name, and in my head — I can’t keep calling her something that’s not real. So, I gave her a nickname. Something unique for only her.
Goldilocks.
“So, do you?” Oakylnn asks again, sharply. Her words pull me out of my thoughts.
“Why does that matter?”
She lifts her chin. “Because I want to know if I have a chance. And I don’t want to have my heart hanging up on a boy who’s taken.”
Fair point and I respect her transparency. So, I give her half the truth. “I’m not taken, but I’m also not worth your heart.”
“Is there someone you’re interested in?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yes,” I confess quietly.
“Is she someone I know?”
I shake my head in response.
“Is she someone in our close circle?”
I shake my head again.
“Does she know you’re interested in her? Is she interested in you ?”
I tug on my tie, trying to loosen it around my neck. This thing is restricting my air flow and I can’t fucking breathe . “No to both of your questions.”
Oaklynn is quiet for a second, looking thoughtful. Then she smiles, her pearly white teeth a stark contrast against her smooth mahogany skin. She’s pretty, I won’t deny that. Tall, curvy with hair that reminds me so much of Naomi’s. But she’s not Goldilocks .
She’s not the girl who bandaged my hands. She’s not the girl in my sketchbook.
“Then I still have a chance,” she announces with great confidence.
“No,” I deadpan, but Oaklynn is no longer listening to me.
“She’s not interested in you, Grayson. That’s her loss and my win.” She winks. “I like you. I think we’ll be good together.”
She’s walking away before I can refute her statement. Goddamn it.
Frustrated, I take a sip of wine.
Oaklynn likes me? Why does she like me ? Because I’m Grayson Hale now?
Would she like me if I was still the Grayson from before? The one with holes in his shirt, instead of an Armani suit. The forgotten boy in foster care. I wonder if she’d still like me then.
I bet not.
I bet she wouldn’t even bother knowing my name if she were to pass by me on the streets. I would have been just another poor loser — the boy on the wrong side of the tracks to her.
Oaklynn doesn’t like me.
She likes Grayson Hale.
And I can say with utmost certainty.
Oaklynn is a nice girl, but we’re not compatible. I don’t think we ever will be. And I don’t want her hanging onto that hope that we might ever be something more than friends.
“With you standing here like this, you remind me so much of your uncle when we were younger.” Aunt Naveah moves to my side and the frustration clears from my expression. She places her hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. “Thank you for being here, Grayson,” she tells me and there’s more than appreciation in her voice. I hear kindness and affection too.
I give her a mute nod in response. I don’t know what to say to that. Shouldn’t I be the one thanking her? I take another sip of wine, still staring out the window.
She rubs my back. “We wouldn’t beseech you for leaving right now, if you want.”
My head snaps toward her. “You wouldn’t?” I hide my grimace when my tone comes out sounding too hopeful. But Aunt Naveah is not offended. She simply smiles.
“You can go back now, if you’d like. I’ve already told Roger to drop you home. He’s waiting for you outside, in the car.” Roger is our chauffeur.
“How…” I trail off, swallowing. “How did you know I wanted to leave?”
“We just know.”
We? My gaze flickers over to Uncle Ben. He’s talking to someone, but it’s almost as if he can feel me watching him. His attention drifts to me for a nano-second, and he gives me a brief but deliberate nod.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I just leave right now? Wouldn’t people talk?”
“No, you’ve done your part and that’s more than enough, Grayson.” She reaches up and straightens the collar of my shirt for me. “Anyway, people will always find a reason to talk. You can’t let that impair you.”
I swallow again. “Thank you.”
“Go,” she mouths, giving me the last push to do just that. “Make a run for it before someone else interrupts you.”
Fuck, I don’t wait for her to tell me again. I get the hell out of here and I don’t pause until I’m all the way outside, and the noise of the party is drowned out.
The air no longer feels stuffy.
My tie is no longer suffocating me.
I can finally breathe again.
***
I listen as the English teacher introduces us to The Things We Cannot Say by Kelly Rimmer, the novel we will be studying this year. A dual-narrative story, told from the perspective of war-torn Poland in 1942 and the present day. “The two timelines weave together to bond them as a family and allow the truth to finally be heard,” Mrs. Cortez explains. She moves to the next PowerPoint slide, giving us a brief schedule for the first month of the semester.
“The first week, we will be doing the novel study, and I’ll be putting you into groups for chapter discussion. You will have a group presentation in the second week and this will be your first marked assignment. And your first essay is due at the end of September. This is an AP class, the workload is rigorous, and if you feel like you’re falling behind, you need to let me know ASAP. Don’t wait until a day before your assignment is due to tell me that you’re struggling with the course work. I will not be giving any extensions, unless it’s absolutely necessary, and you need to tell me in advance. Have I made myself clear?”
There’s a chorus of ‘yes’ before the class falls silent again.
I’m only half-listening to Mrs. Cortez, as my eyes take in everyone in the classroom. It’s day one of the academic year and my first day at Berkshire Academy. I’m wearing the same navy blazer, white buttoned-up shirt, beige slacks and a tie as the other boys.
But I still somehow feel…out of place.
I spin my pen over my fingers, going back and forth between taking notes and listening to Mrs. Cortez as she goes on about the importance of literature in society. Before I know it, the bell rings, and then Oaklynn is already in my personal space. Fuck.
I stand up, putting my notebook into my backpack. “Let’s have lunch together,” she tells me, ever so cheerfully. “I’ll introduce you to a few people I know. Also, have you considered joining any sports team? I’d suggest the basketball team. They’d be dumb to refuse you, especially with your height and build.”
She grabs onto my arm, leaning in closer to me. I fight the urge to shake her off. Fuck, she’s been attached to me all morning. After Oaklynn compared our schedules earlier, sheproudly announced that we share two classes together this semester.
Good for her. Frustrating for me.
Because now, she’s all over me and up in my personal space. She talks a lot and I don’t understand why the hell she is so touchy. Like a fucking parasite attached to its host. Shit.
“Why don’t you put your backpack in your locker?”
I grunt in response. “I’m fine.”
I gently ease my arm from her hold and walk ahead. Oaklynn easily keeps up with me. “Let’s take a look at the cafeteria menu for today.”
I stop by my locker and put in the code. “No, that’s fine. My aunt packed me lunch for today.” Taking out the lunchbox, I shove it into my backpack. The lunch is still fresh and the smell of chicken is strong. That’s why I left my lunchbox in the locker this morning, instead of carrying it with me in class.
Aunt Naveah woke up early this morning and made sure to prepare lunch for me before she left for work. A grilled chicken sandwich, with honey mustard and chipotle sauce, just how I like it. “It’s your first day at Berkshire. You deserve a homemade lunch,” she had said to me, all smiles before giving me a kiss on the cheek and then leaving.
I didn’t tell her that this was the first time anyone had packed me lunch. My mother never cared if Naomi and I went without food. I remember when I was ten years old and I had been on the brink of starvation. I had gone two days without any food. Sitting there in the school’s crampy and sweaty cafeteria, watching everyone else eat and enjoying their food. Talking and laughing with their friends while my stomach rumbled with hunger.
I remember seeing a girl throw her half-eaten burger into the trash.
I remember sitting there, my hands clasped on my lap as I patiently waited for the bell to ring and the cafeteria to clear out.
I remember sneaking over to the trash can and digging through it, looking for that half-eaten burger. Just to fill the emptiness in my stomach. To suppress the pain of hunger.
That half-eaten burger tasted like the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
And I remember doing it again, three years later — to feed Naomi.
Back then, it was the only thing I could afford.
That was until I started working at the crappy junkyard at fourteen and got some cash from Kenan. I was able to get us real food then. Fresh bread, and not leftovers from the trash.
I close my locker and try to walk away. But Oaklynn grabs onto my arm, making me pause. “What’s up with you?” Her eyebrows pull up in frown. “You’re the new kid here, and I’m trying to make you feel welcome. Berkshire students can be really harsh to the newbies. I’ve been nice, but you’re just being so aloof.”
“Look, I appreciate—
The flash of golden hair catches my gaze and I swallow my words.
My head snaps toward her, and my eyes widen as I take in what I’m seeing.
The first thing I notice is the playful smile on her lips. And then she laughs at whatever her friend has said to her. Her soft laughter resonates through me and it’s like I’ve been thrown into a whole different dimension.
I don’t blink, fearing that she’ll disappear if I do. She’s really here, not just a figment of my imagination. I’m not daydreaming. This is real.
She leans against the locker next to her friend’s. She hasn’t noticed me yet, but I take in everything I’m seeing, memorizing every little detail. She has her blonde hair in a double French braid, with loose tendrils framing her small, round face.
She goes to Berkshire Academy?
Fuck…
Destiny has always been unfair to me. Harsh and unforgiving. I’ve long stopped counting my misfortunes. But this—
This is kismet.
It has to be. To see her here. To meet her here.
The girl in my sketchbook.
Daisy Buchanan…Goldilocks.
She’s…here. I found her.
“You don’t want to associate yourself with her.” Oaklynn’s high-pitched voice is not enough to pull my attention away. But her words have questions popping into my head.
“What?” I ask gruffly.
“The girl you’re looking at? That’s Riley Johnson and Berkshire has ostracized her. Associating yourself with her is a dangerous move. Don’t do it.” Oaklynn flips her hair, giving Goldilocks a rather stingy look. “And anyway, she’s nobody important.”
I’m barely listening to the rest of her words.
Riley Johnson.
My heart thuds in my chest. Riley…
I finally have a name. Her real name.
She’s not Daisy Buchanan, the lonely girl on the bench.
She’s Riley, the girl in a Berkshire uniform. The girl with a pretty smile on her lips.
And she is real , not just my imagination or my fantasy or my night dreams.