CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Kaia
Friday morning, the dining hall buzzed with voices, louder than usual. Girls huddled in groups, whispering, eyes wide.
Alba sat alone by the window, bored as ever, while Teagan waved me over to a table in the back. She wasn’t exactly my friend, but she was at least friendly.
“Kaia!”
I grabbed coffee and toast and joined her and two other girls. I still didn’t know their names. Willowbrook was small, but cliques here felt invite-only. I wasn’t sure when—or if—I’d get one.
“What’s with the commotion?” I asked, taking a sip.
“Bree,” said Teagan’s blonde friend. “She snuck out last night. Got in trouble.”
The coffee sloshed in my empty stomach. “Trouble? What kind? Is she okay?”
Teagan tore off a piece of croissant and shrugged. “She’s in the infirmary. Rumor is a guy at the club slipped something in her drink and took advantage of her.”
My fingers trembled. Dean’s body pinning me flashed behind my eyes. Suddenly, my coffee reeked of beer and cigarettes. Nausea surged, and I clutched my wrist like his hand still gripped it.
Shit. I hadn’t thought about that party in forever. “But is she okay?” I pressed. “Did the police catch him?”
The other girl scoffed. “She should’ve known better than to hit a sleazy club. You look for trouble, trouble finds you.”
Was she serious? Heat crawled up my neck. “What if she just wanted to have fun?” My voice shook. “What if she trusted him? You know what?” I shoved my tray aside. “Nothing she did made it her fault. It was his.”
I drained my coffee in sharp gulps, each one echoing in the sudden hush. Girls stared. Teagan’s friends with judgment. Teagan with something unreadable. Others with respect. And Alba … well, at least I had her attention now.
“Excuse me.” I shoved back my chair and stood, leaving my tray behind.
A minute later, I was outside, stomach empty, chest tight with disappointment. A school for girls didn’t mean girl-friendly, apparently. Spending senior year with people who blamed victims was going to suck.
Back in my room, I flopped on the bed. My wall was bare compared to Teagan’s collage of photos and posters. She fit here. She had friends.
I rolled onto my stomach and groaned into the pillow. I needed Asher’s voice. To know how he was coping. To tell him I missed him.
Yesterday, I’d wanted to call, but Sarah’s office was closed. Maybe I’d get lucky now.
I jumped off the bed, my leftover lethargy blown away by the thought of talking to him. Everyone was still finishing breakfast as I ran to Sarah’s office. The door stood ajar, and relief loosened my shoulders.
I knocked on the jamb. Footsteps echoed inside, then the door opened wide. “Yes?” Sarah asked, that same polite smile she’d worn when she welcomed me to Willowbrook.
“I’m sorry.” I fiddled with the hem of my polo. “Can I make a call?”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
“See.” She sighed. “Students get three personal calls a week. This would be your fourth.”
A dull ache stabbed my chest. Three calls? Three calls—only a few minutes each, since she only allowed them during office hours. No way to talk about anything that mattered. At least I could hear Asher’s voice. He had an important race Sunday; he couldn’t lose focus on the track.
My fingers curled into the cotton of my shirt, shaking. “It’ll only be a moment. I really need to—”
“I’m sorry, Kaia. The rules are the same for everyone. I can’t make exceptions.”
Her grin never reached her eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or part of the job.
“I understand,” I mumbled, backing away.
“But if something happened—if you got sick—we would call your parents immediately.”
Those words stabbed. That was exactly what I feared.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not sick. I just needed to talk to someone.”
“Sorry,” Sarah repeated, whether she meant it or not. “Monday, then. Besides, it’s a good chance to bond with your new friends.”
Friends? I didn’t have any. I nodded, my legs unsteady, and watched the door close as laughter from the dining hall drifted in.
My eyes watered. I rubbed them and let out a thin, shaky breath.
“Let me guess—she wouldn’t let you call?”
I turned. Teagan leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed.
“No.”
“I thought you knew the rules. We should’ve told you.”
“I didn’t know they took our phones either,” I said. Not that it would’ve stopped Dad from sending me here. If anything, it made the school look more impressive.
“Your parents seemed so lovely,” Teagan said, tilting her head. “I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to them.”
The urge to correct her—only Dad was my parent, and he wasn’t lovely—scratched my throat. I swallowed it down and forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“Anyway.” She picked at a nail. “About Bree—don’t sneak out, yeah? Her fault or not, it was stupid. Our parents pay thousands for us to be here. It wouldn’t kill us to be grateful, but sneaking out could.”
Did Teagan’s parents pick this school for her, or did she choose it? I almost asked, but she stepped closer, squeezed my arm, then knocked on Sarah’s door.
Heart pounding, I retreated and hurried back to my room.
Sneaking out probably wouldn’t please my lovely parents, but the idea of stuffing a bag and getting the hell out kept me going.
***
Getting away with one pink suitcase was ridiculous. I grabbed my denim backpack and packed only the essentials—my diary, the books Asher had given me (El Principito included), my wallet, and a change of clothes so I wouldn’t be caught in uniform.
The pack bulged, but it was a small price for freedom.
Night fell over Willowbrook, the woods around the school sinking into shadows. Everyone was in the common hall watching a movie. It was now or never.
I slipped out of my room, gripping my backpack with sweaty hands, my heart galloping, mouth dry. Next to the kitchen stretched the yoga hall—the only Willowbrook tradition I didn’t hate, close enough to dancing and stretching to almost feel like freedom.
The space was airy, potted plants lined the windowsills, and French doors opened onto a manicured backyard of flowerbeds and hedges. Doors with a key hidden beneath a potted ficus. Bree’s escape route. Mine, too.
From there, it was only a short trek to the woods. Skirt the gates, find a gap in the fence, and…
Cold sweat prickled my neck. I had no idea what came after. No phone—Sarah had that locked in her office. Still, cars would pass eventually. I only needed to reach Oakwood Springs and call Asher.
Or maybe not. He was racing this weekend. I wouldn’t make him worry.
I quickened my pace, sneakers squeaking on the freshly washed floor. The door loomed ahead. Six more steps. My pulse spiked. I gripped the handle and pulled.
A whiff of pine polish stung my nose. I blinked, searching for the ficus pot. Freedom was within reach.
“?Alto!”
The sharp command froze me. Damn it.
Alba shifted on the windowsill, legs dangling, a sigh slipping from her lips. “I hate it when people are so predictable.”
So, now she was talking to me? My patience frayed. “And I hate it when people can’t mind their own business. Pretend you didn’t see me.”
I lunged for the plant, but she lifted her hand. Keys jingled from her long fingers. “?Es esto lo que estás buscando?” Is this what you’re looking for?
Double damn it. “Give them to me.”
“Ask me in Spanish. I know you can.”
Heat crept up my neck. “How?”
Her look said she doubted my intelligence. “The books. Neruda. Allende. Márquez. A beginner wouldn’t read those.”
The more she spoke, the more obvious it became—the melody in her voice, the faint roll of her r. I wouldn’t have noticed if not for hours listening to Asher whisper Spanish endearments. And her name. Alba. Dawn in Spanish. I should’ve known.
“You’re Spanish.” The fight drained from me, like daylight bleeding from the grounds outside.
“And you’re brave. And reckless. Probably smart because of the books, probably not because you’re trying to escape. What’s the plan? Walk down a country road in a skirt that barely covers your ass?”
“I have a change of clothes.” I slid the backpack off my shoulders, patting it. My spine sighed in relief without the weight.
“And then? Pray you make it to Oakwood Springs alive?”
She wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit my escape plan had more holes than Emmental cheese.
“It’s not that far.”
“Then what?”
“I’d spend the night in town. Then I’d call my…”
Shit. Not something I wanted to share. Not until she gave me more about herself first.
Alba sighed. “So this is all because of that stupid three-calls rule? You couldn’t talk to your boyfriend, so you’re ready to run without a plan? Hope he’s worth it.”
My throat tightened. “How do you know it was my boyfriend I wanted to talk to?”
Another sigh, like I’d asked the dumbest question. “Simple math. After a call, you’re happy. No call, and you squeeze El Principito, staring out the window like you’re about to cry. If you wanted your father, you’d have told Sarah you were sick. She would’ve called him.”
“Wow.” I sagged against the door, clasping my hands behind my back. My backpack glared from the floor like it was asking, Are we going or staying? “That’s a lot of math from someone who leaves the room every time I walk in.”
Alba scooted over and patted the windowsill beside her. “Sit. I don’t bite.”
What was the worst that could happen? She’d already caught me. I crossed the hall and hauled myself up beside her, the only sill not crowded with plants.
Silence stretched. Then she said, “What you said at breakfast… that took guts.”
I shrugged. “I guess it touched a nerve.”
“How so?”
Her eyes were curious, not judgmental. “There was this guy at my old school,” I said.
“Cornered me at a party, tried to kiss me. Probably would’ve gone further if I hadn’t kneed him in the balls and run.
” I drew a shaky breath. “That wasn’t the worst part.
My so-called friend had a crush on him. She didn’t believe me. ”
My palms turned clammy. Asher was the only one I’d ever told. What if trusting Alba was a huge mistake?
Her green eyes locked on mine, steady even in the dim light. “When was that? Are you okay? Is that why you’re here?”
“November. Yes. And no.” I leaned back on my palms. “Officially, I’m here because I tanked the PSAT again and my dad wanted to ‘save’ my academic future. Unofficially, he just doesn’t want me around.”
She nodded like she knew the type. Maybe she did.
“Well.” She slipped her hand beneath her polo, fingers disappearing under the cotton. “You know nothing. You saw nothing.”
What the hell wasn’t I supposed to see?
“I saw—holy shit.”
Unfazed, she handed me an unlocked phone. “Call whoever you need. I’ll wait in the hall if you want privacy.”
Shock fluttered through me. A week of thinking she hated me, and now this?
“No,” I said. “You could get caught. I just need to tell Ash I’m okay and…” I trailed off, unwilling to say more. “You can stay. Thank you.”
Alba hopped down and strolled toward the glass door—her way of giving me space. I keyed in Asher’s number and pressed the phone to my ear, chewing my cheek.
One ring. Another. Then another.
My breath stilled as I waited. Finally, his voicemail greeting clicked on. I ended the call, disappointment souring my chest. He never checked voicemail, especially from random numbers.
I set the phone aside, eyes burning. It was late. Maybe he was showering. Maybe asleep after practice and qualifying.
Or maybe he was out with Ale and the crew at some glamorous bar, surrounded by beautiful women. Women old enough to drink. Women without fathers who treated them like prisoners. Women he wouldn’t have to keep secret.
I shook my head hard. No.
I trusted Asher, and he trusted me. Neither of us would betray that. Letting jealousy creep in would destroy us.
I had to survive this year at Willowbrook—survive being away from him.
If I stayed. The backpack still stared. I sighed, grabbed Alba’s phone, and tried one last time.
More rings. Still nothing. My chest tightened until it was hard to breathe.
“Alba,” I called. “Mind if I send a text?”
She glanced over. “Sure.”
I opened the messaging app.
Alba: Ash, it’s Kaia. I was the one who called you from my friend’s phone. I’m okay, don’t worry. Good luck tomorrow. I love you.
I hit send, then deleted the thread. “Thank you. You can take it.”
Alba joined me on the windowsill. “No luck?”
I shook my head and set the phone in her palm.
“I’m sorry.”
I cleared my throat against the fresh sting of tears. “How come you still have a phone when everyone else gave theirs to Sarah?”
She popped off a corner of the fuchsia case, then snapped it back in place. “I gave her another one. But Dad told me to keep mine. After we lost Mom, it’s just been him and me, and…” She sighed. “Let’s just say he doesn’t handle not reaching me well. He doesn’t care about rules either.”
“Your dad sounds cool.”
She chuckled. “He is. I’m sorry yours sucks.”
“Teagan said he’s lovely, so maybe I’m biased.” I twisted the hem of my plaid skirt between my fingers.
Alba snorted, tucking the phone down the neck of her shirt.
“Teagan doesn’t know shit.” She hopped off the sill, strolling to the door before pausing like she’d forgotten something.
“It’s none of my business, and you’re free to bolt if that’s what you want.
But if you stay—and if you ever want to talk—meet me here after dinner tomorrow. ”
Willowbrook still held zero appeal, but exhaustion dragged me down. The escape plan would have to wait. Tomorrow was another day.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Alba…” Maybe it was too much to ask, but I couldn’t stand not knowing.
She arched a brow. “Yeah?”
“If he texts back, could you tell me?”
A shadow of a sad smile flickered across her face. “Of course.”