Chapter 17
Malena
The weekend after the fundraising event, I was riding on a wave of optimism because I’d been hyper-productive all week.
I proofed two pieces for Dillian, studied for both my upcoming biochem exam and the MCATs, and helped Cora with what was a Winchester tradition: juniors v. seniors for the Armistice Games.
So, today, on a bright and sunny Sunday morning, I decided to take Kash up on his invitation.
But, when I arrived at Biscuits on the Bay, one of my favorite weekend brunch spots, it became immediately clear that I’d been invited out with his entire friend group.
Not on a date.
If anything, it was an audition. And instead of leaving like I knew Cora would have yelled at me to do, I sat there and tried to make conversation. That old desire to be friends with them hadn’t just vanished when Kash and I broke up, I just stopped trying to claw my way into fitting in.
“Hasn’t that been a stalemate for the last… I dunno, century?” Nara Desai, a friend of Kash’s and one of the girls I’d tried to befriend and struck out with freshman year, asked with a bored sigh.
She and Sonali sat at one end of the table with me while Kash and his two guy friends were deep in conversation on the other.
“Yeah… That’s what makes it cool,” I insisted, my chair squeaking as I shifted in it. I had trouble containing my excitement about the plans for the Armistice Games on Tuesday. I was just about to explain how Cora and I and a few other juniors were planning to win them this year.
Given that Winchester was the original Ivy League school, it preceded even the American Revolution.
Armistice Day was when defeated British soldiers were allowed safe passage through our campus, since they’d laid down their arms. Now it was commemorated with a friendly game of capture the flag—or in Winchester’s case, a pennant—between the junior and senior classes.
Each class hid their flag and was tasked with finding the other’s.
Nara shrugged and looked at her nails. “Maybe we have different definitions of cool.”
That feeling of not being enough was back and whispering in my ear go, get up, leave.
Trying to ignore the awkwardness, I looked at Sonali. “Cora has been helping us figure out its location ahead of the games.”
“Oh.” Sonali smiled warmly. “She’s a programmer, right?”
“Cora’s a genius, she’s good at everything,” I confirmed proudly, a weight lifting off my lungs.
Campus traditions were fun, and I intended to enjoy my time here as much as I could, no matter how “uncool” it was to others.
“She’s running an algorithm on class schedules for persons of interest against a campus map. It should help.”
“Cora’s the one who had purple hair last semester, yeah?” Nara’s tone dripped judgement. She flicked an expectant look up to Sonali, then turned her attention back to her nails.
Sonali didn’t meet her gaze, instead looking down at the polished wood table.
Indignation made my muscles go rigid.
“Cora changes it when she feels like it,” I snapped.
“So, who do you think knows where the senior pennant is?” Sonali cut in.
I wanted to leave, but the mental image of Mom’s genuine—if a little prideful—smile when I talked about making friends with Sonali and the dance team girls kept me firmly planted in my seat. Maybe I was the problem. Maybe I was too sensitive.
I swallowed the anger that pushed up my throat and welled behind my eyes. “We aren’t sure…”
“Oh, maybe that lacrosse player I saw you with a few weeks ago knows?” Nara jumped into the conversation again, her voice carrying across the packed dining area. “Or was he just one of the guys on your brack—”
I pushed my chair back, the squeak barreling over the conversation.
Kash looked over to our end of the table, bewildered.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“I think I’m gonna go.” Leaving behind the pancakes I only picked at and the hot chocolate I hadn’t even touched, I stood. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed with myself for not leaving when Cora was brought up and the conversation turned judgmental.
I threw a few bills on the table and threaded around the booths, not stopping when Sonali called my name, likely trying to smooth over the prickliness. The most annoying part was that Kash stayed seated, not even attempting to check that I was all right.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk and sucked in a deep breath of the crisp air that whipped off the bay.
Glancing into my bag, I realized that I brought both my phones by accident. I sighed and shoved them to the side, pulling out the paper bag with Bardam Books stamped on the side. Brunch was a bust, but at least it gave me an excuse to stop in at the bookstore down the road beforehand.
Making my way down the tree-lined sidewalk, with October a few days away, their leaves had started to burst with color. I took a few more steps until awareness struck me and I looked up, stopping in my tracks.
Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. Intrigued glint in his eyes.
Conrad.
Dressed in a crew shirt and quilted brown jacket with a tartan lining, he looked… well, he looked good. A brown paper bag with the Bardam stamp was tucked under his arm and he had an athletic backpack slung over his shoulder. A casual smile crested on his lips as he dipped his chin. “Holmes.”
I blinked away the momentary surprise and I smoothed a hand down my hair, realizing it was probably messy because I’d been nervously running my fingers through it. “Watson.”
He craned his neck and looked past me inside the restaurant. “Rough morning?”
Did I look that bad?
“Oh, no,” I sputtered.
The Biscuits on the Bay door opened with the jingle of a bell, and nerves filled my gut. I blinked a few times and cleared my throat.
“I was getting coffee and ran into my ex,” I lied. That was a much less humiliating way to explain what just happened.
“Ex?” He quirked a brow.
“Yeah…”
Conrad’s mouth curved into a tight smile and he acknowledged someone. I looked over my shoulder to find Kash and a couple of his friends waving politely.
He hummed, drawing my attention back, and nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
After the morning I’d had, that was all the excuse I needed to go from frazzled to annoyed. What the hell did that mean? “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing,” he noted plainly.
“No…” I demanded, planting a hand on my hip and cocking it to the side. “What?”
“Let me guess. He broke your heart, so no more relationships for Malena?”
My shoulders relaxed. Right. My flings-only rule. I forgot I told him about that. “Took Psych 101, did you?”
He chuckled. “Some things are pretty predictable.”
My nerves cooled.
“He’s not the reason for it,” I admitted softly, although whenever a guy questioned me on it, they all assumed the same thing: I’d had my heart broken and was wary. I didn’t correct them because mommy and daddy won’t let me date felt infantile and embarrassing.
“An exception to the rule.” He crossed his arms. “I’m intrigued.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew he was teasing to be charming or whatever, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Kash.
“What are you doing in town?” I asked instead.
“I was rowing my little boat.” He cocked his head to the side, toward the end of the street that led down to the water.
If you followed the shoreline north, you’d pass campus and reach the shell houses for the men’s and women’s teams. “And grabbing a book.” He held the brown bag up like a prize, then notched his chin toward my bag, the one currently spitting out Post-its and page tabs. “Stocking up for the bunker?”
A laugh bubbled out of me.
For the first time all day, it felt like the perpetual state of auditioning was behind me and I could simply be. I tucked my book back inside my bag and crouched to pick up the pieces of paper that must’ve flown out during my earlier rummaging.
Conrad picked up a yellow sticky note I must’ve missed and I took it from his fingers, tucking it inside the pocket of my jacket.
“All a part of the studying process,” I said with a nod. “Although, most of these are to annotate my books.”
Of the three books I’d purchased, two were romance novels from my favorite author because I loved the peace of a happy ending. The other was a fictional memoir of a dressmaker living through the French Revolution that sounded interesting.
“Turning a hobby into an assignment?” he teased.
Maybe it was the distance between the crowd inside or maybe it was the earthy, damp air that always blanketed New England this time of year, but relief washed over me.
I grinned and looked around at the storefronts, each boasting a little stoop decorated with kitschy flair.
A couple of benches lined the curbs and the occasional black trash receptacle cleverly shaped like a flower in bloom sat beside them.
“The tabs are a part of the hobby,” I corrected, then looked up at the tinted windows bracketing the entrance to Bardam Books—a little stunned we had a hobby in common.
“You look surprised,” he ventured, like he knew what I was thinking. “I can, in fact, read.”
“Mhm.” My toes and fingers tingled. I loved reading, it was a way to escape into a world that wasn’t my own. Before the burner phone, it’d been my only way out. “What did you get?”
He handed me the bag and I pulled the paperback out. The black cover illustrated a man facing a large lake house with lights on in a few of the windows. Dark and eerie, the cover seemed to scream.
“A mystery?” I asked, passing it back to him. “A little on the nose, no?”
“What kind of sidekick would I be if I didn’t study my craft?”
My lips burst into a wide smile and I heard myself let out a snort-giggle.
He had enough grace to step right over my fumble as he said, “I showed you mine. It’s only fair.”
I shrugged and gave in, pulling out one of the books at random to reveal an illustrated cover with a race car on an empty track and two people looking very annoyed with each other under a checkered banner.
A woman with a microphone in her hand and the man, presumably the racer, with his arms crossed.
“F1 fan?” he said, and softly lifted it from my hand.
“Yeah, I guess,” I answered. F1 on its own was cool, sure: high-performance cars, strategy and data analysis, championship points… but I liked the books because of all the travel. “It’s like a trip around the world in every book.”
“All the Scroll & Ivy initiates went to the Sao Paolo grand prix last year.” Conrad paged through the first chapter.
“Damn, I picked the wrong year to—”
“Steal your best friend’s spot?” He looked up and handed it back to me.
A skitter ran across my nerves. “It was one time.”
His lips formed a mocking slant. “By my count, it’s at least two.”
“You know…” All my newfound energy funneled down to my foot as it tapped eagerly against the pavement. “You make it very hard to be nice to you.”
“You say that like you’ve tried.”
His eyes caught mine in a hold I didn’t want to break. I sort of liked that he could catch me off guard. Hit a shot that I’d miss.
It was a novel feeling.
A quiet moment passed between us, filled only with the distant sound of the bay and the occasional rustle of leaves.
He moved a step closer. “Speaking of Scroll & Ivy, the next event is in a week.”
“Oh yeah?” My voice lowered now that he stood only a few inches away.
“It’s tradition to have a game and a trip every semester.”
“Like the Armistice Games?” My ears perked up.
I loved games of all kinds. Hell, every birthday party I was allowed to have growing up was at laser tag. And after spending the better part of a half hour explaining my plans for the Armistice Games to disinterested ears, this felt like a reward.
“Sort of… This one’s more Scroll & Ivy specific. Ishani suggested our own version of The Most Dangerous Game on the Rutherford family estate,” he said offhandedly. “With paintball guns, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I drawled.
“But James has something else in mind. It’s a scavenger hunt all over campus. It sounds sort of lame…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I swear it’ll be fun though. And these games can be—”
“I love a game,” I blurted, finding a surprising thrill in knowing we had another thing in common.
His eyes brightened then flicked up to over my shoulder to where Kash and his friends had been moments ago. “Great. It’ll finish up on a boat in the harbor. It’s an all-day thing, so you might miss a date.”
“I’ll live.”
He took another step closer. “Good.” His eyes moved along the street and then anywhere but me when I caught the implication. “I mean…” he stammered, his laugh choppy as he took a step back. “Isha takes games very seriously. Full roster and all.”
The mention of Ishani sparked something in my head. I kept circling back to the idea that someone who knew about all the catacombs had to be involved in this painting mystery we’d yet to uncover. How else would they be so sure about where to enter and where they led?
The assumption cut the student body down to a very manageable list: all thirty current members of the Scroll & Ivy.
“Well, I could always use some fodder in case that forgery idea of yours falls through,” I teasingly excused, like I wasn’t interested.
Maybe it was a bit of cover so he wouldn’t notice the delight that had to be plastered all over my face. Because the parts of me he knew were me, the real Malena. That simple fact was oddly thrilling.
I couldn’t put words to the feeling, but it was like slipping out of a too-snug dress after a long night of carefully maneuvering in it. My constantly code-switching mind reveled in the ease. It was an addicting feeling.
“Text me the details?” I asked.
He gave me a playful salute and passed me on the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder, “You got it, Holmes.”
I grinned and made my way over to a wrought-iron bench, deciding to crack open my book and spend the rest of the morning in the sun. The optimism that brunch drained had been refilled, and I didn’t want to question it. Not when it felt this good.