Chapter 9
My Saturday afternoon is spent in the Chelmsford library with Analiese.
I embrace the familiar sounds and shapes and smells after months away.
Huge bay windows line either side of the space and allow soft light to filter in.
Milky glass sconces mounted on board-and-batten paneling rain down a warm shine over built-in bookshelves.
Islands of static shelves hold even more books toward the back, where they’re organized by genre and subject, and sturdy oak tables offer antique banker’s lamps and multiple outlet strips for modern technology.
It’s spacious and warm and smells like muted cedar and musty vanilla and a longing sense of comfort.
My dad would take my mom on dates here, back when he was still teaching and she was working at the library one town over.
They’d pick out a book for each other—hers something soft and romantic, his selection rooted in theory—and then they’d read in the nooks covered in cushions beneath the bay windows.
No food allowed, but my rule-bending father was always sneaking in candy for her.
Nothing messy, of course. She’d pretend to be mad, but she never was.
I’m convinced Chelmsford was created to be more inviting than our dorm to get students to study in a new environment.
Each room in Hyde only has a small window the width of a postcard, and even though we have a view of the courtyard, our desks are super compact.
My laptop takes up the entire surface area, so any textbook I need to reference ends up in my lap.
Across from me, Analiese is studying her laptop screen and chewing on her pinkie nail. It’s a habit she’s had for as long as I’ve known her, and I know better than to interrupt when she’s so focused.
Smoothing over things with Analiese was the first thing I set out to do this morning.
Even though she tried not to show it, I could tell I’d hurt her by leaving wish night early.
The library is my way of making it up to her.
It’s part of her routine, so this feels like righting a steering wheel that’s been jerked away from a straightforward route.
My focus should be on my UPenn application, but I find myself tapping the Instagram logo on my phone. When it opens, I navigate to the search field and type William Alexander Cromwell.
Thirty-two results.
I squint down a trail of avatars, but none are familiar. Back at the search bar, I add Lord William Alexander Cromwell.
Zero results.
Figures. He didn’t have a phone, so I’m not sure what I expected.
“Hey,” Analiese says suddenly, and I close the app like I’ve been caught stalking a crush. “I’m gonna go back to Hyde for my charger. Need anything?”
“No,” I say, then clear my throat. “Thanks, though. If I’m not here, I’ve gone to grab lunch.”
“Cool.” Analiese gets up and gestures to her belongings. “I’ll come back for this.”
She leaves, and a guilty twinge grows within me. I want to tell her what I overheard Ellerby say last night, but I know it would cause her to spiral more than I already am. I don’t have the emotional capacity to handle her panic on top of my own.
The only person I can talk to, I realize, is the person I don’t want to talk to. And I’m certain the feeling is mutual.
Jared might understand, but then I imagine dropping such heavy news on him while he’s trying to adjust to college life, and I change my mind. I can’t give him another reason to mourn, especially when he’s so far away from family. From here.
So I keep it to myself, letting it become a tight, knotted thing in my chest.
I’ve found a distraction in memorizing my weekly list of vocabulary words for Honors English when a slip of shadow blocks my light. When I look up, Sumner stands over me.
So does William.
He aligns himself next to Sumner with poised stature, all regal grace and confidence. He’s wearing the Ivernia sweatshirt I grabbed for him in the lost and found yesterday, but the faded jeans are new. Unless his luggage arrived this morning, I figure they must belong to Sumner.
Beside him, Sumner’s mouth slips into a disapproving curve.
“Uh,” I begin. “Hi?”
“Hi,” he says, but the word is banal and unfriendly. He turns to William. “Hey, go grab that table over there?”
As William spins in the opposite direction, Sumner crosses his arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I glance down. “Vocabulary?”
“Let me rephrase.” He pulls Analiese’s empty chair out and sits in the open space across from me. Today he’s wearing an oversized gray crew neck with the League of Legends logo screen-printed on the front. “I know what you’re doing.”
My eyes land on William, who’s casually admiring a selection of shelved books, his hands tucked behind his back.
“And here’s the thing, Carmichael,” Sumner says slowly. “This practical joke? I need it to stop.”
I fall still, not loving where this is heading. “What joke?”
“You already captured the trophy—which is good gameplay, I must say. Didn’t see it coming. But this?” He places both hands on the table, as if bracing himself. “It’s too far.”
“I’m going to need you to be more specific,” I say, wondering why the heck he’s drawing this out.
“Enzo.” He flings an arm toward William.
“First you tell me his name is William, and he’s going along with it up until we need to get him his student badge—which is a whole other nightmare, by the way, since most of his things are lost. But he’d already pre-registered online, so it ended up working out. ”
I swear I am trying to keep up, but my balloon of confusion keeps expanding. “He’s not from here,” I say, because I know that much is true.
“Is the place he is from Mars?”
My glare could burn holes in cement.
“I get it. Rural England, remote town,” he goes on. “But you should have heard the way he screamed at the ice maker.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry?” I think I’ve misheard. “What.”
“You’re telling me he’s never heard of a MacBook, or a television, and when my phone rang this morning? He tried to swat it with one of my textbooks to get it to stop.” He leans in closer. “And when I explained Siri last night, he stayed up until three a.m. asking her questions.”
“I—” I begin but stop myself. I’m not sure what to say.
“Also? I thought my toaster was going to give him a small aneurysm when my bagel popped out,” Sumner’s saying. “And then he took apart my microwave—”
“Why?”
“Because he was curious,” he says with heavy quotations.
“Curiosity isn’t a crime, Sumner,” I say, because it’s instinct at this point. Our conversations are revolving doors of bickering, even if we actually agree; they’re a challenge where one of us needs to walk away a winner.
I’ll never admit it, but I’m less sure of myself right now.
This isn’t my fault, is it? I’m not responsible for William’s problem, and wasn’t he the one trying to tackle me? It happened so fast. When my mind replays it, all I see is damp grass and leafy brush and fine-tipped twigs.
“When I asked him if he’d called his airline about his luggage, he—”
“Shouted?” I guess.
Sumner glowers as he leans back in his chair. “I knew it.” He looks super pissed now. “I know last summer we—you—I…” Heat rises in his cheeks, and he cuts his gaze away, as if not wanting to go there.
I don’t blame him. I’d rather not relive my embarrassment. But if he thinks William acting unhinged is my way of getting some type of vengeance, he is sorely mistaken.
“Can you tell him to knock it off?” he pleads, and that’s when I notice the dark circles under his eyes. His glasses sit slightly askew, his waves more unruly than usual. He must have barely slept. “I need to concentrate on work, and the constant barrage of questions is exhausting.”
There’s a sound like heavy wood being dragged across the floor, but Sumner doesn’t break his gaze.
So I don’t either. On one hand, I’m relieved I’m not the only one who sees it.
The eccentric mannerisms, the odd questions.
Maybe it’s rude to write him off as weird, even though it is weird he introduced himself by a different name.
But nicknames exist, so really, it’s not that weird.
“I’ll take him to the nurse,” I offer.
He shakes his head. “Already did. He’s fine.”
Tension loosens in the pit of my stomach. Okay then. He’s had medical attention. That’s one less concern to worry about.
Another loud scraping sound interrupts my thoughts.
This time, Sumner and I face the distraction.
William—Enzo—is dragging one of the heavy oak tables closer to us, which has now gained the attention from a few students in the surrounding area.
Hands pause over laptop keyboards as eyes cut in our direction.
“What are you doing?” Sumner whisper-yells.
“You insisted I grab this table,” Enzo says, exasperated, as though it’s completely obvious.
Sumner glares as I leap up and make my way over to him. “We can’t move these,” I explain. “He just meant go sit over there…”
My sentence trails off as I catch a glimpse of Ellerby through the bay window directly behind Enzo.
She’s not alone. An older gentleman in a chestnut suit walks alongside her.
He’s not an instructor here. Nothing about him seems recognizable, and yet, there’s something unnerving about someone dressed as sharply as him visiting Ivernia on a quiet Saturday.
Before I can process what I’m doing, I launch myself toward the library’s exit and burst into the bright afternoon daylight.
Ellerby guides him along the paved walkway that hugs the administration building, ivy clinging to the exterior’s smooth stones. My footsteps are light as I stay several yards behind them, tucking myself behind grand pillars when they pause for several seconds before moving on.
“Nearly one hundred and forty years of education,” I hear Ellerby recite as they stroll through a covered archway. I follow. “One of the oldest institutions on the East Coast, though I imagine you’re aware.”
They roll into another halt by a gnarled oak tree near the building’s emergency exit.
“Hey,” a raspy voice barks from behind me. “What are you doing?”
I whirl around, eyes wide, reaching for Sumner’s wrist and yanking him into an overgrown bougainvillea bush before Ellerby can take notice.
We press our backs against the wall, shoulder to shoulder.
I drop his wrist like it’s pure electricity.
His eyebrows fly up, but I only raise my index to my lips.
He stills. We both strain to hear the conversation.
“I know my grandfather had a vision for Ivernia School, but my vision for the property has never aligned with his,” the man’s saying.
“I understand,” Ellerby says civilly. “But there are certain structures in place to protect our students’ right to education.”
“This is private education.”
“Yes, and we have a board of trustees who finalize decisions based on the needs of our students.”
I swallow. This must be what Ellerby meant last night, and now I’m beginning to understand. It was never Ivernia’s decision to close. The decision is in the hands of who owns the land.
Next to me, Sumner’s chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. I feel equally worked up.
“Students’ educational needs are capable of being met elsewhere,” he argues. “The state department of education agrees with me. This is not a real school district. Not with the number of out-of-state attendees enrolled.”
“Precisely why it’s a boarding school,” Ellerby argues back. “One that centers the needs of academically gifted students who desire a concentration in science, math, and technology.”
“Everything I’ve seen today confirms this is a luxury, which is who I intend to cater to with its renovation.” He shakes his head. “This is a courtesy notice. I apologize if it’s not what you hoped from my visit.”
A steady ringing fills my ears. My fingertips go numb. I wanted to believe this wasn’t a real possibility, but it’s unfolding before my very eyes.
Sumner dips his gaze toward me, his fingertips catching his glasses before they skate down his nose. “Fuck,” he breathes.
A dry huff escapes through my nostrils. Fuck is the only correct way to describe this entire situation.
I close my eyes. Lean my head against the limestone wall behind me. “I didn’t want it to be true.”
A disruptive rustle of leaf and vine has my eyes flying open.
“Delaney,” Ellerby calls. “Sumner. You can come out now.”