Chapter 10 Vane
VANE
Iscan the crowd of blue graduation gowns, searching for her. Three fucking weeks of silence. Three weeks of her ducking into bathrooms when she sees me coming, switching lab partners without a word, and ignoring every text and call.
“Who are you looking for?” Knox tugs at my gown, his small face peering up at me with curious eyes. His hair is sticking up despite Xavier's attempts to tame it this morning.
“No one, buddy.” I ruffle his hair, making it worse. “Just trying to find my row.”
“You're lying,” Knox says with the blunt honesty only an eight-year-old can get away with. “You're looking for that girl with the pretty hair. The one in your picture.”
I feel heat rise to my face. Landon snorts beside me, his gangly fifteen-year-old frame awkward in the suit Xavier forced him into.
“Shut up, squirt,” I mutter to Knox.
“Keep it civil,” Xavier warns, adjusting his tie. At twenty, he looks more like our father than our brother in his pressed shirt and polished shoes. Always the perfect guardian. “Today is important.”
“It's just high school,” I say, still scanning the crowd.
“It's more than we thought you'd manage,” Xavier replies, his voice low so only I can hear. “So stop scowling and try to look like you give a damn.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I nearly drop it pulling it out, hoping it's her, but it's just a group text from some classmates about the after-party.
“She's over there,” Landon says quietly, nodding toward the far side of the gymnasium.
I follow his gaze, and there she is—Lia, surrounded by her friends, laughing like she doesn't have a care in the world. As if she hadn't texted me asking me not to contact her again after the best night of my life.
“That's her?” Xavier asks.
“Drop it,” I warn him.
“I like her hair,” Knox pipes up. “It's pretty like her.”
I feel a surge of possessiveness. “Yeah, well, she doesn't want anything to do with me, so it doesn't matter.”
The principal calls for students to line up.
The principal drones on about bright futures and the leaders of tomorrow while I sit two rows behind Lia, staring at the back of her head. She hasn't turned around once. Not even when Davis Thompson tripped going up the stairs and nearly face-planted in front of the superintendent.
When they call her name, I watch her walk across the stage with perfect posture and that confident smile she always wears in public. Several people cheer—her parents loudest of all.
“Vane Blackwood,” the principal announces minutes later.
I cross the stage, take my diploma, and search for her face among the graduates. She's suddenly very interested in the program in her hands. The rejection burns in my chest.
After the ceremony ends and mortarboards litter the air, I push through the crowd toward her. She spots me coming and whispers something to Megan, who immediately pulls her toward a cluster of parents.
“Lia!” I call out. She pretends not to hear me over the noise.
I follow her outside, where families are taking photos. Xavier catches my arm.
“Let's get our pictures done,” he says firmly.
“In a minute.”
“Now, Vane.”
I shrug him off, spotting Lia near the fountain. She's with her parents, but her eyes keep darting around—looking for escape routes in case I approach. When she sees me coming, she practically drags her parents toward their car.
“Congratulations, Vane,” her father calls out, clearly confused by his daughter's behavior. I force a smile and wave back.
Before I can reach her, she's sliding into the backseat of her parents' SUV. Our eyes meet through the window for just a second—long enough for me to see something like panic flash across her face before she looks away.
The car pulls out of the parking lot, and I stand there like an idiot, diploma in hand, watching her leave.
“You coming?” Knox tugs at my gown
“Yeah,” I mutter, my jaw clenched tight. “I'm coming.”
Xavier throws his arm around my shoulder as we walk back toward the crowd. “That's the girl who's been ignoring you?”
Knox tugs at my gown again. “Why won't she talk to you? Did you do something mean?”
“Mind your business, squirt,” I say, but there's no heat in it.
Landon smirks. “He probably said something stupid. He always does.”
“You're one to talk,” I shoot back. “Remind me again who almost got kicked out of high school for calling the teacher names?”
“That was different—”
“Enough,” Xavier cuts in. “This is supposed to be a celebration. Let's at least pretend we're functional for one day.”
We pose for photos, Xavier making sure Knox stands still long enough for the camera. I go through the motions, but my mind is still on Lia.
After we finish, I spot Anders and a few other guys from the debate team near the refreshment table.
“Congrats, man,” Anders says, clapping me on the back. “Heading to the party tonight?”
“Yeah, probably,” I reply, scanning the crowd again.
“Looking for Lia?” James asks. “She bolted pretty quick.”
“No, I'm just—” I stop myself. “Yeah, actually. Why would she leave so quickly?”
James shakes his head, but then Megan appears beside him. Her eyes narrow when she sees me.
“What do you want, Blackwood?” She asks coldly.
“Where's Lia?”
Megan crosses her arms. “Why do you care?”
“Just tell me where she is.”
She studies me for a moment, then sighs. “She had to go early. She's catching the Greyhound to New York for summer school at Columbia.”
My stomach drops. “Summer school? She never mentioned—”
“She’s been signed up for months,” Megan says.
“When does the bus leave?” I ask, already backing away.
“Five minutes ago.”
I freeze. “What?”
“It was the twelve-fifteen. So, yeah, about five minutes ago.”
Without thinking, I turn and sprint toward Xavier, who's talking with some parents.
“I need your keys,” I blurt out, interrupting his conversation.
“What? No, we're not—”
I grab his arm. “Please. The bus station. It's important.”
Something in my face must convince him because he sighs and digs in his pocket. “Don't scratch it.”
I'm already running before the keys fully land in my palm. The station is only ten minutes away. Maybe there's traffic. Maybe the bus is late.
I peel out of the parking lot, ignoring Xavier shouting something behind me. The speedometer climbs as I weave through traffic, running a yellow light.
But when I screech into the station's parking lot and race inside, I'm met with an empty bay. The twelve fifteen to New York has departed on schedule.
She's gone. Without a word. Without even saying goodbye.