Chapter 6 Gideon #2
“So you annoyed me because you wanted attention. How original.” Her glare is unimpressed. “It didn’t occur to you that you could just be my friend ?”
“I—no.”
“Why the fuck not?” She sounds incredulous, and I can’t blame her.
I deflate, because this part is even harder to admit. It feels disloyal, even though he’s gone, even though he was wrong . But I owe this to her, so I say, “Because ... because of my dad.”
Her brow furrows, and something like compassion tinges her expression. “I remember he was hard on you. About grades.”
I’m surprised she knows that, but then again, we were in school together for seven years. There are a lot of things we know about each other.
I scratch the back of my neck. “He, um, basically instilled in me a very entitled mindset.”
“You don’t say.” Her tone is mildly teasing, and it makes it easier to go on.
“He told me I should be at the top of our class, and if I wasn’t, it was simultaneously because I wasn’t trying hard enough and other people were taking what was mine.” I rub my forehead, then blurt out the rest. “He especially didn’t like that a girl was besting me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure the double R in my last name didn’t help.”
I wince, because she’s not wrong. “He might’ve made some comments about diversity admissions.”
At that, she makes a disgusted sound. “Noble, look at me. If it weren’t for my name, no one would guess I was Puerto Rican. And yes, I got some financial assistance for tuition, but my parents were doctors, and I earned my grades by working my ass off.”
“I know all that. It was stupid, and by the time I realized why my dad had it out for you, by the time I realized he was the reason why I thought it was okay to tease you, why I felt entitled to your attention, why I was jealous of your grades ... it was too late. We were never going to be friends.”
Her brow scrunches. “Okay, but you went from daily teasing—which, honestly, I’d gotten used to—to acting like I was invisible. That was a mindfuck in a different way.”
My heart sinks. “I’m sorry. I never even considered that would bother you.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“I heard my dad say some things that were, well, eye opening. And I started rethinking everything.”
I’d been fifteen when I overheard my dad going on a tirade about immigration.
Never mind that my own mother, his wife , was a French model who’d overstayed her visa when she was in her twenties, and that was how she’d met my father in New York.
The hypocrisy had shocked me, although it shouldn’t have.
Maybe I’d been too focused on trying to gain his approval to connect the dots sooner.
He’d always been prone to mood swings, and nothing I did was ever good enough.
And this was around the time I’d started to accept that I was also attracted to guys, and fear over what my father would say if he found out contributed to my drawing inward in high school.
Now I take pro bono immigration cases on the side, working within the framework of a cruel and broken system, as well as donating through my family’s foundation.
But it still doesn’t feel like enough to outweigh the damage Malcolm Noble did with his money, money that’s now mine to do with as I please because I didn’t rock the boat while he was alive.
Yes, I’m unpacking all this with Ralph. And no, I’m nowhere near finished processing everything. But I don’t want Torres doing any more emotional labor on my behalf, so I only say, “I figured the best thing I could do was leave you alone.”
She gives me an arch look. “I think the best thing you could’ve done was apologize .”
I cringe. “Unfortunately, that didn’t occur to me. So I just didn’t say ... anything.”
“Until graduation.”
I run a hand down my face. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”
“How could I?” Her eyes spark with irritation. “You tormented me and then ignored me, and suddenly you come up after the ceremony to shake my hand and wish me—and I quote—‘the best of luck in all your endeavors.’”
I can’t help but laugh at her derisive imitation of my voice. “God, I was such a tool. I can’t believe I said that.”
“I spent months trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean.”
“I swear I wasn’t trying to be cryptic.”
“What were you doing?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I was aiming for polite. And brief. You were with Mulholland by that point, and I didn’t want him to see me talking to you.”
“Worried he was going to kick your ass?” I expect her to smirk, but her lips are pressed into a humorless line.
“Absolutely. After he had that growth spurt junior year, nobody messed with him.”
Her eyes narrow. “You really just wanted to wish me luck?”
“I really did. You worked hard, earned the top spot, and ... I wanted you to do well. You know, in life.”
She releases an annoyed huff. “So basic. Would you have written ‘have a nice life’ in my yearbook, if I’d asked you to sign it?”
“I—yeah, probably. Because other people would’ve seen it.”
“Ah.” A knowing look crosses her features. “What would you have written if it were private?”
I blow out a breath. “I—”
“Wait, don’t tell me.” She opens a drawer in the antique wooden coffee table and pulls out a pen and a spiral notebook made from recycled paper. “Write it down.”
“Write what down?”
“What you would’ve written in my yearbook if no one else could see it.”
Adrenaline floods my body. “Right now?”
“Yes. You owe me this.”
“Oh, my God.” I accept the paper and pen, feeling extremely silly.
And then I take a moment to get my head on straight.
Ralph would tell me there’s nothing wrong with looking silly. That my father is gone, and even if he weren’t, I don’t need to live up to his definition of masculinity. That being vulnerable and having feelings doesn’t make you weak. That rejection and failure aren’t death sentences.
I glance at Valencia, who’s sipping her tea and scratching her cat’s odd folded ears.
Second chance, I think.
Then I click open the pen and begin to write.