25. twenty five
twenty five
LYSANDRA
The scene of Ezra at his father’s mercy kept replaying in my mind.
Seeing him in such a vulnerable state cracked the fortified walls of my heart.
On top of that, telling him a sliver of the struggles I went through with my own family created a bundle of emotions that threatened to spill at any moment.
I didn’t like talking about it for this very reason.
Distant recollections of moments I buried deep within my subconscious had begun to come to the front of my mind to haunt me.
It was difficult for me to talk and open up about my past. I couldn’t get much out when he asked about what I went through. I think he noticed how stifling it was for me to speak about the matter.
That was the beginning of our story. A moment of sadness, which created many more filled with joy.
It was as though we spent every waking moment together, and I surprisingly enjoyed it. Being with him felt like dancing under the sun’s gleaming rays. However, it wasn’t a budding romance growing between us. It was a friendship. A mutual understanding. For me, that was enough.
These were the thoughts that swirled through my mind as I waited for the manager of the pub to meet me for my interview.
My initial plan had been to get a job as soon as I arrived in Scotland.
I gave myself a few weeks to understand what my schedule would be like, to test myself, and decide whether I could balance my education and a job.
The only other person who knew that I was here was Camille; she thought it was a good idea too.
She was patiently waiting for me back at our dorm.
Despite my friendship with Ezra, I didn’t want him to know about my economic issues. I hated the thoughts that told me that I would never escape this miserable and brittle financial struggle.
Although it had only been four in the afternoon, the last slivers of Sun did not filter the dark mood of the pub.
There’d been hundreds of bottles filled with alcohol lined inside a large cabinet.
Large transparent cups were set in formation at the very bottom of the cupboard.
Several workers passed by the vast pub table.
The bartenders wore a simple uniform: black shirt, pants, shoes, and a white apron wrapped around their torsos.
Clinks of fragile cups reverberated through the entire building. I could hear the TV blasting the latest sports news, accompanied by the laughter of old men. It was a large pub with a considerable number of guests enjoying their meals and drinks.
An older woman walked out of a back door toward me, scanning me. The woman grunted as she approached me. “American.”
“Mexican-American, ma’am,” I replied.
Amusement flashed through her eyes. “America wasn’t enough?” she asked.
“I guess not,” I answered with the same roughness that she had in her tone.
A sharp grin formed on her lips. “What brings you to Scotland?”
“Boarding school.”
“Which one?”
“Blackthorn House Academy, ma’am,” I said.
“One of the best in the country, aside from Lachlan Prep.” She raised a brow. “Why does a pretty girl like you want a job here if you could get into that school?”
A few days after I arrived in Edinburgh, I got an email from Lachlan. It was then that I remembered how I had forgotten to reply to them. To be truthful, I was glad I took Blackthorn’s offer rather than Lachlan’s because then I would’ve never met Cami or Ezra.
“I’m here on a scholarship. I didn’t pay my way into the school like most of my classmates,” I chirped.
“What job are you here for?” she asked.
“Server.”
“What makes you think you are fit for the position?”
Straight to the point, good.
“I’m a hard worker, and above all, honest. I like the feeling of this place. I’d like to spend my nights here after school and be able to serve the people of Edinburgh,” I answered.
She nodded, turning toward the bartenders who had been mixing drinks beside her. They inclined their heads in response. The woman then extended her hand, and instantly, I reached for it.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“You got yourself the job, girl. But you’ll be working under supervision. My name’s Miriam, I’m the owner and manager of the pub.”
Relief washed through me when I heard her harsh Scottish accent enunciate my victory. I beamed brightly as I said, “Nice to meet you, I’m Lysandra.”
“Pretty name.”
Probably the only good thing my mother had left me.
“Thanks,” I replied. “When can I start?”
I was in desperate need of money.
“We need to go over a few papers, contracts, benefits, that sort of deal. Leave your phone number with me, and I’ll call you once we have the paperwork ready for you to sign.
Most likely, you will be serving tables here in about a week.
” Miriam slid a notepad and a pen toward me from across the bar.
I nodded, swiftly scribbling my name and number on it. “Here’s my number.”
Once I’d written it down for her, she gave me a business card with her name and contact information printed on it.
“Great, see you in a few days, Lys.”
I walked out and let out a deep breath. People brushed past me. It had been a tiresome week searching for a job, hopefully they wouldn’t prolong the paperwork process.
When I arrived at the school, I was met by Ezra. He was perched beside the fountain situated in front of the double paned doors of the academy. He seemed to have been examining the stone.
“You don’t have anything else to do but stand by the door like a golden retriever?” I remarked, crossing my arms.
“Not when it comes to you. I’ll wait as long as I have to.” He gave me the cheekiest grin. I rolled my eyes, strutting past him and toward the threshold of the foyer.
We strolled down the hallways of Blackthorn. Statues were placed atop white columns at the edges of the corridors, vintage paintings hung from the mahogany walls, and benches were occupied by plaid-wearing students.
“What is it that you want, Van Dorren?” I asked.
“I wanted to see if you had any plans tonight,” he questioned.
“What’s it to you?”
“There’s this place I want you to see,” he began.
“Hmm, I don’t know. You’d have to check with my assistant. She can respond to your inquiries,” I teased. We made it deeper into the school. Plaid, black boots, vests, and scarves flashed past my peripheral vision.
“Will you give me the pleasure of your company?”
“Mmm, fine.”
“I’ll drop by your room at 7 p.m.” A mischievous grin appeared across his face before he walked into another hall.
I furrowed a brow before walking back to my room. As I trudged inside, I found Camille doing her homework on her desk with a lamplight beside her. She scribbled tirelessly on one page, then to another, and then went back to the first page.
“Are… you okay?” I questioned, hanging my key on the holder near my bed.
“I can’t believe the professors in this place. I love the classes and all, but help me understand where they find so much homework to assign us. How does everyone have good grades here?” she yelled, setting her hands on her temples. “How am I supposed to find a job if I can’t even do my homework?”
I chuckled. “I felt the exact same way at the beginning of the semester. But I found a way to get all of assignments done to have free time on weekends.”
“Please, tell me how you did it,” she begged with a deep pout.
“Well, first, I have no social life. And secondly, I do my homework during lunch and right after class. That’s the only way I can mentally recharge Saturday and Sunday.”
“But—”
“The people here pay their way into graduation. We are here because of a scholarship. We don’t have the same kind of privilege to do that, the only choice we have is to focus on getting our assignments finished and learning what we can to pass our tests.”
She groaned, slumping her shoulders.
“It’s just—there’s this guy. He actually seems interested in me, even though I’m American, and the only times he can hang out are during lunch and after school.
I don’t know if I can survive my high school years without having a social life.
Also, the amount of xenophobia I receive in this place is baffling!
” she hushed. Camille returned her focus to the sheets before her and began to write on the pages.
“Now imagine being a Mexican born in America,” I replied as I plopped on my bed, examining the crevices of the ceiling. From the corner of my eye, I noticed how she rapidly pushed her chair to face me.
“I’m sorry, you know I don’t mean to offend you.”
“You’re not,” I chuckled before sitting up. “Tell me, is it mostly the girls of the school? The ones with ginger hair, freckled cheeks, and skirts that could literally be booty shorts?”
“Yes! Those girls are evil,” Camille gasped.
“Yeah. Don’t let them get to you. They’re just insecure little brats who feel threatened by us.” I shrugged.
Insecurity usually ran deep in girls like them. Although they made me falter at times, I mostly felt pity rather than resentment.
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To give deep felt revelations about human behaviors,” I joked.
I saw her change of thought through her facial expression. “Wait, you didn’t tell me how your interview went.”
I smiled. “I got the job!”
Her eyes bulged as she jumped from her seat and embraced me. It only took me two seconds to wrap my arms around her. “I’m so happy for you.”
Her excitement made me chuckle. “You deserve the whole world, my girl. I can’t believe you did it. You secured a job in Scotland in your one-week search. That should honestly be some kind of record.”
Camille continued to ramble as she held me in her arms. I never had this before; it felt nice, but odd. Not imposed upon me: if anything, I welcomed the warmth of her solace, but it felt unnatural.
“I’m enjoying the physical contact, but I do have to start getting ready.” I patted her back.
Cami stepped back, her blue eyes questioning me as I made my way to my dresser. I pulled a drawer open, pondering on the type of outfit I should wear. I should’ve asked Ezra what the occasion was to dress accordingly.
“Where are you going?” Camille’s gaze followed me.
“Ezra wants to take me somewhere,” I said mindlessly.
I rummaged through my drawer, looking for a different T-shirt than the one I had been wearing.
There was only silence from Camille. Since the very beginning of the semester, Cami had been gushing about Ezra’s physique and qualities; it was odd that she’d been quiet when I mentioned his name.
I looked back; she seemed on the verge of exploding with excitement.
“Again… are you okay?” I questioned.
“He asked you out on a date. Don’t you realize?” she exclaimed, nearing me.
I shook my head. “It’s not a date. We’re just friends.”
“Friends with an understanding that he has feelings for you, right?” she inquired.
“What? No!”
“I see the way he looks at you when you are walking down the hallways.”
I shook my head while crossing my arms. “A guy like that would never have feelings for a girl like me.”
“You never know,” she claimed, lifting her shoulders.
“We’re from two different worlds, Camille.”
“Yeah, so were Romeo and Juliette,” she said. I remained silent to allow the thought of the Shakespearean couple to simmer in her mind.
She waited patiently for me to reply as she furrowed a brow.
“They didn’t exactly have the best ending, did they?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re right. I didn’t think about it that way. But, we can still acknowledge that their great love for one another didn’t let them envision a life without each other, which resulted in their tragic, accidental suicides.”
“I will never understand the fascination that this world has with Romeo and Juliette,” I hissed, turning back to face my drawers to scavenge through my clothes.
Could he truly be interested in me? Was this a date in disguise? If it was, then I had to be prepared.
“Hypothetically…if this were to be a date, do you think you could help me pick an outfit?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” she squealed.