13. Alex
Chapter 13
Alex
“ A re you ready to put up some posters?” Aubrey chirps, much too enthusiastic for the early hour of the morning.
Why did I agree to do this with her again?
Wandering around campus didn’t seem like the most exciting way to spend my weekend.
I stifle a yawn and nod halfheartedly.
“Sure, let’s get this over with.”
Aubrey gives a playful laugh, her eyes twinkling with humor.
“Come on, it’ll be fun! Plus, we’re helping a good cause.”
Yeah, yeah.
She had already explained to me yesterday afternoon that this carnival was a fundraiser for all the clubs and organizations here at Altair.
It was a way for everyone to come together and support each other by raising money.
To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to the details at the time, since I was more focused on trying to remove the last of the stains from the fountain while freezing water drenched my arms.
“Where should we start?” I ask, hoping Aubrey has some sort of plan.
She pauses, scanning the quiet campus.
Most students are still asleep, lucky them.
“How about the library? Lots of foot traffic there.”
We make our way into the imposing building.
The gothic library interior is a grand, cavernous space filled with towering bookshelves that seem to stretch up to the ceiling and beyond.
The dark wood of the shelves is adorned with intricate carvings of our eagle mascot and other fantastical lines of design.
The arched windows are tall, and the glass casts a dim, ethereal light throughout the room.
As we head further inside, I notice a bulletin board near the entrance, plastered with various announcements and advertisements.
“Perfect,” Aubrey whispers, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.
She fumbles with the stack of posters in her arms, nearly dropping them before I reach out to steady her.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
“Can you grab some pushpins for me?”
I reach over to the board and grab a few of the black plastic tacks, handing them to her.
As Aubrey begins pinning up the first poster, I take a moment to actually look at what we’re advertising.
The carnival seems to be a bigger deal than I’d realized, with promises of games, food stalls, and even a Ferris wheel.
“Hey, this actually sounds kind of cool,” I admit, surprising myself.
Aubrey beams at me. “See? I knew you would enjoy it! Altair always goes above and beyond for these special occasions,” she says.
“But it’s not really surprising, given the wealthy backgrounds of most students here.”
“Yeah, must be tough being this rich,” I reply, my focus fixed on smoothing out a wrinkle in the poster.
Aubrey laughs, tossing a teasing glance my way.
“Oh, totally,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“It’s so exhausting having access to every luxury. I can hardly keep up with the spa days and yacht parties.” She grins, nudging my arm.
“But hey, you’re technically one of us now, so you must have a yacht or two stashed away, right?”
I smirk and pat down my pockets.
“Let me just check… Nope, just a couple of crumpled notes and a pack of gum today.”
Aubrey’s grin fades into a more relaxed smile as she pins another corner of the poster to the board, her voice shifting to a lighter, more casual tone.
“Anyway…” She glances around the room for a moment, then back to me.
“What booth are you most excited about? I heard the chemistry club’s doing some kind of ‘magical potion’ demonstration.”
I raise an eyebrow skeptically.
“Magical potion? Sounds like something Alfie would be into at Club Bedlam.”
Aubrey laughs, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
“It’s not real magic,” she says with a grin.
“It’s just a bunch of science students trying to make chemicals look cool. They’ll mix things together and make some smoke and colorful reactions. Though, I did hear they’re offering a signature drink to match the ‘magical’ theme. So there’s that.”
“Will the drink they’re giving us be the same as the ones used in the experiment?”
“Not at all! The beverage is just a lure to draw people over to their booth,” Aubrey explains.
I can’t help but chuckle at the clever marketing ploy.
“Well, I guess that’s one way to get people interested in chemistry.”
We continue our way down the hall, plastering posters on every available surface.
As we work, I find myself growing more curious about the carnival.
Maybe it won’t be as stuffy and pretentious as I initially thought.
“What about you?” I ask Aubrey.
“Any particular booth you’re looking forward to?”
She pauses for a moment, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm…I’m really excited about the art club’s station. They’ve got some incredibly talented members, and I heard they’re doing live portraits. I’ve always wanted to have one done. Plus, they’re showcasing some of the best pieces from the semester.”
I nod, trying to picture Aubrey sitting still for a portrait.
Somehow, I can’t imagine her staying in one place for that long.
Her energy seems too vibrant, too kinetic.
“That sounds fun,” I admit.
It could be interesting to see how my features would be portrayed on paper.
“I might have to check that out.”
She shrugs and says, “They appeared enthusiastic while presenting it to Chancellor Maxwell and the rest of the board.”
I frown, briefly remembering how Alfie had mentioned something about a board.
Should I care more? Should I be more involved?
But then, I remember why I chose Club Bedlam in the first place: not many people, and we only had to meet once a week.
The most pressing thing Alfie’s insisted on so far?
Me cleaning the bathroom in the tent.
I mean, that was definitely a top priority for him.
I shake my head with a smirk.
But honestly, it wasn’t that bad.
For being so far back in the woods, that bathroom was surprisingly clean and spacious.
“What about you?” I inquire, “How does the Actors Guild Club plan to raise funds?”
“We have the best idea! We’re going to do a live improvisation booth!” Aubrey exclaims, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“The details are still kind of up in the air right now—like whether we’ll use a spinning wheel or a hat, but either way, we’ll have audience members spin it or draw from it to give us a prompt. Then, we’ll have students act out a short scene based on whatever scenario or genre comes up. It’s all about the surprise, you know?”
I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
“That does sound entertaining.”
“It’s going to be hilarious and totally unpredictable,” she assures me.
“Maybe I can even convince you to join in on a scene.”
My mouth quirks, a smirk tugging at my lips.
“Oh sure, because nothing says fun like watching me make an even bigger impression on the Actors’ Guild than I already have. I think I’ll leave the acting to the people who actually know what they’re doing.”
Aubrey laughs lightly.
“That was one time, and I swear everyone’s almost stopped talking about it.” She pauses, eyeing me.
I shoot her a look, scratching at my neck.
Aubrey raises her hands in mock surrender.
“Well, mostly.”
After leaving the library, we make our way across the courtyard toward the dining hall.
As we step inside, Ophelia suddenly exits, and we nearly bump into her.
She’s wearing large sunglasses that obscure her face, despite the overcast weather outside.
“Watch where you’re going!” she says with a sneer, pushing past us.
Aubrey whistles lowly.
“Wow, what’s got her so hostile this morning? Did the chef slip some decaf into her coffee?”
“Actually, I think it has more to do with Bishop breaking up with her last night,” I say matter-of-factly, not trying to defend her behavior but simply stating the truth.
Aubrey’s eyes go wide, and she grabs my arm in shock.
“Wait, why is this the first I’m hearing of this? You’re kidding me?”
“It’s still early on a Saturday. And I’d still be in bed if I had my way,” I say, shooting her a pointed look.
Aubrey shrugs, unfazed.
“I mean, you agreed to help, didn’t you?”
I glare at her.
“I was arm-deep in a fountain, Aubrey. I would’ve agreed to anything if it meant a break from that punishment.”
She waves her hand dismissively.
“Okay, okay, I get it. But seriously, what’s this about Bishop and Ophelia? How do you know all this?” She pauses, narrowing her eyes.
“Wait…how do you know?”
I point ahead, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Let’s go this way. I think the billboard is near the back by the lounge seating.”
Aubrey doesn’t let up, falling sharply behind me.
“Oh no, we’re not dropping this. Come on, spill.”
I sigh, but keep walking.
My mind is still trying to wrap around what happened last night.
The same way I’m trying to figure out these conflicting feelings I have for Bishop.
It’s easier to just ignore it for now.
We weave through tables and chairs until we reach the far corner of the dining hall.
The space beneath the Legacies' private mezzanine is cozy, with plush sofas and chairs arranged around small tables, lamps casting a soft, golden light. The lone piano sits off to the side. It’s a common area meant for students to relax, socialize, or study.
As we walk, I glance around, wondering if any of the Legacies have fallen from the chairs I loosened the screws on after a brief moment of weakness the other day—when I almost sat down to play the piano for the first time in years. Nothing looks broken or out of place, so I assume not—at least, not yet. That’s underwhelming.
I pass by the piano quickly, barely sparing it a glance, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice. She’s fully focused now, her voice low and insistent. “Okay, seriously—how do you know about Bishop and Ophelia?”
I glance at her, the words already weighing on my tongue. “I was there when they broke up.”
Aubrey stops in her tracks. “What?”
I keep moving, trying to focus on the path ahead, trying to brush it off. “Bishop had Ophelia convince me to come down to the shoreline last night. He dumped her right in front of me. No warning. Just…done. It was cold. Like he had no feelings at all.”
Aubrey’s expression flickers between disbelief and curiosity. “Wait, hold on. You were there while Bishop broke up with her?”
I nod, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah, and it was brutal. He barely even cared.” I hold out my hand. “Poster.”
She hands it over eagerly, wanting to hear more. “And then what happened? Did Ophelia cry and claw his eyes out?” Her shoulders square. “Did she try to claw your eyes out? I mean, you look okay, so maybe not.”
I sigh, ignoring her theatrics as I tack the paper onto the corkboard.
Her voice softens as she watches me, clearly waiting for more details, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. What Bishop did wasn’t nice—no, it was the complete opposite. It was cold, calculated, and cruel. The more I think about it, the more I can’t shake the image of his green eyes, so indifferent, so dismissive. He didn’t even flinch when he did it. No hesitation. No remorse. Just pure, raw power.
And then there’s that twisted part of me that… liked it. The way he just took control, the way he didn’t even care how it affected anyone else. He did it without a second thought, like it was nothing. There was something about it—something dark, something sharp—that stirred something inside me, something I wasn’t ready to face.
I shouldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. So wrong .
And yet, the feeling lingers.
Aubrey seems to notice my hesitation, watching me closely. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”
I take a deep breath, forcing a smile and waving off her concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just—” My eyes dart around the dining hall, searching for something to latch onto. “We should hit the natatorium next.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “The natatorium? Really?”
I nod, still avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, let’s go.”
As we make our way toward the door, my mind drifts back to what I’d done last night. The prank. Sylvester had been the target, but it wasn’t just about messing with him. It was about the distraction. I needed something—anything—to focus on other than what happened with Bishop.
I hadn’t planned on being there when the swim team found the mess I’d set up. I figured it was better to stay out of it, to leave the prank to play out on its own. But now? Now I wanted to see their reactions. I needed to see them freak out. Maybe it would pull me out of my head, away from the cold indifference Bishop showed when he broke up with Ophelia. Because if I keep thinking about my shadow and that strange, twisted feeling in my chest, I’m not sure I’ll like where it leads.
As we walk across campus towards the natatorium, the morning air nips at my exposed skin. I pull my jacket tighter around me, envying Aubrey’s thick woolen sweater. The temperature had noticeably dropped, and the deciduous trees were just starting to change colors among the evergreens.
We reach the building, its walls reflecting the gray, overcast sky. We push through the heavy doors, and a wave of warm, chlorine-scented air hits us. The sound of splashing echoes through the cavernous space.
Right away, something feels… off. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the kind of quiet tension you don’t notice until it’s already pressing down on your shoulders.
I glance around, surprised to find the pool looking completely normal. The “snow caps” I’d made and the boat I’d floated in the water at Sylvester’s expense are nowhere to be seen. Had someone already cleaned it all up?
I wasn’t expecting a meet today. I thought I might just walk in on a quiet practice or something.
“It looks like the swimmers just started warming up,” Aubrey remarks, oblivious to my confusion, as we enter the crowded space. The second level above the pool is lined with students and parents, all watching the swimmers as they wait.
I scan the lanes automatically, spotting the away team right away—their uniforms a sharp contrast to ours—but I don’t see anyone from Altair’s team yet. No familiar faces, and definitely no Sylvester.
The meet feels too put-together, too curated. I’d expected chaos—or at the very least, evidence that chaos had occurred. Instead, it’s like nothing happened at all.
As we stand there, taking in the start of the meet, I’m still trying to piece things together. I’d expected to walk in on the aftermath of my prank—maybe catch a few bewildered faces, or at least the swim team scrambling to figure out what happened. But the pool looks pristine. The swimmers are doing their thing, and no one’s even batting an eye.
I glance around again, unsure of what I was even expecting to find. My thoughts are interrupted when Sutton strides over, effortlessly cutting through the crowd like it parts for her. She’s all smiles, her eyes scanning the scene like she owns it, but something about the way her gaze flickers over the faces in the room tells me it’s not as easy as she’s making it look. When she sees us, her smile sharpens, and she lifts a hand in a casual wave.
Her grin lands directly on me, and that’s when I feel it—whatever’s different, it’s not just in the air. It’s in her. For a split second, there’s a flash of something else behind her smile, something almost like relief. No, that can’t be right, can it? It’s like she’s glad to see me—like she’s found something familiar in a room full of unfamiliar faces. But why would Sutton be relieved to see me? After everything?
“I was just about to take my seat,” she says, her voice light, with an edge of amusement. “Glad to see you’re here to join the fun.”
I raise an eyebrow, still trying to wrap my head around the situation. “Everything seems so…clean,” I say, almost to myself, my words trailing off as I glance at the swimmers.
There’s something in her eyes—quick, guarded—but it vanishes before I can pin it down.
Sutton shrugs. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I guess the other team must’ve snuck in early this morning and messed with the pool before we got here. The place was a total wreck up until about twenty minutes ago.” She grins like it’s a joke, like the whole thing was harmless and funny, but I don’t buy it.
I nod, but it’s automatic. She’s lying—I can feel it. I know exactly who did it. But that’s not what’s bothering me.
It’s the way she’s talking to me, like we’re in on something together. Like we’ve already moved past what she and the other Legacies did to me. I remember when we were briefly friends. But this? This is different.
Then, cutting through the air like a knife: “Hey, it’s the Leaky Legacy’s twin! Think she floats better than her brother’s speedo?” someone yells from the second level—bold and sharp—and the entire pool area seems to pause for a second.
Laughter bursts from a few scattered students. I see Sutton freeze—just barely—but it’s there. A millisecond of pure, unfiltered discomfort.
Then comes the follow-up: “Hey Sutton! Where’s your boat? Or did you leave it floating with your brothers?”
More laughter. Someone even whistles.
Sutton’s face tightens—not with anger, but calculation. It’s rare to see anyone go after a Legacy so directly. And it landed.
She recovers fast, already rolling her eyes with a practiced scoff. “Oh, that? Please. The other school is just trying to rattle us. Super original, right?” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like the joke didn’t even touch her.
My gaze briefly flickers up to the student who made the comment. He’s wearing an Altair-branded shirt—definitely not from the rival school. Whoever threw that out there, they’re not just a bystander—they’re someone from our own university.
Looking back down I catch the way her fingers twitch slightly at her side. The way she doesn’t look up at the balcony.
Do the Legacies even know what embarrassment is? Have they ever experienced this kind of bold, open ridicule? Or have they only ever been the ones to start it, casting others down with a laugh, with no fear of retaliation?
I just nod, trying to act like her explanation makes sense, even though it doesn’t entirely. “Well, I’ll see you guys around.” Sutton says with a wave before quickly heading in the opposite direction.
Aubrey turns to me, practically bouncing with excitement. “That was weird, right?” she says, glancing after Sutton with a raised eyebrow. “She was acting all... nice? Anyway, since we’re already here, do you think we should stay?” she asks, her eyes wide with anticipation, clearly savoring the drama unfolding around us.
I sigh, glancing around at the crowd, and then back at the pool. I really wasn’t planning on sticking around. “I don’t know.”
Aubrey immediately raises a single pointed finger, her eyes pleading. “Come on, just one race! Please?” She’s practically begging now, looking like a little kid at the candy store.
I chuckle despite myself, rolling my eyes. “Alright, alright. One race,” I mutter, knowing full well I’m giving in.
Aubrey takes my lack of resistance as a victory and immediately drops our stack of posters onto a nearby bench. She then grabs my arm, tugging me toward the stairs leading up to the second level where the seating is.
We find empty seats near the middle of the crowd. Aubrey immediately grabs a spot, practically flopping down, her excitement palpable. I, on the other hand, take a moment to glance around, trying to adjust to the vibe of the place.
I spot Sutton settling into her seat on the opposite side of the natatorium. It’s clear that her seat isn’t just anywhere in the crowd. The area where she’s sitting looks different—more closed off, smaller, and exclusive. It’s as if the seating arrangement has been designed specifically for a more selective group.
I tilt my head, wondering why Sutton was being so nice. I can’t help but remember how we used to get along before everything went sideways with the whole dress fiasco.
Now, here she is, all smiles and waves, acting like nothing happened. I’m not sure where we stand anymore. Maybe it’s just her playing nice to keep up appearances. It’s hard to tell, and frankly, I’m not sure if I even care anymore, but it’s definitely perplexing.
Turning to Aubrey, I ask, “So what’s up with Sutton’s seat?” I tilt my chin, pointing to the exclusive area across the pool where Sutton’s comfortably situated.
Aubrey looks over at her, shrugging casually. “That’s the section for Legacies and their families. They have it all sectioned off only for them.”
I snort, shaking my head in disbelief. “Seriously? That’s some next-level nonsense.”
Aubrey nods, unfazed by my reaction. “Yup. Pretty much how it works around here.”
I glance back at the area where Sutton is sitting, my mind processing what Aubrey just said. “Are you able to sit there?” Camden is her cousin, after all.
Aubrey lets out a resigned sigh. “It’s a nice thought, but no. It’s his mom who’s the Legacy. And we’re technically only half-related, so I wouldn’t be allowed.”
I pause, letting her comment sink in. “Right.” I guess that makes sense.
Aubrey just shrugs it off, unbothered. “Eh, it’s more fun on this side of the stands anyway. Less…pretentious.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough.”
“Oh, the race is about to start,” Aubrey says, excited. I raise a pointed finger, like she had done to me earlier, silently reminding her that it’s just one race.
I look down noticing that I must’ve missed it when our team came out and started warming up. I didn’t see any of them getting ready.
Aubrey lets out an exaggerated sigh in response, brushing me off as the swimmers start to line up at the edge of the pool, ready for the race to begin.
Something catches my attention—Sylvester. He’s standing at the edge of the pool, his broad shoulders squared, muscles rippling as he adjusts his goggles. His body is lean but built, the kind of physique that looks like it’s been sculpted by hours of dedication. I can’t help but appreciate how good he looks.
His abs are defined, his biceps flexing slightly as he warms up, and I can’t deny his toned, muscular frame makes a strong impression. Sure, we’d hooked up once, and I didn’t think it would happen again, but I was still human. And it’s impossible not to admire the view.
I shake the thoughts away as Aubrey leans in, her excitement palpable. The horn blows, signaling the start of the race, and the swimmers dive in, kicking up a splash. Aubrey cheers, her voice ringing out as the competitors race fiercely, cutting through the water with ease.
I watch, mildly detached, as Sylvester effortlessly took the lead. His strokes were powerful and smooth, and it’s clear from the moment he hits the water that he’s in control. The crowd cheers, and it’s almost like they all know the outcome already. Sure enough, Sylvester glides to the wall first, pulling himself out of the pool with the kind of smooth precision only a champion could muster.
“Amazing!” Aubrey exclaims, practically jumping in her seat. “He’s definitely got that winner’s form.”
Water drips down from Sylvester’s toned frame. He looks like he’s walking in slow motion, each step calculated. He casts a look over his shoulder, scanning the stands, and—of course—he grins. A wide, theatrical smile, like he’s the main character in a movie, soaking in the attention.
He straightens his back and raises one arm in an exaggerated bow toward the crowd, his eyes flicking around the room as he does. It’s so over the top that I can’t help but roll my eyes, but then his gaze shifts, and that grin is aimed straight at me. His eyes are confident, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, the way his body glistens in the light, his muscles taut and perfectly sculpted.
For a second, I don’t know how to feel. It’s not that I like him, like that—because I really don’t. And it’s hard not to notice the way he holds himself with such self-assurance. It’s a little magnetic, in that infuriating, cocky way.
What strikes me most, though, is the silence. No one’s shouting at him . No one’s calling out “Leaky Legacy” now that he’s standing there, center stage, soaking wet and smug. They had no problem yelling it at Sutton earlier, but Sylvester? Nothing. Maybe it’s because he just won. Maybe it’s because he’s a boy. Who knows. Still, the contrast feels sharp—contradictory, even.
“Oh my god, do you see the way he’s looking at you right now?” Aubrey says, practically buzzing with excitement.
I blink, giving an absentminded, “Yeah…I guess.”
But then Aubrey leans in, squinting off in a different direction entirely—one I hadn’t even been paying attention to. “Bishop looks pissed. Do you think he’s still mad about the breakup or something?”
Bishop’s here? The mention of his name sends an unsettling flutter beneath my ribcage.
I lift my chin slightly, still trying to shake the lingering feeling of Sylvester’s stare, and follow Aubrey’s pointed gaze across the natatorium. My eyes fall on my shadow, now seated in the VIP section, when he wasn’t earlier. He’s sitting—alone, stiff, his posture somehow more rigid than I’ve ever seen before.
For a brief moment, I catch his eyes. And for a heartbeat, it’s like everything else in the room fades. It’s a look I’ve never seen aimed at me before. It’s hard. It’s possessive. And I swear, for just a split second, his eyes flick to Sylvester, sizing him up, before snapping right back to me.
But that couldn’t be right… They’re best friends, aren’t they? And Legacies. I shake my head, dismissing the thought, but the strange pull lingers.
Before I can process any more of it, an arm reaches out and nudges him, pulling Bishop’s attention away. He blinks, as if shaking off whatever dark thoughts were clouding his mind. He turns his head, and when he does, his face breaks into the widest smile I’ve ever seen from him. It’s so warm, so completely opposite of the icy look he’d given me moments ago, that I almost don’t recognize him. Bishop isn’t the type to do anything genuinely; everything he does is calculated, always for his own benefit. So why does this smile look so different?
I’m not sure why it feels so unsettling to watch.
“Who are those people?” I ask Aubrey, now that whatever strange fixation I’d been caught in has faded.
“You don’t know?” Aubrey replies, her voice laced with confusion.
Should I?
She quirks an eyebrow before answering. “That’s your grandmother, Gwendolyn Prescott. And the man next to her is your grandfather, Philip Prescott.”
The words hit me like a freight train, leaving me momentarily stunned. My grandparents? The idea of them feels so foreign, like a story I’d heard but couldn’t believe. My father had always told Clara and me they were dead, so we never gave them a second thought. It never seemed important. But now, here they are, sitting across the room from me.
A knot forms in my stomach, the familiar pressure building in my chest. My father had made it clear that we didn’t need to know anything about them. They were just ghosts in the past, part of a history that wasn’t important enough to worry about. And yet, here they are, in the flesh, sitting right there. Very much alive and breathing.
Aubrey’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Alex…did you not know?”
Her question hangs in the air, thick with sympathy, but it’s a different kind of sympathy—one that makes me feel exposed, like she’s seeing something inside me I don’t want her to. I can’t look at her. Can’t even look at my supposed grandparents who are now staring at me from across the natatorium.
I feel my legs move before I even realize it, the need to escape creeping in. The conversation is too much, the air too thick. My body responds before my mind has a chance to catch up.
Without a word, I rise from my seat, my feet moving on their own, carrying me through the rows of spectators. Aubrey’s voice calls after me, but it feels miles away. The world feels suddenly too tight. Too loud. Too much.
I push through the exit and step outside, the crisp air hitting my skin like a splash of cold water. It’s a relief. I don’t even care how chilly it is—anything is better than being stuck in that room, trying to process everything I’ve just been told.
I inhale deeply, willing my heart to slow, but it feels like it’s still racing, thudding in my chest like it’s trying to break free.
I have grandparents.
“Are you alright?”
I nearly jump out of my skin, whirling around to find a guy standing there, his hair still damp from the pool but now dressed in a dark, Altair-branded track suit. His brow is furrowed in concern.
“It’s Christopher, right?” I ask, unsure if I’m remembering him correctly.
“Hey, plant girl remembers,” he replies with a smile.
I do remember him—he was the one who’d made a point to flirt with me that night I accidentally walked in on swim practice. The same night Sylvester had wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Christopher had only spoken to me for a few minutes, but his smirk and easy charm stuck.
I frown, still trying to shake off the shock. “Why aren’t you inside with the rest of your team?”
He shrugs, giving me an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes things get a little too intense in there for me. I need a breather, you know? Plus, with the season and all, I have to limit myself. Can’t exactly smoke and get high like I prefer to…so fresh air and some space are pretty much all I’ve got.”
I blink, not sure if I should laugh or feel awkward. But something about his easygoing vibe is working to ease the tension in my chest.
“Well, that’s…a very interesting way to look at things,” I say, half-smiling, though I’m still distracted by what I’ve just learned.
Christopher grins, clearly not bothered by my response. “Hey, sometimes a little honesty goes a long way. Anyway, it’s actually my birthday today. You should come hang out later. I’m having a party to celebrate.”
Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls out.
“Alex?”
Aubrey barely acknowledges Christopher, her focus entirely on me as she steps outside. “Are you okay? You just took off.”
“Hey, Aubrey,” Christopher says, his tone a little too casual.
Aubrey doesn’t respond to him. She continues to look at me, her eyes scanning my face with a quiet concern, like she’s making sure I’m alright. When her gaze shifts to Christopher, it’s almost like an unspoken dismissal, though there’s something lingering in the way she looks at him—an unspoken history, a past that hangs between them.
“So I was just telling plant girl here that it’s my birthday, and I’m throwing a party at my parent’s shoreline house tonight.” He glances at Aubrey, his voice casual, almost as if he’s saying something obvious. “You remember where that is, right?”
Aubrey’s posture stiffens, just for a moment, but I catch it. Her eyes drop to the ground briefly.
Christopher, clearly picking up on the awkwardness, shoots me a teasing smile as if trying to smooth over the tension. “Anyway, I should get back,” he says with a wink before heading inside. Aubrey watches him go, her face unreadable, and I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a history there that I’m not seeing. A piece of the puzzle that’s missing.
I break the silence. “Well, that was…interesting.”
Aubrey doesn’t answer right away. She just shakes her head, like she’s weighing whether to say something more. After a beat, she turns toward the doors, clearly ready to move on. “Let’s go finish hanging the last of the posters.”
Right. That’s why I was up this early on a Saturday—fucking posters.