Chapter Three
262 days until graduation
The halls of Fairwood Prep have never smelled so stale.
It’s not necessarily a terrible smell, just something I haven’t noticed until now.
It’s my first day of senior year, and only now am I noticing this old building smells exactly how I imagine it to have smelled in 1980. I assume it’s a sign I’ve spent too much time with my head down; studying as I walk through the halls or reading a textbook in the library.
I’ve never taken the time to look at my surroundings, let alone to breathe in the air and knowingly let it infiltrate my system.
Maybe that’s my problem.
I’ve spent so much time trying not to notice anything, and now that I’ve taken off the rose-colored glasses, I’m noticing everything.
Instead of counting the tiles on the floor, I’m taking notice of every person who passes by me. Most are people I don’t remember, but even the familiar faces feel clouded.
As if something changed between last school year and this one, like it’s become apparent how little I know the people of my school. Even being class president, I still feel as if I know no one.
Sometimes I find it concerning how my brain has such a large capacity for everything but people.
The rush of people passing by me in the hallway forces me out of my thoughts. I pull down my skirt as I ascend the stairs to the second floor, where my locker is located, along with Eloise and Winnie’s.
Everyone loitering in the halls is in uniform. The girls wear plaid, pleated skirts with polo shirts or modal cardigans, along with whatever shoes we decide on. The boys coordinate with their white button-up shirts, navy slacks, and blazers.
The boys are supposed to wear ties, but most don’t fasten them properly to their collar, opting to let them hang loosely around their necks.
Logan, in particular, is keen on this fashion defiance. He has always made it abundantly clear how much he hates ties.
Eloise and Winnie had been texting all morning, wondering if this would be the year the school finally gives us “dress-down” days, where we are not required to be in uniform.
In the past twelve years of going to this school, they’ve never allowed it, not once.
Of course, that hasn’t stopped Eloise from trying, being the serial rule-breaker she is.
I make it to the second floor, which is a circular hallway with a large cutout in the floor with a railing circling all the way around, allowing me to see the floors below.
The aura is different on this floor, where all the seniors reside. It’s as if we all recently became aware that this is the beginning of the end.
There are friend groups leaning against lockers, teachers making their rounds, saying hello, and people hanging posters advertising the upcoming dance.
HOMECOMING: OCTOBER 15TH, 2022
I’ve never noticed these things before. Then again, I didn’t need to.
Nobody needs to take notice of anyone else’s business in this school, there is no gossip that isn’t public knowledge once it is uttered out loud.
No one needs to look at the poster plastered on the banister to know what day homecoming is.
These things are ornamental.
Across the hall, Eloise and Winnie are standing at our lockers, already looking at me. Winnie waves when she sees I’ve noticed them, smiling briefly.
“You look like you’re about to be sick,” Eloise says.
“Uh…Thanks?”
“She means you look nervous,” Winnie amends, shrugging her backpack off and letting it fall to the floor.
“Why would I be nervous?” I push my shoulders back, standing straighter.
“I never said you were nervous, just that you look like you are.”
Right then, someone rams into my back, forcing my body to jolt forward and almost fall into Eloise.
I’ve never been shoved in the hallway, never been knocked off course with such force.
I try not to take notice of it, clearing my throat and recovering quickly. “Well, I’m not.”
“Good morning, ladies!” The greeting echoes through the hallway. I turn to see Logan, leaning against the circular railing among a group of his friends.
We wave, and when I think he’s going to turn back toward his friends, he appears next to us in two easy strides.
It’s easy for him to choose us over his other friends because he knows our intentions. Everyone wants to be friends with Logan Callaghan for the title, and he knows it. We are the only real friends he can discern from all the fake ones.
Unlike Logan, I can count on a single hand how many friends I’ve made outside of the four I grew up with. Maybe that goes to prove the only friends I am capable of making are the ones that have been forced on me since birth.
“Gen, you okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, not wanting to bring any more attention to what could have been a very embarrassing incident.
“I wanted to let you all know that I”m having a dinner party at my house on Friday night, six o’clock. Attendance is mandatory, bring a swimsuit.”
“Is your mom cooking?” Eloise asks, knowing we were all wondering the same thing.
“Yes, she’s going the whole nine yards. Appetizers, two main courses, and, of course, dessert.”
We all sigh in happiness. Mrs. Callaghan is heaven sent when it comes to cooking and has a knack for hosting dinner parties for Logan and his friends.
I don’t even know what the purpose of this dinner is, or if it’s just Mrs. Callaghan itching to throw a party. Whatever the reason, I’d do just about anything for the food his mother cooks.
“What class are you going to?” Logan pretends like he’s asking all of us, but his eyes are fixed on Winnie as she picks her backpack up off the floor.
Eloise intercepts, noticing his intentions the same way I do. “We,” She motions between her and I. “Have AP Lit. Winnie has College English, so you can walk her there on the way to your class.”
Winnie is clearly embarrassed, but Eloise and I know there’s no reason for her to be—at least not around Logan.
He laughs. “You don’t even know what class I have. What if Winnie’s class isn’t on my way?”
“Then you better get going and give yourself time to reroute.” Eloise smiles, pushing Winnie toward him.
Winnie hesitantly walks off with Logan, looking back at us with the biggest “what the fuck are you trying to do?” eyes, making Eloise and I laugh.
Eloise grabs my arm, dragging me toward the stairs that lead to the third floor, where our AP Lit class is. “Let’s go before she finds an excuse not to walk alone with him.”
“Okay, okay.”
Eloise is clearly much more equipped in stair climbing than I am, but in my defense, the stairs of this school are steep, which is proven by the copious number of freshmen who trip up and down them at the beginning of every year.
When we make it to the top of the stairs, we hear over the intercom, “Genevieve Alderidge and Jameson Beaumont please report to Headmaster Whiting’s office before first hour.”
“What do you think that’s about?”Eloise asks.
“They’re probably going to make me pretend to be his friend, give him a tour of the school, and offer to let him sit with us at lunch. All downsides of being the smartest person at school.”
I turn back toward the staircase, since the main office is on the first floor.
“Who knows, you might get along just fine with the new boy,” Eloise tells me. “Don’t be too long, I still want to see you a bit today.”
I smile. “I’ve mastered the tour of this school; it’ll take me fifteen minutes tops.”She laughs, and I head back down the stairs, taking notice of the new memorabilia I haven’t seen before. Portraits of the different clubs and sports teams, as well as cases of trophies.
All going to show how materialistic Fairwood is, how impartial they are to anything other than greatness.
I’m sitting in one of the leather chairs in Headmaster Whiting’s office when she arrives.
The girl from the lake, the one who scored a 1580 on the SAT.
I know her name is Genevieve Alderidge, and that she’s friends with Logan. I know little else about her though.
She sits next to me, in the chair identical to mine.
“Jameson, this is Genevieve Alderidge. She has been top of her class since her freshman year.”
I look toward her. Her long brown hair falls to her mid back and drapes over the back of the chair. Her greenish-blue eyes are staring pointedly out the window.
She looks somewhat scary, but not unpleasantly, more in a way that makes me question her intentions.
I conclude that whatever happens in this meeting could determine my fate for the rest of the school year, because this girl looks like she could make my life a living hell.
“Hi,” she says, not seeming to care for my presence.
“Hello,” I reply, adding a smile.
I never got close enough to her when we were at Hagen’s Lake to notice her entirely. Now, I feel as if I’m too close, like I can see every freckle on her face.And there are plenty of them to focus on, all scattered across her cheeks and nose like miniature constellations.
However, I shouldn’t be concerned with her freckles, because all I think when I look at her is ‘how the hell did this girl get a 1580 on the SAT?’
The only reason I took the SAT was to prove I could get a good score on it, since it isn’t required in London like it is in the US.
I was proud of my score before hers was revealed. I knew mine was well above average, but hearing hers made me question every answer I had put down on that Scantron.
I didn’t even think a 1580 was fucking possible.
I’m broken from my thoughts when the Headmaster begins speaking again. “I’m going to be honest with you two, because I have never been in this situation before.”
Genevieve sits up in her chair, scooting forward so she’s sitting on the edge. “A situation like what?”
Headmaster Whiting looks at the ceiling, conflicted, before letting out a sigh and saying, “You are both in the running for Valedictorian.”
Based on all the cliche films I have seen, if Genevieve were drinking water right now, this is the moment where she would spit it out everywhere. “What are you talking about?” She chokes out.
I stay quiet. Genevieve’s expression makes me realize what Headmaster Whiting said has officially made me her worst enemy.
Yup, she definitely would be spitting water at me if she had the chance.
“On almost every front, you two are tied, and since your GPAs are practically identical, we’ve been forced to look at other areas of your academics.”
“Well, I know for a fact that my SAT score is higher than his,” she counters.
“Jameson has outweighed your SAT score with the coursework he’s taken, Genevieve,” he tells her.
“How is that possible? I’ve taken every AP and honors class that has been offered and passed them all with flying colors.”
I wouldn’t be shocked if she picked up one of the Fairwood Prep pencils sitting conveniently on the headmaster’s desk and stabbed me with it.
“There were more studious offerings at his school in London.”
Genevieve is in full defense mode, ready to take out any competition whenever the opportunity arises. I admire her for it, honestly, but at the same time I’m really considering hiding those pencils.
Genevieve almost laughs, but I can hear the hurt in the noise. “Oh, so this is your fault?” She’s looking at Headmaster Whiting. “I’m losing my spot as Valedictorian because you don’t offer enough upper level and AP classes?”
“Either way, you both are on an even playing field,” he replies, attempting to diffuse the situation.
“Unbelievable,” she sighs under her breath.
“Unless anything major happens to either of your class standings, the board and I have granted you a shared speech at graduation.”
Genevieve takes a sharp inhale, then she grabs her backpack and stands. “I’m sorry, but I really need to get to class.”
“Genevieve—”
“No,” she says. “I’m sorry Headmaster Whiting, I mean no disrespect, but I will not sit here and allow someone to walk in and take my spot after working as hard as I have for the past three years. He didn”t even complete half of his high school education here.”
With that, she walks out, and I follow.
“Jameson—”
“Let me talk to her.” And then, I’m gone, following the girl whose intentions I no longer have to question, because she just laid them out like a deck of cards.
She wants to win, and she will do anything to secure her spot on top.
The same brown hair that was draped over the back of an office chair minutes before is swaying with every step Genevieve takes away from me.
I take a moment to catch up with her. Besides the fact that she can walk extremely fast in her heeled Mary Janes, she also had a head start out of the headmaster’s office, so she’s already making her way toward the steps to the second floor.
“Genevieve!” I call, jogging to catch up.
“I really don”t want to talk to you,” she sighs, running her hands through the length of her hair until they fall to her sides.
“I was going to ask you to help me find my class,” I say.
It’s a complete lie. I know where all my classes are, but I need a valid reason to talk to her.
“You think I’m going to help you?” She crosses her arms over her torso, her face turning into a scowl.
“Well, I hoped, if you walked me to my lesson, I would have the opportunity to tell you I had no idea that was the conversation you were going to be walking into.”
“You didn’t know that you were coming to Fairwood to steal my spot as Valedictorian?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Shifting her weight backward on her heels, she looks like she’s contemplating what to say next.
Again, unusual from my limited understanding.
I’m keenly aware that Genevieve is wicked smart, and I imagine it’s not often she’s lost for words.
It hits me a bit harder, knowing how much this matters to her, and my nerves are only amplified as a voice in my head asks, “are you stealing this from her?”
“Normally, I would appreciate the sentiment, but under these circumstances, I don’t give a fuck what your reasons are. You are why I’m being forced to share what should be my speech. You are stealing what should be mine, and I couldn’t care less what your involvement in the matter is because you being here has done more than enough.” She turns away from me, beginning the trek up the stairs.
“Genevieve, wait.” I reach out to grab her wrist, but she quickly jerks her arm out of my grasp.
“Do not touch me,” she says.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
She stops on the third step.
“‘Sorry,’ as in you’re going to tell Headmaster Whiting you don’t want to give the speech at graduation? Or ‘sorry,’ as in you know how fucked up all of this is, but are still going to reap the benefits?”
I’m quiet for a moment too long.
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “And to think I was getting called to the office so I could give you a welcome tour.”
“I want to give a speech for the same reasons you do.”
If my dad found out that I gave up the opportunity to be Valedictorian, he would be livid. He’s always pressured me to get good grades, and it’s no different now that I’m in the states.
It’s either I get good grades and prove I have more to offer to the world, or I take over his company.
“Except you haven’t experienced a single day at this school. You have no idea the type of courses that got me to where I am, or what kind of school this is.”
“I was offered the opportunity on the same playing field you were. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hurt if you had spent a little less time assuming the position was yours.” I bite back, and I immediately feel guilty for saying it.
“Assuming?” She asks, her voice laced with venom. “No, Jameson, I wasn’t assuming anything. I fucking earned it, and maybe you did too, but that was a different goddamn school. In fact, your ‘playing field’ as you so accurately depict it, is in another fucking country! You got this opportunity on my playing field handed to you because Headmaster Whiting is using you as his poster boy.”
I laugh, “That”s rich coming from you.”
“Don’t put us on the same level, Jameson. Maybe I’ve been the poster girl for Fairwood Prep, but I’ve been doing it for a hell of a lot longer than you have,” she sneers. “The school wants you to stand on stage and give a speech because they know how great it will make them look. You will be evidence that their valued foreign exchange students have the best opportunity to rise to the occasion of being at Fairwood, and it also doesn”t hurt that you”re a boy.”
I hesitate to say anything, still reeling in the fact she”s suggesting I got valedictorian because of my gender. Then again, at a school like this, it seems like a viable option.
Before I get the chance to say anything more, she’s advancing up the stairs, distancing herself from me one quick step at a time.
Genevieve Alderidge, oh how she plans to destroy me.