Chapter Twenty-Two
142 days until graduation
“Do you know how to ski?” Logan asks as we leave the snow-shack, our arms full of gear.
Most of the people in our class own their ski gear since it seems to be a popular hobby among Fairwood students. However, I have never been skiing before, and had to rent gear at the slopes.
“Do I look like I know how to ski?” I counter as I try to snap the ski boots onto the skis.
“Nope.” He smiles, leaning down to help me. “Here.” He holds the ski still, grabbing my foot and snapping it on.“I could teach you how to ski, but if you really want to learn, I would ask Gen.” He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the ski lift. “She’s the best out of all of us.”
I snort. “Why am I not surprised?”
Genevieve Alderidge being the best at something for her own gratification is nothing new.
“You shouldn’t be,” Genevieve says from behind me. “I’m not helping you unless you want me to send you down the hill without teaching you how to stop.”
She’s already on her skis, pushing herself along next to us. Her snowsuit is all black and her skis are silver. I can tell that her gear is not rented; it”s stuff she picked out herself.
Eloise skis closely behind Genevieve, catching up with her, but Winnifred is not in sight.
“How charming,” I snide.
Logan looks around in confusion before looking back toward Genevieve. “Where’s Winnie?”
“She woke up not feeling well, so she stayed back at the hotel,” she tells him before looking back at me. “Not that I’m asking you to get hurt, but if you do, know I will get a great laugh out of it.”
“I’m sure you will, but whatever I try to accomplish, I will never fail.”
“I’m sure many of your past escapades could disprove that point,” she mutters, making Logan whistle before he laughs.
“Damn Gen, you really know how to wound a man’s ego,” he says.
“I’m not wounded,” I tell them both, directing my statement mostly toward Genevieve. “And since you’re so interested, I’ve never left any of my escapades unsatisfied.”
“Ah, he’s fond of actresses,” Genevieve whispers toward Eloise. “Interesting.”
“I could say some very inappropriate things right now, Genova, but since I have a feeling you don’t even know what an orgasm is, I doubt you would understand.”
She rolls her eyes but says nothing before skiing further toward the lift ahead of us.
Logan begins instructing me, “Okay, in short terms, dig your poles into the ground and push yourself to move forward. To stop, point the tips of your skis together.” He demonstrates and I follow. “We’ll start by going down some pretty straight and easy slopes, but if you need to turn, you just direct your skis in the correct direction. Got it?”
“Yup.” I like the simplicity of his instructions. I pick up on things quickly enough for me to not need drawn out instructions. “Let’s go.”
A couple wipe outs and a bill for a broken ski pole later, I feel like I’m finally getting the hang of the bunny slope.
And as minimally gratifying as mastering the slope that’s meant for children is, watching Genevieve make her way down the black diamond is even less so.
“You’re crazy, Gen!” Logan yells as she reaches the bottom.
She takes off her goggles and smiles at him from across the fairway. “Talk to El if you”re looking for crazy!”
Right then, Eloise comes flying down the black diamond, even faster than Genevieve did. She wipes out toward the bottom, laughing as she gets up.
Clearly, Genevieve is the better skier. Eloise is just risky enough to do it without as much experience.
“I think I’m going to go check on Winnie”, Logan tells me as he pulls his ski mask off. “She’s been texting me and she seems bored.”
“She’s not contagious?” I ask. Genevieve said she wasn’t feeling well, and I have no idea if something has been going around or not.
“Even if it is, I have an immune system of steel.” He smiles, pushing off on his skis. “I’ll see you guys later!”
Suddenly, I’m left alone with Genevieve and Eloise. Wonderful.
“Are you ready to take on the black diamond yet?” Eloise asks as she approaches, motioning toward the largest slope.
“Absolutely not,” Genevieve says exactly what I’m thinking.
“I think I might call it a day,” I tell them. “I’ll head back to the hotel with Logan.”
“No.” Eloise grabs my arm. “We’re getting you down a bigger hill than the bunny slope.”
I sigh. “Eloise, I’ve never skied before today.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she says. “Gen was going down the back diamond the second time she went skiing.”
“Well, that’s because I have a faster comprehension speed than ninety percent of people,” Genevieve interjects. “He can’t go down the diamond today, El.”
“Okay, okay.” She relents. “Let’s move from the bunny slope to the blue square.”
“When you are going on bigger slopes the first time around, try to keep your heels dug into the ground so you can go somewhat slow,” Genevieve instructs as we get on the ski lift for the second smallest slope.
Eloise ditched us a few minutes ago in favor of the black diamond.
“I’ll be fine, Genova.”
“Why do you call me that?” she asks, making me look over at her goggle-covered face.
I’ve been calling her Genova for months now, and she’s never asked me why before now.
“Do you have a problem with it?” I ask, avoiding her question.
She doesn’t answer my question, either. “You’re going to have to get off right at that orange flag.”
We both get off the lift. The slope is a lot steeper than the past few I’ve done, but I manage.
Genevieve is going down the opposite side of the hill with ease, and while I would love to watch her, I can only take brief glances to avoid hitting a tree.When we both reach the bottom, we make our way back toward the ski shack where we’re planning to wait for Eloise.
“That was fun,” I say, trying to make pitiful small talk.
“Yeah,” Genevieve says, taking her goggles off and running her hand over her face.
“How’s your eye?” I ask.
She runs her hand over her head, taking her coat hood and hat off. She twiddles with her hair, which is tied back into two long, dark braids. “Fine.”
“I never intended to hit you in the face,” I say sincerely. “I honestly thought it was just snow, I wouldn’t have thrown it if I knew it was ice.”
She shivers at the word ice. “Like I said, it’s fine. Plus, I started it.”
“I’m not the one with a black eye,” I retort. “All I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she says. “I saw it on your face the moment the snowball hit me in the eye.”
“To be fair, I never thought you were going to need a septoplasty,” I say, a small smile lifting my lips.
She laughs lightly. “Good to know, doc.”
“Doc?” I ask. The term implies a compliment, like she’s recognizing my intelligence enough to believe I’m capable of becoming a doctor, it’s unusual for her.
“You want to be a doctor, don’t you?” She asks.
“Yeah.” I take my skis off. “I assumed that’s what you wanted to do as well.”
“Nope,” she clips. “Lawyer.”
“Ah.” I think the confusion flashes on my face. “Why Columbia and not Harvard then?”
She shrugs. “I like Columbia better.” I can tell there’s more to it, but I will not question it further.
I take my ski goggles off, finally getting a view of her that is not tinted.
Her flushed cheeks, red from the cold, make her freckles less prominent on her face. Her hair is also frizzier than I’ve ever seen it before. For the first time since I’ve laid eyes on Genevieve Alderidge, her body looks as if her soul has actually been living in it: screaming with happiness and livelihood.
“I like Columbia better, too.”
“I’m sure,” she chides sarcastically, pausing before she says, “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re going to Oxford.”
“We’ll see,” I respond. “It depends whether or not I get in.”
Genevieve scoffs. “You know you’re going to get in.”
“Did you apply?” I ask.
She laughs. “Jameson, if you’re going to college in England, there is one thing you should know for sure: I am not following you.”
There it is, the snap of the wire, the point where the seesaw hits the ground. Her hatred comes back in full swing at the drop of a hat.
Her eyes pierce mine as I tell her, “I would expect nothing less, Genova.” The hurt is clear in my voice.
141 days until graduation
I’m woken up by the sound of Winnie coughing, and the rustling on the sheets on her side of the bed as she gets up and heads to the bathroom.I get up and walk toward the bathroom door when I hear her retching.
She wasn’t this sick last night, or else I wouldn’t have slept next to her.
Even now, the sound of her vomiting through the door makes me want to request a new room and a can of disinfectant spray.
Logan came back to the hotel yesterday before Eloise, Jameson, and me to keep Winnie company and see if she needed anything. He only left once I got back.
She seemed to be feeling better by that time, and when we went to sleep, she hadn’t taken any type of medication.
“Winnie?” I ask, knocking on the door. “Are you okay?”
She doesn’t answer, but the sound of the toilet flushing soon after is confirmation enough that she is extremely sick.
“Logan’s sick too.” I hear her say through the door as the sink turns on. “I got him sick.”
“He came over here knowing you weren’t feeling well. Him catching whatever you have was the risk he took.”
The bathroom door opens, and Winnie’s pale and fragile body is slumped against the door frame. She looks worse than I’ve ever seen her.
All she’s wearing is thin, cotton shorts with a matching tank top. They’re white with little pink flowers covering them. Even with as little clothing as she’s wearing, there’s still a sheen of sweat covering her skin.
“Evie, you shouldn’t be around me,” she says, her voice rough “You hate being sick.”
“What do you expect me to do? Leave you here by yourself?” I ask, pressing the back of my hand to her forehead to feel for a temperature.
She’s burning up. “I should check on Logan,” she tells me, trying to walk toward the door.
“No, no, no,” I say, gripping her by the shoulders and redirecting her toward the bed. “Stay here, I’ll go check on him.”
Right then, there’s a knock on the hotel door. “Gen! Winnie!”
That’s Logan, and he sounds about as miserable as Winnie does.
I open the door, letting him in. “We’re quarantining,” Logan tells me. “Winnie and I are going to stay here, while you and Jameson will stay in the other room.”
A laugh bursts from my throat. “You’re kidding, right?”
Jameson and I sharing a hotel room? Hilarious.
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to be joking right now?” Logan motions down to his body.He’s shirtless, only wearing plaid pajama pants, and yet he’s still sweating—just like Winnie is.
“We’ll discuss this later.” I lead him into the room, laying him down on my side of the bed, next to Winnie.
“Well, don’t you just look lovely.” He smirks as he rolls over to look at Winnie.
“Shut up.” She groans, also rolling over so she can smack him on the chest.
By the look on her face, I don’t even think she realized he was shirtless until her hand touched his skin.
“Genevieve.” I hear a familiar English drawl and I jump. I hadn’t even realized I left the door open.
“What?” I ask, turning around. When he says nothing, I run my hands through my hair, stressed at the prospect of not one of my friends being sick, but two. “Why are you here?”
“We need to stay away from them.” He releases a long breath, like he’s just as opposed to the idea as I am, but also more concerned about us getting sick.
“This isn’t up for debate. I’m not staying in a hotel room with you,” I tell him, pulling the covers up onto both Winnie and Logan.
They’re both sweating, but they’re also shivering because of their lack of clothes.
“Well, you’re not staying in here with us while we fester,” Logan says, his voice more hoarse than I’ve ever heard it. “Collect your things and get the hell out. Who knows, it might be good for you two to spend some quality time together.”
I think my bones quake at the idea of quality time with Jameson.
“I’m not in the business of spending time with people who only give a fuck about themselves,” I say, my gaze pointing toward Jameson.
“Straight from the horse’s mouth,” he mutters under his breath.
I roll my eyes. “Metaphorical insults, how classy.”
“Evie, please,” Winnie sighs. “You can’t stay here.”
The tone of her voice makes me realize the gravity of her and Logan’s sickness, and they’re begging me to spend the night in the other room proves their misery.
“You are all insufferable.” I grab my suitcase, shoveling all my clothes into it quickly. Me not having the time to fold them all neatly almost makes me itch. I pass Jameson on my way to the bathroom to finish collecting my things.
“I hope you know how to play chess,” I growl, throwing my toiletry bag in my suitcase before zipping it and rolling it toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Jameson follows me into the hallway, and once I shut the door to what was previously my hotel room, I look toward him.
“Jameson?” I ask when he goes to swipe his keycard.
He pauses, looking back. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“Checkmate,” Jameson says, trapping my king with his queen. Damn, he’s good.
We’d been bickering the entire time, until I realized my loss was inevitable—and unexpected.
When I said I hoped he knew how to play chess, I was half expecting to whoop his ass. Chess isn’t a common game to know how to play well, and yet Jameson’s execution was perfect.
It’s almost ten o’clock at night. We started once our curfew hit about an hour ago, after a long day of college fairs and even more tours.
“I’ve played chess almost my entire life.” I sigh, beginning to move the pieces back to their starting positions.
“As have I,” he replies, beginning to help me.
Our hands brush when we both go to grab the same pawn. I freeze. He moves his hand away from mine quickly, but not before we lock eyes.
“I can tell,” I laugh. “The only other person who has ever beat me is my best friend, Valerie, and she’s an anomaly.”
“Valerie Mason?” He asks.
My eyes widen in shock. “How do you know Valerie?”
“She’s a certified genius. I used her test prep all the way through secondary school when I was studying for the SAT.” That’s what I figured.
Valerie Mason is one of the most renowned high school prodigies in the world. She’s made a career out of it, creating test prep kits and getting paid to tutor on her website.
“Her study methods are insane,” Jameson says.
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. How would Jameson react if he found out I was the one who helped Valerie create all those test prep kits she posted to her website? My ego is practically bursting at the seams knowing Jameson Beaumont has been using my study techniques for the past four years.
“You want to play another game?” I ask instead of saying anything more about Valerie.
“Sure.” He shrugs, uncrossing his legs and stretching them out on the side of the board, close to touching my calf.
Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to do this while sitting on the bed, but I refuse to say anything about it now.
I push the chess board further toward him. “You go first.”
He smirks, making his first move.
“Who taught you how to play?” he asks as I move my pawn forward.
I bite my lip, not knowing whether I should answer. “My dad,” I finally say.
“Tough subject?” Jameson asks.
I shrug. “My parents travel a lot for work, so I don’t see them much.”
He nods, like he can relate, but stays silent. His understanding makes me feel the need to continue explaining.
“I started getting used to my parents being home less and less, and by the time I got to high school, they were only there a couple days a month, like they were friends visiting from out of town,” I sigh. “I used to think that, maybe if I had good enough grades in school or joined clubs—or did something to make them proud—then they would come home more often.”
“Genevieve—”
“There was no point, I know that.” I run my hands through my hair, pulling at the root, hoping the pain will distract my eyes from welling with tears. “It was dumb, the type of internal bargaining I did with myself, willing my parents to come home. I thought that maybe…” I stop myself from saying anything more.
“That’s not your fault, Genevieve,” Jameson says. The sincerity in his voice is so thick it almost feels like he’s willing it to seep in my pours. “If your parents aren’t here to see how amazing you’re doing, and how much you’re accomplishing, that’s on them.”
“Maybe I should have taken up a sport.” My voice cracks as I say it, but I swallow the lump in my throat back. “They would have come home if there was a reason, if there was something more for them to see than a test grade, I know they would have.”
“I’m an asshole for saying that,” Jameson sighs. “It’s not fair to put those pressures on yourself, and I should have never put that thought in your head.”
“There’s no point in us talking about this.” I backtrack. I don’t want Jameson to know more about me than he has to, and yet here I am, spilling my personal life like it’s nothing.
“There is a point.” Jameson pauses, not taking his turn like he should. “Nothing you say is pointless, Genevieve. I swear it.”
I’m stunned to silence by his declaration, feeling my heartbeat deep in my stomach. He didn’t mean that; he doesn’t really want to listen to me ramble. I know that.
“If you don’t believe me, then keep talking,” he says when he makes eye contact with me. “Talk about whatever you want. See how long it takes for me to stop listening.” I barely smile.
I stay silent for the rest of the game.
“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” I tell Jameson as I glare at the old, grimy carpet. “I would rather gouge my eyeballs out.”
“I’ll see about getting a cot,” he responds, heading toward the door. “You go ahead, take the bed.”
We checked on Logan and Winnie a couple minutes ago, which didn’t take long considering they were curled up together, fast asleep, when we walked in.
When Jameson returns, I’m walking out of the bathroom pajama clad after brushing my teeth. He’s carrying a folded-up cot under his arm.
I feel his eyes cling to my legs. I’m wearing a pair of silk shorts and a matching tank top. They’re the only pajamas I brought on this trip since I was only expecting Winnie to see them.
I narrow my eyes at him, giving him the idea that I know exactly what he’s looking at.He clears his throat as I watch him unfold the metal contraption.
“That looks comfy.” I smirk sarcastically as I take a seat on the bed.
“You’re lucky.” He points a finger at me, not saying anything more.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, crossing my legs under me, resting my elbows on my knees.
“You’re lucky I would never let you sleep on a measly old cot.” I can tell that’s not what he’s thinking, but the sentiment is still there.
I smile, laying back against the fresh hotel sheets. “Good.”
He puts the extra sheets on the cot, and I throw a pillow from the side of the bed I’m not sleeping on at him. Once he hits the edge of the cot, he reaches over the back of his head and starts pulling his shirt up and off.
I only see a sliver of his torso before I launch myself across the bed to turn the lamp off.
I lean back against the pillow again, letting out a small sigh of relief before Jameson’s laugh breaks through the solitude of the darkness.
“Hope you’re not sweating at the sight of me, Genova,” he teases.
“Shut up.” I groan, pressing my palms to my eyes.
He chuckles again, and even in the darkness I know he’s turned to look at me. “Good night, Genevieve.”
“Good night.”