Chapter Twenty-Four
The doctor checks Genevieve quickly, flashing a light in her eye to check her pupil dilation and checking her reflexes with a rubber, medical hammer. She concludes Genevieve has no severe brain damage, just a mild concussion.
She informs us that Genevieve is allowed to sleep—it will be good for her—and that she only has a few scratches.
As far as the cut on Genevieve’s forehead, the doctor tells us it isn’t deep enough to need stitches and bandages it up quickly.
The only thing Genevieve cares about is whether she would be cleared to ski in the morning. It’s the only thing she asked the entire time she was being examined.
Any normal person would throw in the towel after getting beat and battered like she has, but Genevieve isn’t a normal person.
This girl never quits.
The doctor answers by saying, “Get some sleep, see how you feel in the morning.” Then, she looks toward me. “Check on her before heading to the slopes. If she’s fully responsive, isn’t slurring her words, or walking crooked, then she should be fine to ski.”
I nod in response as she collects her supplies and walks out the door.
“Are you good?” I sit on the edge of my cot. “Do you need anything?”
Genevieve groans as she lies on her back. “I’m all good.”
Looking back at her, I say, “You owe me for this.”
“What do you want from me other than letting you give the Valedictorian speech? Because that’s not happening.”
“You think I’d ask you to let me win? That would bring me zero satisfaction.”
Her eyes are drooping; she wants to fall asleep. “You don”t care about the satisfaction anymore.”
She stretches her arm over to the other side of the bed, attempting to reach for another pillow.
“You have it all wrong, Genevieve. The satisfaction is the only thing I want.” I walk over to the side of her bed, leaning over her fragile body to grab it for her. “Where do you want it?” I ask, holding the pillow.
Genevieve points to her ribs. “Under my side.” She tries to grab the pillow out of my hand.
“Slow down, slow down.” I pull it further out of her grasp. “Don’t worry, I got it.”I tuck the pillow under her side, allowing her to adjust.
“Fuck, my hands hurt.” She groans painfully, looking down at her hands. They’re completely skinned.
“You’re awfully clumsy, huh?”
She grimaces. “Not usually. This rivalry is killing me.”
I suddenly realize what she means. We’ve been so wrapped up in our competition that we haven’t even stopped to consider how much we’ve been harming ourselves in the process.
I sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m clumsy around you too.”
She looks at me with wide eyes, like I’ve proclaimed my love to her.
Now feels like a terrible time to go back to my cot on the other side of the room. “Do you need anything else?”
“You said I owe you. What do you want?”
Silence fills the room. I want Genevieve to assume I’m thinking of what to ask from her. I don’t need to think though, I already know what I want.
“One promise,” I proclaim.
She tucks her lips behind her teeth, then removes them to ask, “What?”
“Promise me that in the morning, if you remember this, you”ll take into consideration everything I did for you tonight.”
Genevieve looks stunned. “Trust me, I’m sure you”ll never let me live it down.”
“If you don”t talk about it, I won”t either.” This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen Genevieve. I won’t take advantage of that. “Those are the rules.”
“Do I get any choice in these rules? Or am I just walking into this game with my hands tied behind my back?”
“Depends, are you into that?” I tease, knowing it would give Genevieve a little push to insult me.
Without her constant rudeness, it doesn’t feel like I’m talking to Genevieve. It feels like a stranger—one I haven’t been in contact with since I first saw her at Hagen’s Lake.
She sneers at my sexual idiom. “Not with you.” I tilt my head with a grin, and she amends her statement with, “Not at all!”
I laugh before telling her, “If you take everything from tonight into consideration, you will understand I have your best interest at heart.”
“Okay,” is all she says. “Are you moving anytime soon?” Genevieve motions to her bed.
“Do you want me to move?” She knows I”m not leaving the room.
“I want to sleep.” Her voice is harsh. “And to do that, you need to move to your cot.”
I don’t think I even notice the actual cruelness in her tone; it’s the only one she’s ever used with me. I’m used to it.
“That’s not what I asked,” I reply calmly.
“I was leaving it up to your interpretation. I want to sleep, and I’m going to do that whether you’re here or not. If you really want to watch, you’re welcome to stay.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I was making sure you didn’t need anything. No, I think I’ll go back to my cot and get some sleep myself.”
She looks unsure, but I don’t want to manipulate my own mind into believing she wants me to stay.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else before I go to sleep?” I ask one more time. It feels like she’s holding something back.
It feels like we both are.
She counters with, “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I assumed you would be on your high horse and would want to get away from me.”
“Not if you need something,” I rectify. “We’ve been over this Genevieve, I’m not that big of an asshole.”
“I know, Jameson.” She sighs, lying back into the mounds of blankets. “But I’m okay, you don’t need to watch over me like I’m a child.”
“I know you’re not a child, Genevieve.”
“So, you can trust me when I say I”m fine, and you can go to your cot and get some sleep.” She then speaks, with a glint of teasing in her tone. “You’re going to need it.”
“I’m not going to pretend I won’t. You’re a good competitor, Genevieve.”
“Why don’t you call me Gen?” It sounds like a question she’s been holding back, like she’s been bursting at the seams to ask it.
“Do you know how many girls I know who are named Gen? Lots.” It was true. “But how many go by Genevieve?”
She doesn’t answer; she knows it was a rhetorical question.
The answer? None.
“Do you know the legacy you could leave with a name like Genevieve? A name like no other?” She falls silent. I knew she would. “I won’t let you ignore yourself. I won’t ignore you, Genevieve.”
139 days until graduation
I wake up much more oriented than I felt last night. Looking down, I see that my hands and knees have been wrapped in bandages. They weren’t like that last night. The next thing I register is Jameson standing over me, holding a pair of scissors and a roll of the bandages that are plastered to my hands.
“What are you doing?” I ask, sitting up and rubbing my hands over my eyes.
“I figured that, if you’re going to be skiing, you’ll need new wraps on your hands,” he says, taking a step back.
Looking at him now, Jameson looks like a completely different person from the one I saw last night.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes watering with unshed tears as I look around the hotel room, as I look at Jameson.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, taking a step forward. “Are you in pain?” He leans over me, examining my bandaged hands before looking at my head. “Seriously, Genevieve.”
He’s closer now. I can feel the air stiffening between us as he waits for a sign of why I’m nearly crying.
I’m not even thinking clearly, which may have to do with my concussion, but I feel the overwhelming need to tell Jameson I’m sorry.
Instead, I reach my arms up and they fall around his neck. I pull him down, making one of his knees hit the bed as I hug him closer.
“What—”
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks as the first of my tears fall down my cheek. “God.” I wipe my eyes roughly. “I’ve been such a bitch, and you’ve tried so hard to be nice to me, and I’ve just continued to antagonize you, and that’s not fair.”
“Genevieve—” He tries.
I put my hand over his mouth. “Please, let me finish.” He nods, and I drop my hand. “I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with my back and forths, and I’m sorry I haven’t given you a chance to prove yourself.”
A sob racks through my body, and I feel Jameson’s hands wrap around my shoulders. “It’s okay.” He shushes me. “You’re okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I tell him, pushing him by the shoulders so I can look him in the eye. “It’s not okay, Jameson. I’ve been putting up this whole fight about Valedictorian knowing it won’t do anything to change the situation. Which is so…stupidand trivial.”
“It’s not trivial, Genevieve. Your feelings were hurt, and you needed somewhere to put the blame. I’m not upset at you for that,” he says, running his hands up and down my back. “We’ve both been hurt by each other, and there’s nothing either of us could have done to change it.”
“I could have been nicer to you,” I admit. “I haven’t been acting like myself. This mean and resentful front I’ve been putting on around you, it isn’t me.”
“I know that,” he replies. “And I’ve been the same way, Genevieve.”
“I deserved it.” I wipe more fallen tears. “You had every right to say what you said to me.”
“Hey.” He runs his hands through my hair. “Don’t pretend I had any right to say what I did. That wasn’t okay, love, and none of what I said reflects how I feel about you.”
“Thank you for helping me last night,” I mutter. “I know how mad you’ve probably been at me, and you didn’t have to help me, but you did.”
“It doesn’t matter how mad I’ve been. The moment I saw you bleeding on the floor of the hallway, I didn’t have a choice but to help you,” he says. “There was never a doubt in my mind that I was going to bring you back to this hotel room and do whatever I could to help you.”
“This isn’t supposed to be this easy,” I groan, leaning my head back against the headboard, making Jameson stand. “You’re supposed to be mad at me.”
“You know as well as I do that we’ve both spent way too much time being mad,” he responds, walking over to his bag.
It’s then that I realize I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday—my skirt covered in blood—and I probably never brushed my teeth.
I feel disgusting.
“I’m going to shower.” I say as I stand, heading toward the bathroom as I pass. Jameson hands me my toiletry bag that was sitting on top of my suitcase. “Thanks.”
“Hey,” he says, stopping me from fully entering the bathroom. I turn toward him. “We’re good?”
I smile. “We’re good.”
“Wait.” Eloise raises a hand to stop me from continuing. “So, you two made up? After everything, you just made up?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I think we both realized it just wasn’t worth hating each other over anymore.”
“So, you guys are good now?” Winnie asks. She joined Eloise and I for lunch after protesting that she felt well enough to come.
I’m glad she’s feeling better today, since Logan is still sick and stuck in the hotel room.
“I mean we’re not best friends, but…” I trail off.
“But?” Eloise mirrors in question.
“I’m done being angry at the world, and I’m done acting like being Valedictorian is the only thing that matters,” I say, a tone of finality in my voice.
“It may not be all that matters, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter at all,” Eloise replies.
“I’m not saying that. I’m done fighting for something when its result is already set in stone.”
Eloise looks confused by my response. “What happened between yesterday and today that made you go through this sudden transformation?”
“Jameson’s always been civil with me, and after last night, I came to the conclusion that it’s not worth it to hate him anymore.”
“Civil?” Eloise laughs, “So him telling you that you should have taken up a sport means nothing?”
“He was provoked,” I grit my teeth. “And he apologized.”
“Oh, so an apology makes up for everything?” she asks.
I let my hand fall to the table, making my cup rattle. “What is your problem, El?” She was the one who was Team Jameson from the beginning, and now that I’m claiming cease fire, she’s acting like this?
“I’m sorry.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I’m just confused on how you’ve had this revolutionary change of perspective in the past twelve hours.”
“Look at my hands,” I hold them out, letting the two of them see the bandages for the first time. “And my head.” I pull my hair back, showing the side of my forehead. “And my knees look just as bad.”
“What—”
“I tripped up the stairs of the hotel, then fell down them, and I got hurt,” I state. “Jameson found me, concussed and almost unconscious, and brought me back to the room. He took care of me, made sure I was okay.”
“Are you okay?” Winnie asks.
“Even after that happened between us,” I sigh, feeling like I’m being pummeled with emotion. “Jameson is a good guy; he is a really really good guy. And I’m angry.” I bow my head, looking at my jeans. “I’m angry it took me so long to realize it.”
“What happens when we get back?” I ask Jameson. It’s late, and after a few hours of painful skiing, we’re back in our hotel room.
Tomorrow morning, we’ll get on a bus to go back to Fairwood. Once we’re home, I’m not sure how Jameson and I are going to go about solving who gets Valedictorian.
“What do you mean?” He questions.
We’re sitting on the bed, relaxing in the comfortable silence of the room while Jameson re-wraps my hand in bandages.
“Do we go back to how it was before?”
He squeezes my hand a bit, the small amount of pain grabbing my attention. “No way,” he says. “When we get back to Fairwood, you and I have a speech to write.”
We smile. “I could still beat you, you know.”
He pushes me back on the bed. “We both know that won’t happen.”
“Are we still writing our speech on the issues surrounding Fairwood?” I ask, adjusting as he wraps my knees.
“Yes,” he replies. “But it will also be about you, and why you deserve the position. Really, think of me as your co-Valedictorian.”
“Imagine how much sooner we could have gotten along if you would have started with that.”
“Well, maybe if you would have let me get a word out before today, we could have discussed positions further.”
I laugh, shocked that Jameson doesn’t take the opportunity to make some kind of inappropriate joke.
“So, you’re basically saying you’re my bitch,” I chuckle, making Jameson shove me again.
“I can’t be your bitch when I’m just as smart as you,” he retorts.
“We’ll see about that.” I grin, getting off the bed and grabbing my pajamas from my suitcase.
“I’m not opposed to being a woman’s right-hand man. In fact it’s what I’m endorsing at this point, but I’m no one’s bitch, Genova.” “Good to know,” I snide, heading into the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Genevieve,” Jameson calls before I shut the door.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re on good terms.” He smiles, beginning to unfold his cot.
I think about everything that has happened between us since the beginning of the school year. From the first meeting in Headmaster Whiting’s office to me stabbing him in the chest with the pin of a boutonniere during homecoming to our fight in the Callaghan’s sitting room on Thanksgiving.Every hateful remark, every competition, every interaction between the two of us has led us where we are now.
I sigh, the relief of it all flooding my body. “Me too.”