Chapter 11
Colin
I spend the whole next day winding her up.
I feel it every time I eat in class, don’t follow the rules, or say something rude.
It’s a game and I’m kind of enjoying it.
And I need the entertainment because the rest of my day is mostly crap.
Later on, I go to tennis training with Kit, though, and that’s moderately fun.
It helps me to let off a little steam after my first time serving my punishment by dusting shelves and scrubbing floors for Mr. Carpenter, the school caretaker.
I have to report to him again on Friday, after study hour, when everyone but me will be starting their weekend.
I don’t know whether or not Mrs. Sinclair has told my mom about my behavior—Ava Fantino hasn’t been in touch.
Not that that proves anything. Hey, it looks like she’d been expecting to hear that I was in trouble, so news of that sort wouldn’t be any reason for her to contact me. After all, she’s a busy woman.
I gather from her socials that she’s back in New York. Some wannabe actor’s on her show tonight, not that I give a shit about that. But it was surprisingly painful when I realized that she’s not even on the same continent as me anymore.
I’m in Scotland, constantly thinking about how I can get out of here.
At first, I thought there was no point in breaking the rules again because that would just land me with more punishment, but then it occurred to me that I’d have to do something so serious that the head teacher would have to put her foot down.
And of course I’ve considered simply running away and to hell with Mom and Dad’s attempt at blackmailing me over the trust fund.
It’s a load of money, but I’m prepared to work hard if it means I can do my own thing.
Though that would be majoring in psychology, and no part-time job in the world would pay enough to get me through college without the help of my parents.
Not in New York anyway, and the one thing my heart is set on is to study at Columbia and finally live my life my way.
A life with Maresa, Paxton, and Ash, even though they’ve practically ghosted me the last few days.
They’re probably just busy, but I can’t deny the toxic stab of pain I feel, which worsens with every snap I see of them and how much fucking fun they’re having without me.
Mr. Carpenter is outside waxing the floor, but he hasn’t bothered to look in to make sure I’m putting in a good graft, as he puts it, so I let myself drop onto one of the wooden chairs with a groan.
Then I send a snap to my friends and go on Maresa’s chat because I like tormenting myself.
I’m about to message her when a new photo comes in.
I click on the picture, and an icy cold spreads through my body as I take in what it shows.
Interlinked hands. Maresa’s long, slender fingers and the back of a clearly male hand, belonging to my nemesis.
Suddenly, every sound fades into the background. The noise of Mr. Carpenter’s floor polisher out in the hall, the ticking of the wall clock. All I can hear is my own heartbeat pulsing in my ears as I stare at the white heart that Maresa’s adorned her chat with.
It’s an unmistakable message that I never saw coming.
She’s with somebody else. But can you be ditched when you were never really together?
We were never exclusive—not because I didn’t want to be but because she’s a self-confident, independent woman, who likes her fun and didn’t want to commit.
I don’t even know why I’m so shocked. Did I actually have a bit more than a crush on her, or is it just a blow, however shitty, to my male ego that she’s replaced me so fast?
My head is empty. My heart’s taken a hard knock, and rather than deal with that, I get mad.
Because the woman I was sharing a bed with not so long ago doesn’t see the need to unfriend me before sending out cute snaps of her and her new lover.
I hate being the one who had feelings and is now hurting, even though Maresa never promised me any more than a couple of nights.
I thought I could live with that, but apparently I was wrong.
And maybe it’s not just my crappy emotions but the realization that my friends’ lives are still going on in New York.
Even without me. And I won’t be back any time soon, the way I originally planned.
I feel a sudden sense of despair and nausea.
I close Snapchat and suppress the urge to hurl my iPhone against the wall.
Just then, I get a FaceTime call. At first, I don’t want to speak to anyone, but I see that it’s Cleo.
I can pull myself together for my kid sister if for nobody else.
I eye the door cautiously, jump up and close it, then take the call.
“Hey, Peanut,” I greet the pixelated image of my sister, which gradually sharpens. “No school today?”
“I just got back,” Cleo explains, and her little voice makes my heart clench.
Fuck, I miss her and the afternoons when we both finished early and I could take her home.
Mom and Dad were never there at that time of day.
Our nanny Kirsten was in charge in the afternoons.
It must be about 2:00 p.m. in New York, because it’s early evening here.
I never thought that anything as meaningless as a five-hour time difference would make me feel a million miles from my family.
It’s like I’m existing in a different reality from them, because whatever I do—brushing my teeth, having breakfast or lunch, or going to bed—I’m never doing it at the same time as them.
“Great,” I say, trying to sound natural. It’s kind of ridiculous how well I succeed. “So what’s up?”
“I’m bored.”
“No homework?”
I grin as Cleo glances over her shoulder. She’s sitting at her desk, and I know that Kirsten pops in regularly to check that she’s not getting distracted. “Sure.”
“Don’t let Kirsten hear that.”
Cleo ignores that remark and brings her face closer to the screen. “Where even are you?”
I sigh. “Some storeroom.” I lift my phone so that Cleo can see. “I’m cleaning.”
“Why?” she asks, baffled. I’d like to say, Because I have to, Peanut, but I’m a good big brother who wants to be a role model, so instead of telling her that it’s a punishment for vandalism, I explain that this boarding school has all these annoying duties, and that I have to do my bit like everyone else.
“So what’s boarding school like?” Cleo asks, and I could cry. “Is it like in Wild Child?”
“Way cooler,” I lie, my soul leaving my body.
“I want to go to boarding school too,” Cleo murmurs, resting her chin in both hands. “Do you miss us?”
God, stop that, Peanut . . . It’s never been harder to smile. “Of course.”
She doesn’t smile back. “Can you play for me, Col?”
My stomach knots. Cleo always used to play me her favorite songs, so that I could listen to them once and play them back to her on the piano. It was like a ritual between us, one that now seems like a lifetime ago.
“I haven’t found a piano here yet, Peanut.” Apart from the grand in the hall where the morning assembly took place on Monday. I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to play that without permission.
“Ask someone.”
Sometimes I’m amazed how simple the world is in the eyes of a thirteen-year-old.
And I usually see then that my kid sister is right and I’m making things way more complicated than I need to.
I really could just ask. I’m absolutely sure there’s more than one piano at a fancy school like this.
It’s just that I hate asking anyone here for anything.
“I’ll find out,” I promise. “And you can save up your song requests.”
Cleo’s face brightens a little. “Deal.”
“So what are Mom and Dad up to?” I ask, because a small, pathetic part of me wants to hear that they miss me. Not that they do. I know that even before Cleo shrugs.
“They’re busy.”
Same as ever. And maybe the thing I hate most about this whole deal is that my kid sister is now sitting at home alone, apart from our nanny, and my parents don’t see any need to spend time with her and show her that she matters to them.
“It’s so boring without you, Col,” she adds, sounding so sad that it breaks my heart.
“It’s boring here too,” I say.
“When are you coming back?”
I swallow hard. “Soon,” I promise, despising myself for it. I was truly certain of that when I told Cleo so just before my flight, but I’m not anymore. And I don’t want to be the guy who makes her promises he can’t keep and lets her down. So I’ve got to find a solution. It’s that damn simple.
Cleo whirls around as her door opens.
“How are you getting on?” I hear Kirsten say. “Don’t forget you have gymnastics in half an hour.”
“Almost done,” says Cleo.
“What are you doing?” Kirsten comes over. “Oh, Colin. It’s you. How are you doing?”
“Amazing,” I lie.
“Do you like boarding school?”
I almost laugh at that. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“That’s nice. Cleo, get changed now, or we’ll be late.”
“I will,” she says, turning back to me. “Got to go, Col.”
“No problem,” I say. “See you soon.”
“Yeah, soon, OK?”
“Miss you, Peanut,” I say, but the video’s already disconnected.
It feels so wrong sitting here, imagining my little sister running around our apartment packing her sports bag.
I ought to be the one taking her to training, like I always did.
I ought to be there, even though I know I don’t deserve to be.
If Cleo knew what I did, she’d be shocked.
The thought of her hearing rumors at school about me and the fire makes me sick.
Mom will have assured her that I had nothing to do with it.
And Cleo will have believed it because she always believes Mom.
And because she sees me as the kind of role model I’m not.