Chapter 36
Olive
A little later, we’re walking through Manhattan.
I don’t ask Colin where he’s headed because I’ve sensed for a while that we have no destination.
He just couldn’t stand arguing with his family any longer, or justifying himself for finally doing the right thing.
I hate his mother for trying to convince him he made the wrong choice.
And for being so cold when he told her about his self-harming.
There was emotion on her face for a split second, but it wasn’t long before she was accusing him of stuff again.
I found it hard to believe that she’d really be so determined to hush up the truth, but now that I’ve met Ava Fantino in person, I’m no longer surprised. Her name and her family’s reputation seem to matter more to her than Colin’s peace of mind.
“I have to talk to Cleo,” says Colin suddenly, as we wait at a red light. He looks at me. “That was mean of me earlier.”
“It was right to confront her with it, though,” I argue.
Colin doesn’t seem particularly convinced. “I ought to have done it some other time. Calmly.”
I say nothing immediately. “You’ll have time to talk to her later,” I suggest, and the light changes to green.
We cross a multilane road with dozens of other people.
It feels so weird that I’m actually in New York.
With Colin. And no matter how stressful this time is, I’m thrilled to get to know the place he’s from.
This loud, hectic city, the complete opposite of Dunbridge Academy.
“Now I understand why you hate Scotland so much,” I say.
Colin glances at me in surprise. “I don’t hate Scotland.”
I’m taken aback. “You don’t?”
“It’s . . . quiet. But kind of OK.”
“You didn’t talk like that a couple of weeks ago.”
“A couple weeks ago, everything was different.”
I nod. “But I get that you’d miss this. Big-city life, so much going on.”
“Right now, I’m mostly missing the peace at Dunbridge,” he says to my astonishment. Colin doesn’t look at me. “Apparently, you get used to that very quickly.”
“Is it good or bad?”
“Good, I think.” He darts a look at me. “Isn’t it?”
“Course.” I have to smile. “Very good, even.”
We keep walking, and we can finally catch our breath after the events of this morning, which came thick and fast. We still haven’t eaten. At this very moment, we pass an Italian restaurant, and I stop. “Oh, so this is why you’ve been calling me that all this time?”
He frowns, then catches on. He laughs. For the first time today. “Yep, Olive Garden, this is why.”
I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Want to go in? I’ll pay.”
“Maybe we really should. Do you want to check first?” He hesitates, but I continue. “If you’re being this arsey, it can only mean one thing.”
“I’m not arsey,” he replies, in a pretty arsey way.
I just raise a speaking eyebrow. Colin snorts disdainfully, but pulls out his phone and opens the blood-sugar app.
“Ha!” I exclaim in triumph, glancing at the screen. “OK, in we go, Fantino.”
“It’s too early,” he says. “They don’t open till noon.”
“Oh.” Bummer.
“To be honest, I hate the place,” he admits.
“Oh, so that’s why you called me after it?”
“Totally.”
“Thought as much,” I say.
“That’s not actually true,” he starts.
I sigh. “God, Colin, stop being so cheesy.”
He has to smile. “Can’t help it.”
“Go on, hurl insults at me. I know how to deal with that.”
“Is that one of your kinks?”
“Apparently,” I say. “Come on, pick a place where we can get something to eat before you bloody well pass out.”
“Oh, please.”
“Yes, please do.” I glare at him.
“Fine. There’s a great breakfast place around the corner. Might not be such a bad idea after all the excitement.”
Colin
We spend most of the day exploring New York. I show Olive around Central Park and take her to my favorite burger joint, and then we just stroll around seeing the sights.
Late in the afternoon, the lack of sleep and jet lag take their revenge.
Olive falls asleep in her seat on the subway back home.
Her head slumps onto my shoulder, awakening an overwhelming desire in me to lie in bed with her, shut out the world, and do nothing more than kiss her, fall asleep, and .
. . well, maybe try some other things after that.
When we get back to the apartment, I think at first we’re alone. But then Cleo appears, her eyes red with crying, and my stomach cramps again. “Where are Mom and Dad?” I ask coolly, taking off my jacket.
“Work.” She sniffs. I hate her because I know this isn’t fake. I can’t stand seeing her cry. Especially not because of me. “Colin, I . . . I’m so sorry.”
I glance at Olive, who’s stopped a few steps behind me. She still looks totally exhausted. “I think I’ll have a bit of a lie-down,” she says.
“OK.” That will give me a chance to talk to Cleo. I pull Olive to me and give her a kiss. She says nothing, but her hand glides gently over my cheek, then she pulls away and vanishes into the guest room.
And then I’m alone with Cleo. “Colin,” she says, her voice pleading.
“Yeah, what?” I turn away and walk into the kitchen, not that I need anything. But I won’t be able to stand firm if I look at her. “Why did you do it?” I ask.
Cleo doesn’t reply.
All I hear is a muffled sound, and I count the seconds before I turn back to her. “I asked you a question.” My voice sounds cutting and I despise myself for it.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You did it, so you must know why.”
Her eyes fill with tears again. “I . . . I wanted . . .”
“Yeah, what? To split me and Olive up? To make everyone at my school hate me? Congratulations, you nearly succeeded.”
“No, Colin. I didn’t want that.”
“Oh, no? So what did you want then?”
“I wanted to help you,” she blurts out. “You kept saying you wanted to get away from that school and come home. And you promised, Colin! Every time we spoke. But then you said it less and less and . . . I thought if I didn’t do anything, you might just forget about me.”
I want to keep cool, but I don’t have a chance in hell as the tears stream down Cleo’s cheeks. She buries her face in her hands and sobs her heart out.
My eyes well as I look at her, as I put my arms around her. “How could you think anything as dumb as that?”
Cleo says nothing, but her sobs are answer enough. She digs her fingers into my sweater. I just keep holding her. “You can’t be angry with me. Please, Colin. What I did was wrong. It was really mean. I just thought if Olive knew everything and . . .”
“Dumped me, I’d come back?” I suggest.
Cleo’s shoulders start to shake again.
“It was a big success, I’ll give you that. Worked so well that everything got out of hand, and I landed in the goddamn hospital.”
Cleo’s head jerks up at that. “That was my fault?”
“Well, mainly mine, to be honest, but after Olive saw the screenshots, I started drinking.” Cleo opens her mouth, but I cut her off.
“Now listen here,” I say firmly. “Sending her that stuff was a crappy thing to do, and I’m seriously pissed.
Mainly because you can’t seriously think I’d suddenly stop caring about you.
That’s not true. You’re my sister. You’re more important to me than anything.
Got that?” My voice catches, but only briefly.
Then I’ve got it under control again. And I say it: “I’m not coming back.
I’m going to stay at Dunbridge Academy. It’s the first place I’ve ever learned what friendship and love really mean.
And I’d like you to experience that too. ”
Cleo doesn’t move. “You mean . . . ?”
“It was Olive’s idea. She suggested that you could enroll too. I’ll speak to Mom and Dad if you like the idea.”
“Going to boarding school in Scotland?” Cleo asks, and I hear the panic starting to build in her voice.
“Yeah, to Dunbridge Academy, with me.” It sounds way less scary that way.
But apparently, she disagrees, because her face stays skeptical.
“It’s beautiful there and the people are really nice.
I’d always be close by. You could see the out-of-tune piano for yourself, and I could play you your songs.
No time difference, no FaceTime.” It’s too much for her.
I can see it in her eyes, and I get that. “Think about it, OK? How about that?”
Cleo nods, her lips pressed tightly together.
I keep looking at her. Then she shakes her head slightly and I pull her into my arms again. “You’re impossible, Cleo Fantino.”
She presses her head into my chest.
I shut my eyes. Maybe there is hope.
Maybe there’s something better for her than life here. I’d never have believed it either until I went to Scotland.
Cleo seems a bit calmer when I eventually tell her I’m going to check on Olive. I want to ask her if she’s in the mood to watch a movie with me and Cleo, but as I open the guest room door, I see there’s no point.
She’s fallen asleep. Obviously. Olive’s curled up on the bed, and her face is relaxed.
She groans reluctantly as I lie down beside her.
“You look cute when you’re asleep,” I whisper.
“Take that back,” she murmurs.
“No chance.” I have to smile. “Olive, you have to wake up.”
“Can’t . . .”
“If you go to sleep now, you’ll be up at four in the morning again, babe.”
“Babe?” she repeats slowly, in her rough, sleepy voice. “You’re such a Yank.”
And she’s such a Scot. “Would ‘darling’ be better?” I ask.
“Oh, my God.” She groans. “Say it again.”
“No chance, Olive Garden,” I whisper into her ear.
She turns toward me. “Please, Colin.”
“I want a nickname too.”
“You’ve got one, Cowboy.”
“I don’t identify with that.”
“Your problem.”
“Come on.”
“Darling,” she says, shutting her eyes again. “You can have that one.”
Darling . . . Darling, in that soft Scottish accent I’d die for.