Five Months Later
Colin
Her first weeks of boarding school were hard.
I can’t count the number of times I comforted her because she was homesick and afraid of not making friends, but she’s well settled in now.
I feel proud seeing my kid sister in a group of second-formers, darting across the lawn or the inner courtyard, where tables, chairs, and marquees have been set up.
She’s a Dunbrigonian now and looks sweet in her little uniform. That makes me proud too.
My parents as well. Yes, they’re here. It’s hard to believe, huh?
But apparently even Ava Fantino considers the centenary enough reason to fly across the Pond and treat herself to a few days in Scotland.
If I was bitter, I could think she’s only made the trip for Cleo’s sake.
But I don’t want to be bitter anymore. Life’s too short.
I want to be happy, regardless of the actions of the people who brought me into this world.
I’m still learning, but I’m putting in the effort.
And that plays out in my moods, which are the most stable they’ve ever been.
Especially since the trial in New York, where Trent Barlow eventually confessed and was sentenced.
I’m sorry for him, although I shouldn’t be, seeing he started that fire.
He put me through hell—almost six months of thinking I was to blame for someone’s death.
But I’m not. I wasn’t mistaken when I thought the burning toilet paper was out before I left the bathroom.
It was Trent, who set the wastebasket on fire with the end of the cigarette that I lit for him.
He cried like a baby in court, so he clearly did feel some remorse. And luckily he was still a minor at the time, so he got off lightly. Even so, he still glared at me when I gave my evidence.
Meanwhile, Isaac and Jeremy came up after the trial and apologized to me.
I had no trouble believing that Trent had pressured them into not saying anything.
Which they didn’t, not until they were questioned again after I went to the cops.
I get that. But nobody has to live with a lie anymore.
I chose the truth, which feels liberating.
I did the right thing. It was a hard road, but I walked it on my own.
No, that’s not true. I walked it with Olive Henderson. The girl I’ve fallen madly in love with, even against my will.
She’s beaming as she walks toward me, proudly waving a copy of the school newspaper.
The centenary edition is a real bulky tome, full of class photos, interesting articles, and anecdotes about people’s time at Dunbridge.
I’ve never seen Olive work as hard on anything as she has on her profiles of members of the various sports teams at the school.
Her perfectionism made it a pretty stressful process, but I get that it’s important to her.
Now her name is there on several articles and photos.
She picked Kit to interview from the tennis team, and I feel proud to be in the team photo that Olive took.
I belong here now. Seriously. And I don’t want to change a thing. I’ve arrived here, and although the way time flies by sometimes makes me sad, I’m happy I got the chance to experience boarding-school life and the sense of community at this school.
It all goes so fast. The cricket match in the morning, the evening events where Henry and Mrs. Sinclair make touching speeches, the gala dinner, and the performance by the school band while everyone dances and parties in the courtyard and the music echoes off the walls.
The first parents start to say their goodbyes as the younger forms are packed off to bed. Olive and I sat at the lower-sixth table at first, but once the formal part was over, we joined her buddies in the year above.
I know that Olive wants to make the most of what little time she has left with her friends.
The upper sixth have been doing their A-level exams, and I can see that it’s all a struggle for Olive.
No wonder—she’s spent several years thinking she was going to leave this school with Tori, Sinclair, and the rest. I’m sad they won’t be around much longer too.
After the girls moved back to the west wing, it felt weird not to have to share a room with Sinclair any longer.
I’d never have thought I’d end up missing him, but here we are.
I’ve moved down a floor too, along with Will, Kit, and the other lower-sixth boys.
Otherwise, life has gone on pretty much the same.
I go to class and tennis practice, box with Kit, and talk to Ms. Vail.
I’m doing well enough that our sessions are only every two weeks now.
There came a point when I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used the lighter.
I know I’ll have relapses, and I shouldn’t get cocky, but the thought doesn’t make me panic anymore.
There’s a peace within me that surprises even me. Peace of mind. Most of the time, anyway. It would be naive to think all the bad times are in the past, but they’re the exception now, not the rule.
I only laughed when my parents suggested that now that my name was clear, I could come back to New York.
Nothing has changed in my relationship with them, but I’ve realized that my anger wasn’t doing any good.
It just made me feel worse, so now I focus on the future and what I want to do next.
I think about studying music therapy in England, especially now that Olive is talking about a journalism degree in London—I can genuinely picture us there.
Olive is emotional this evening, which I’m putting down to the general vibe. There’s a relaxed, celebratory atmosphere, which must have been what it was like last summer, the day the fire broke out at the school.
Her friends seem to sense that too—soon after dinner, they suggest leaving the party and borrowing bikes from Mr. Carpenter so we can cycle toward the coast. It’s only a few miles, and the country road that winds over the rolling hills from here to the sea is deserted at this time of the evening.
This is still Scotland after all, so I’m not surprised when it starts to drizzle soon after we reach the beach, but nobody cares. The sun set a few minutes ago, bathing the scene in an unreal light.
I have to smile as Tori spreads her arms and runs through the rain over the sand. Sinclair chases her, to catch her. In the past, I’d have thought running around on an empty beach with my friends was dumb, but somehow it suits the way I feel right now. Young, free, upbeat.
Emma and Henry sprint away too, but I have eyes only for Olive, whose dark hair is curling in the rain. Like it does when she’s been swimming, which she recently started again. We’ll all be soaked in a few minutes. But she’s laughing. She takes my hand and pulls me along.
And I follow.
I’d follow her anywhere, anytime. There’s no question of that.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m not afraid.
I look at her, I watch Olive, and I have one thought. A single word. I think home.
Olive
The Dunbridge centenary celebrations feel like a fever dream.
More than once during the jam-packed day, my thoughts stray back to the Ebrington festival last year.
It’s no secret that that’s making me tense.
I know it’s irrational, because this evening has nothing to do with last summer.
But I can’t stop my eyes roaming over to the west wing. Even so, I don’t freak out.
That’s not least down to my friends, who are keeping an eye on me today.
It’s a nice feeling, but it’s making me sentimental too, because I just can’t forget that we’ve only got a few weeks until they leave.
Henry has an offer from St. Andrews to study English, and Emma’s planning to do sports science there too in the autumn.
So they’re not going to be a million miles away.
Unlike Tori and Sinclair, who are heading off to London.
Seriously. It might not be what they were originally planning, but to nobody’s surprise, they got places at RADA.
They are reprising last year’s roles in the school play.
I can hardly wait to see them on stage as Romeo and Juliet again.
And eventually on the biggest stages in the country.
Tori cried when she told me she’s not going to St. Andrews with Emma and Henry. And I cried too, because London is over five hours away by train, which makes it hard to pop down for a visit. Hard, but not impossible, and Tori and Sinclair insist that their doors will always be open.
There’s no denying I’ll miss them. Gideon and Grace are going to Cambridge. Or so I thought.
During the morning cricket match—a friendly between the current senior team and one made up of old Dunbrigonians and staff—I can’t help noticing that Grace keeps glancing my way. After victory for the senior team, she doesn’t run down the stand to hug Gideon, she comes over and asks if we can talk.
Despite the spring weather, Grace is wearing her school jumper with her pleated skirt, as if the clothes could hide that, with impending A levels, she’s lost even more weight.
“I have to tell you something,” she says once we’ve put the pitch behind us, breaking a silence I couldn’t bear. “I’m not going to Cambridge right away.”
“What?” I only realize I’ve stood still when Grace does too. “Seriously?”
She nods.
“But . . . why? You’ve put so much work into getting the grades for law.”
“I know.” She swallows hard. “But I’m going to a clinic first. I’m on a waiting list, and I’m hoping for a place in the summer.” Her voice shakes, and Grace isn’t meeting my eyes.
“To a clinic?” I repeat. “An eating disorder . . . ?” Grace nods, and I feel pure relief. “That’s good. That is good, right?”
She’s scared. I can see it in her eyes. “I hope so.”
“It’s definitely good,” I insist.