9. Alison
The first thing I notice when I come downstairs is the man standing in our foyer. The second is that he looks like he could bench-press me. Which, considering my current weight is approximately me plus one lime, probably isn’t that impressive. Still. He’s big.
Dark suit. Black coat folded over one arm.
Short hair. Maybe late thirties. He stands beside the front door with his hands loosely clasped in front of him while my dad drinks coffee at the kitchen table like having a strange man posted in our house before seven thirty in the morning is completely normal.
I stop in the doorway. Tobias looks up from his cereal. “That’s Daniel.”
“Thank you, Tobias.”
Dad clears his throat. “Sit down, Alison.”
My stomach has already decided breakfast is offensive today, which is unfortunate because I’m starving.
Pregnancy makes absolutely no sense. I am hungry enough to eat the table.
The smell of eggs makes me want to die. My boobs hurt.
I had to pee twice last night. And Ryan sent me a screenshot at one seventeen this morning demanding to know who decided our baby was the size of a lime because, according to him, limes “vary significantly and this is medically irresponsible.” He followed that with three different lime measurements from Google.
I love an idiot.
Dad folds his newspaper. “Daniel will be taking you to school from now on.”
I look toward the foyer. Daniel doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t. He’s probably been professionally trained not to react when eighteen-year-old girls silently wonder whether he’s been hired to drive them or kidnap them.
“Why?”
Dad’s eyes come back to me. “Because I said so.”
I take a bite of toast. “Okay.”
“You will go directly to school in the morning. Daniel will collect you at three fifteen and bring you directly home.”
My chewing slows. Today. Today. Darla. The baby.
I’ve been thinking about today for a week.
Darla told me we’d be far enough along now that we’d get a much better look.
She wants to check measurements. Make sure everything is developing the way it should.
And the heartbeat. Today I get to hear my baby’s heartbeat.
Ryan’s baby. Our baby. The tiny little person currently making eggs my mortal enemy.
“You’ll come directly home,” Dad repeats.
I put down the toast. “What if I have something after school?”
His gaze sharpens. “Do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mom is standing at the counter. Her back is mostly to us. Mostly. I see her glance over.
Dad takes another drink of coffee. “If something comes up, you call me.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Not your mother.” Mom goes still. Just for a second. Then she opens the refrigerator.
I don’t look at her. “Understood.”
Dad studies me. “Your phone stays on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He goes back to his newspaper.
I head out the door, toast in hand. Daniel opens the rear door of the town car for me. I wait until we’ve pulled away from the house before reaching for my phone. Ryan has already texted.
Ryan: you alive
apparently under armed transport now
Ryan: what
new driver. dad says he takes me to school and picks me up at 3:15. straight home.
Ryan: fuck
Ryan: don’t cancel anything
how exactly do you propose I disappear with a driver waiting for me
Ryan: I don’t… yet
Normally that would make me smile, today it doesn’t because there isn’t time for Ryan to magically solve everything anymore. April sixth is sitting on a calendar whether we like it or not.
I put my hand low against my stomach. And I absolutely cannot get on an international flight with a pregnancy my dad doesn’t know exists.
My phone buzzes.
Ryan: you’re seeing our baby today
figure it out then.
I put the phone away. Because for once, I don’t want reassurance. I want a fucking solution.
Daniel doesn’t drive away when I get out at Edgewood. I know because I look back. He’s sitting behind the wheel. Watching the entrance. Fine. Whatever. Maybe Dad told him to make sure I actually walk into the building instead of making a run for Mexico before homeroom.
By first period, I almost convince myself I’m being dramatic. By second, that dies.
Mrs. Caldwell stops me after English. “Alison. How are you doing?”
Suspicious question number one.
“Good.”
“With everything?”
Suspicious question number two.
I shift my books. “What everything?”
Her smile is warm. Too warm. “The transfer.”
My stomach tightens. “Oh.”
“Your father spoke with the administration. I understand this is all moving rather quickly. Sainte-Catherine is an exceptional school.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“You’ll have wonderful opportunities there. You’ve seemed more outgoing lately.”
My skin prickles.
Mrs. Caldwell smiles. “I’m glad you’ve made friends before you leave.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t text anyone. Not yet. Because suddenly I’m wondering whether teachers can see me using my phone.
Whether someone checks. Whether Dad has asked.
Whether I’m being paranoid. By the time I reach the stairs, I decide paranoia is probably healthy when your father has been secretly preparing to ship you to Switzerland since October.
At ten twenty-three, I see the town car. Second-floor window. Across the street. Black. Parked. Daniel behind the wheel. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Cat follows my stare. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s been there all morning?”
“I have no idea.”
She watches the car for another second.
“That’s creepy.”
“Thank you. I was worried pregnancy had made me unreasonable.”
“No, pregnancy has made you cry over garlic bread.”
“It was really good garlic bread.”
“It was frozen.”
“Don’t diminish my experience.” Her mouth twitches. Mine almost does. Then I look back outside. Daniel hasn’t moved. Neither has the car.
Cat’s expression sobers. “Ryan know?”
“About Daniel. Not that he’s camping outside like a divorced dad at a soccer tournament.”
Then I see Mr. Bennett at the bottom of the stairs. He’s looking at us. Maybe that’s nothing. Probably nothing. Except when Cat and I start walking, he smiles. “Miss O’Toole.”
“Hi.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yep.”
“Heading to chemistry?”
I stop. Cat does too. “Yes.”
He nods. “Don’t want to be late.”
My skin prickles again. We’re not late. We’re not even close to late.
We keep walking. Cat waits until we turn the corner. “Okay. That was fucking weird.”
Someone is watching. Maybe several someones. And the worst part is I don’t know who.
By lunch, I want to crawl out of my own skin. I sit with Cat, Penny, and Becca and tell them everything. Quietly. Daniel. Mrs. Caldwell. Bennett. The questions.
Penny looks toward the faculty tables. “Do you know who’s reporting?”
“No.”
“Could be administration,” Cat says.
“Could be more than one person,” Becca adds. I look at her.
“Helpful.”
“You want comforting or useful?”
“Today? Comforting.”
“You look very pretty.” I stare at her. She takes another bite of salad. “There.”
My notebook is beside my tray. I pull it closer. I open to where I stopped yesterday. Writing helps. It gives my brain one thing to think about instead of forty. For three whole minutes, I almost forget Switzerland exists.
Then a hand reaches over my shoulder and takes the notebook. I know the hand. My stomach drops anyway.
“What the fuck is this?”
Ryan.
I look up. He’s standing behind my chair. Kaiden, Xander, Danny, and Iz are with him. My eyes go automatically to his. Nothing. No warning. No softness. Nothing that belongs to me. Then I see Bennett near the doors. Looking directly at us.
“Give it back.”
Ryan flips the notebook open. His mouth curls. Not smiles. Curls. “What is this supposed to be?”
My face gets hot. “Mine.”
“Obviously.” He scans the page. Then laughs. Loud enough that the table beside us looks over.
“What?” Iz leans toward him.
Ryan turns the notebook slightly. “O’Toole thinks she’s a writer.”
Something in my chest twists. “Give it back, Ryan.”
His eyes lift. “Did I say you could call me Ryan?”
The words slap harder than they should. Because I call him Ryan when he’s half asleep. When he’s inside me. When he’s lying with his head beside my stomach talking to our baby. When he’s scared. When I love him.
Someone laughs. Ryan looks back at the page. “This is fucking terrible.”
I know it’s fake. I know. It still hurts.
“Give me my notebook.”
Ryan flips another page. “Jesus, it gets worse.”
Danny laughs. Too easily. Too naturally.
Because these boys have been doing this shit for years.
This is what they’re good at. And suddenly I understand something I never really understood before.
Why people at Edgewood move when the five of them walk through a hallway.
Why nobody steps in. Why everyone watches.
Because when they decide you’re the joke, the safest place to stand is in the audience.
“Put it down,” I say.
Ryan looks at me. Then around the dining hall. “Or what?” More people are listening now. My heart pounds. “You’ll write something mean about me?”
Laughter. Real laughter. My eyes burn. Fuck him. Ryan knows exactly what this notebook means to me. That’s why he picked it. That’s why this works.
He turns another page. “Is this supposed to be romance?”
My stomach drops. “Ryan.” I stare at him. His expression doesn’t move. “Harrington,” I correct through my teeth. “Give it back.”
“Ask nicely.”
The girls go still. I can feel it. Even knowing this is fake, Cat looks like she wants to launch herself across the table.
I hold out my hand. “Please give me my notebook.”
Ryan looks at my hand. Then my face. “No.” A boy behind him laughs.
I want to fucking disappear. Not because I’m embarrassed about writing. Because Ryan is the one doing it. Because there’s a difference between knowing someone has a knife and feeling it go in.
I reach for the notebook. He lifts it over my head. More laughter. “Seriously?”
“What’s wrong, O’Toole?” His voice is almost bored. “You embarrassed?”
I hate him. For exactly three seconds, I fucking hate him.
"You’re being a fucking asshole.” A few people make noises around us.