Chapter Twenty-One Julia #2
Which made Chantel Chattingham’s eyes narrow as if my mother had just insulted her.
I turned to see who Whitney was (my mom suddenly had all these new friends) and I gasped audibly, because not only was “Whitney” standing there—yet another flawless woman who scared the shit out of me on sight—but a man was beside her as well.
And Damion.
Damion.
He was watching me, his expression unreadable but intense, and I could do nothing but stare back.
Because I hadn’t seen or talked to him since our subway trip.
And I had no idea how to act.
That singular outing with Damion had brought up so many questions in my head.
For starters, who was he, really?
Was he Damion the Tutor, Damion the tour guide who spoke Italian and hugged lovely waiters, Damion who had once volunteered at an animal shelter, or Damion the Evil, Gardenwood rebel, who’d once kicked one of my books down the hallway?
I’d slipped that night, at dinner, and I got sucked into the idea that he might be one of those other versions.
Which was so foolish because he was most likely just that guy.
The Evil.
How could I ever forget it.
“Hello, Shawna dear,” Whitney said to my mother, leaning in for an air-kiss. “This is my husband, Quinn, and my son Damion.”
Damion’s jawbone flexed before he turned his eyes away from me and smiled at my mom. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
If Damion looked intimidating in his school uniform, he was downright dangerous in these clothes. The black suit, the thick black tie resting on his crisp white shirt, the messy white pocket square, the messier curls, the black glasses—dear God, he was attractive.
And he looked like he belonged upstairs in that office, doing all the scandalous things.
“Did you say Damion?” My mom pursed her lips and said, “Are you the Damion that Julia’s been hanging out with?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
“I am,” he said with a charming smile, his eyes never wavering from my mom’s face. “Unless you hate him. Then I am absolutely not that guy.”
My mom—and my dad—laughed like he was hilarious, and I was mesmerized by his charisma. So smooth. So natural. SO well practiced.
“Well, we very much appreciate it,” my mom said, giving him meaningful eye contact that made me uncomfortable.
I knew she was trying to convey we appreciate your math tutorial skills with her eyes, but it made me nervous because she sucked at subtlety.
“Jules is learning a lot—about the city—and we’re grateful for your help. ”
Shut up, Ma!
Chantel Chattingham got a wrinkle in her forehead—probably not something that happened to her very often—and she looked unhappy with the conversation. She swallowed as she watched my mom and Damion chat, and then she turned her scary eyes to me.
“So tell me about yourself, Julia.”
What? I looked into the eyes of this terrifying woman and didn’t know what to say, because who asked questions like that to a stranger? Was I at a job interview?
I didn’t have an answer to such a big, general question.
“Well, I, um… I’m a senior,” I said awkwardly as my face got hot yet again. “I guess I—”
“What are your plans for next year?” she interrupted, looking impatient yet amused by my rambling. Her eyes went to Damion and his parents for a half second as if to say Are you hearing this? before coming back to me.
“Oh,” I said, clearing my throat. “Do you mean, uh, what—”
“College, dear,” she said, her mouth curling up into a smile, like she’d just scored a point by making me stammer like a moron. “Coco and Damion will be going to Dartmouth, and our Chuck is going to Harvard. Where do you plan on attending?”
Yale for sure, maybe Brown.
Not.
I was pretty sure my face was the color of a tomato as she waited for my answer, as Damion and his parents waited for my answer, as the world waited for me to piece together enough syllables to form a complete sentence.
But the truth was that I had no idea.
Will and I had planned on attending NU together—that had always been our plan.
So now that he’d dumped me and now that I was living in a surreal world where home was New York, I had no freaking clue.
What is college again?
How could I look at these Ivy League socialites and admit that I had no idea what I wanted to do? Writing, maybe. Teaching, possibly. Running the store in Springfield and dipping on college entirely?
I kind of loved that idea.
But maybe that was lazy, me just wanting to go along with the status quo because it was what I knew. Maybe wanting that meant I was someone with zero drive and no goals, right?
Was I an absolute loser if I didn’t go to college?
Shouldn’t I want a new experience?
I shrugged. “Well, I was going to go to the University of Nebraska—”
“A state school?” Damion’s mom asked my mom.
“Was?” Chantel said, her tone so thick with mockery that she didn’t need to say anything else. She obviously found me to be the most ridiculous human on the planet for not having this already figured out.
“Well, I mean I probably still will, but—”
“Probably, huh?” Damion’s dad said with a smile, and my parents laughed like he was just a fellow parent, joking about their silly kids’ whims.
But I glanced over at him and could instantly tell he didn’t like me. We didn’t know each other, but the way he was watching me, the unkind smirk on his I’m a finance CEO face, told me all I needed to know.
“I—I’m sure I will, actually,” I said, stammering as all eyes stayed fixed on me.
“It’s incredibly charming,” he said, all smug amusement, “this attitude of spontaneity regarding your future. The way you don’t seem to have it mapped out at all. No plan. Is that how they do things in Nebraska, or is this a Julia Lowell special?”
Chantel giggled and tilted her head, waiting for me to respond.
Oh my God. This grown man is publicly mocking me in front of his friends.
I felt shaken, shaky, as I looked into soulless eyes that held zero adult compassion or any parental responsibility whatsoever.
The man was a grown-ass Tom.
I glanced at Damion and wondered what he was thinking. Was he embarrassed by me? Embarrassed for me?
Probably, I thought, which bothered me more than it should.
His eyes were all over me as I interacted with his father, like he was taking in the conversation and having major thoughts about it, but I couldn’t translate the expression.
Which was good. I didn’t want his pity or his judgment. Or whatever the look on his face was. Because in my heart I knew Damion was just like the jerk who’d raised him, thinking I was pathetic for not being like them, for not having Ivy League goals for next year.
Especially when he knew just how far away from that I actually was.
I was lightheaded, feeling like I was going to pass out from the mortification of the moment and my ever-present social anxiety—It is the east, and Juliet is the sun—when Damion looked away from me and said to his father, “Actually, Dad, the Julia Lowell special is pretty incredible.”
What??
Chantel’s narrowed eyes passed over me, bumping around, like she was trying to find something and was coming up short.
“Jules is too humble to admit it, but the reason why she’s so indecisive about next year is because she has too many options,” he lied, smiling at his parents and Chantel as if he were actually my friend.
Whaaaaaat??
“Is that right,” Chantel said dryly, as if she didn’t believe it for a second.
“Really,” Damion’s dad said in the exact same tone.
I looked at his face, trying to figure out this game he was playing.
“Beckett’s in her lit class,” he said, glancing over at me and winking—dear Lord—“and apparently Mr. Longhaven was basically letting her teach the class the other day because she knew more about a certain Shakespearian tragedy than he did.”
Wait, what?
Totally inaccurate, but also what did Damion know about my Titus Andronicus moment in lit, because Longhaven definitely hadn’t enjoyed my response.
He’d cautioned the entire class that it was unwise to add “political ideologies” to literature analysis, which made me rage all day, the idea that feminism and the patriarchy could be considered “political ideologies.”
Also, isn’t that what classic literature is all about?
“She’s always loved books,” my mom said with a smile, looking absolutely unaware of what’d just gone on in front of her face, “so this doesn’t surprise me at all.”
“Yeah, well, I was surprised,” Damion said, his smile slowly dropping away, his mask of coolness returning in its place. “Never expected this little Midwesterner to be such an overachiever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got friends to party with upstairs.”
The adults immediately started talking again as Damion stepped away, their conversation returning to where it’d been before I’d become the butt of the joke, but I couldn’t let him go.
“Damion, wait.”