Chapter 5
As much as I hate calculus, I love American Lit. Mr. Laurance takes it far beyond the study of what some dead white guy has written. The classroom setup quickly made sense. According to Mr. Laurance, literature is meant to be discussed, not taught. His teaching style allows the students to take charge of the class. He acts only as a tour guide. This is the reason I’m here, the curriculum surpassing anything I would ever get at Wilcocks.
After the spit-diving Olympics of Calc and the soap opera-esque encounters with the Girls of Briarwood Academy, I finally have comfort in my decision to be here. When Mr. Laurance calls the class to a close, I don’t want to leave. He does pass out a reading list about a mile long for our next class. Fortunately, most of it I have already read. I tore through our town library in elementary school. Then started spending any extra money I earned on creating my own personal library. The classics of American Literature are something I’m deeply familiar with.
I pack up my bag and attempt to sling it over my shoulder, but Ben has none of it. He takes both of our bags and leads me out of the room. Stepping back into the hall, a sense of relief washes over me. I finally take in my surroundings. The Literature Department spans over two T-shaped hallways. Within the halls, there are several small nooks that house large leather study chairs. I could make use of those. The walls, however, are lined with photos of alumni. All of whom have had success in the literary world. My eye catches on one photograph, and my heart swells. Roland Roberts. My grandfather. He owns the largest publishing house in Georgia with multiple companies under its’ umbrella. Any of which with a phone call after graduation I could have my pick of. I won’t though.
My mom and grandparents aren’t on the best of terms. They aren’t full no contact. However, beyond holiday dinners and cards on birthdays, the extent of the relationship ends. That is until recently. After my first article got picked up, I got a letter. An old-school letter with a wax seal and everything. It was from my grandfather. He told me how proud of me he was and asked if I wanted to have lunch. I didn’t tell my mom. It felt like a betrayal. After all, I’m the reason for the falling out. It didn’t stop me from going though. I went to the lunch and my grandfather was nothing like I expected.
My mom doesn’t talk about her parents much. Just that she didn’t want to rely on their money, and she didn’t. She worked from the minute she left home at 19 with 1-year-old me. She got a job as a night manager at a bed and breakfast. Renting out a room from the owner, Mrs. Pat. When the owner wanted to retire, they worked out a payment plan for my mom to buy the place. The thing about mom is that she is truly brilliant.
She barely missed graduating from Briarwood. It was close to the beginning of her senior year when she got pregnant and she hid it until she couldn’t anymore. My grandparents homeschooled her when they found out. She still got her high school diploma and attended classes at the local college to get a bachelor”s in hospitality. I think my grandfather is secretly proud of her too. I just wish he would reach out and tell her. I would never tell my mom, but I crave some sort of father figure.
Mine took off when my mom refused to marry him after she got pregnant. He doesn’t try to have a relationship so why should I? My grandfather, on the other hand, at least he is making an attempt.
“Thinking of getting a copy for your wall? Won’t it clash with your boy band posters?” Ben’s comment breaks me from my thoughts.
“Do I really look like I have boy band posters?” I look up at him expectantly. He grins a full-on grin, no smirk.
“I mean I could come over after school and find out?” We start walking down the hall.
“It is after school.” I’m still a little off from finding the photograph of my grandfather, not thinking of the ramifications of my response.
“Great! You drive. I’m too tired from carrying your bag around.” I know he isn’t serious, but the constant flirtation in his voice causes me to toe a line I’m not comfortable with.
“A. I didn’t ask you to take my bag and B. I’m not driving you anywhere. I’m going home to get started on the Calc homework and finish an article I started for the gazette.” I’m also going home to study the campus map, tear through the online portal for all my classes, and get a head start on my assignments for Anatomy and Journalism. He doesn’t need to know that when it comes to school, I can be overly obsessive. I just want to do well here.
“The Windy Creek Gazette?” I’m shocked he knows the name of my hometown paper, although I shouldn’t be if he read my articles. The paper has always been cited when my articles are republished.
“Yes. Why?” I ask hesitantly.
“I guess I’m just surprised the Briarwood Messenger would let you double up.” I honestly hadn’t considered it. I’ve been allowed free rein for so long at the gazette that the thought of a conflict never crossed my mind. The messenger mostly reports on school events with the option for featured pieces. The benefit of their program is that it will give me experience in all aspects of running a paper. Some more modern training than anything I could ever get at the gazette. Also, at the end of the year, a senior editor will be picked. I need that on my resume for college.
“I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
At this point, we’ve approached the student parking lot. The lot is filled with expensive cars, Porsche’s, BMWs, Range Rovers. I felt uncomfortable pulling in, but my nerves of finding the admissions office and getting my schedule won out. Now that Ben is still walking with me, I’m feeling slightly insecure. I hate that. I knew going into this the kids here would have more money than me but letting them silently judge me is better than my status being right in the only person I know face.
“Well, thanks for getting me around today, but I have to be going.” I reach for my bag, but he refuses.
“Hold it Dorothy. I told you before, I cannot in good conscience let you carry this bag. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. I’ve got it.” I make for the bag again. He still pulls back.
“Dorothy” he drags out “What’s going on? I thought we had made it to friendship?” Ugh.
“I don’t want you to see my car, okay. I’m embarrassed.” I mean my car isn’t anything embarrassing to the normal eye. I actually love it. It’s my mom’s old jeep. She upgraded recently and it was perfect timing seeing how I have a 30-minute commute to Briarwood. I love the faded blue and even the collection of decals my mom added. I just. It doesn’t fit here, which points out the more significant issue that I don’t fit. Which is stupid, I know. They recruited me. Chose me. Given I had an advantage over other recruits because of my family name. I just didn’t have the funds to back it up.
“Listen Amelia, all jokes aside, you don’t have to be embarrassed by what you drive. Some kids here may be entitled and think that their money makes them better than everyone else, but you can exclude me from that list.”
The response was more serious than anything he has said to me by far, leaving me unsure how to handle it.
“Thanks,” is all I have in me.
“Now come on.” More and more students start to pile out of the buildings into the parking lot. “We don’t want you getting swept up in a tornado.” I wonder what his obsession with The Wizard of Oz is. Nevertheless, I don’t argue and start walking toward the back of the lot to my Jeep. The parking lot quickly turns into chaos. Students everywhere pulling off ties and blazers. Groups start to form at cars laughing and talking. Some kids walk with their faces in their phone screens. Briarwood has a strict no-phone-use policy in class or hallways. You can have one, just not be actively using it. According to the handbook, the policy is enforced heavily.
As we continue the walk to the far back row where I parked, I start to notice several people looking in our direction as we pass. Ben waves at a couple people. Apparently, he has a level of popularity.
When we reach my jeep, I realize I can’t unlock it because Ben has my bag, with my key. “Thanks for walking me, but I need my bag back, it has my key.” He finally hands me back my bag, the weight catching me off guard. It’s heavier than I remember. I see a smile tug at the corner of Ben’s lips to say I told you so. I choose to ignore it and retrieve my car key from the front pocket. I slide the key into the door and turn it twice to unlock all four doors. The clicker stopped working years ago.
I open the back door and throw my book bag into the back seat. It makes a thud that shakes the car a little. Maybe I could lighten the load. Shutting the car door, I turn to face Ben who is doing a sweep of the lot with his eyes. I take advantage of his distraction and get a better look at his face. He really does look like he could be from a romantic comedy. I hate to admit it, but if I were a different girl, I’d happily be in that movie with him. Play the part of the brainy and nerdy love interest. This, however, is not a movie and I’m not a different girl. His eyes finish their sweep and stare right back into mine.
“Thanks for your help today.” Uncomfortable holding eye contact, I turn to get into my car. “See you tomorrow?” It’s a question I know the answer to. As my mentor, it’s his job to get me to my classes tomorrow too. His job. Keep reminding yourself of that, Amelia.
“You’re welcome Amelia. Yeah tomorrow. Drive safe.” No taunt. No Smirk. Just a small smile.
“Bye Ben.” I get into my car, and he walks away toward a group of boys. I take a moment and watch him interact. Then I shake it off and start my car. It’s time to leave the walls of great expectation and return to the comfort of my small town. My phone connects automatically to the speaker, an upgrade I was happy to make to the outdated Jeep. I start the audio version of the book I was so rudely interrupted reading during lunch. Ugh. Lisa. That will be tomorrow’s problem. For now, I have 30 minutes to escape into a fantasy world.
Benedict’s point of view
This school year was going to suck. After my suspension last year, returning on the condition that I join the mentor program left me in a foul mood. But I had it coming. I spiraled out of control at the end of last year, culminating in that idiotic break-in of the headmaster”s office. I”m lucky I wasn”t expelled. Dad pulled out all the stops to keep me here, even playing the sick mom card.
One more screw-up and it”s off to boarding school. Dad doesn”t make empty threats. And I can”t afford to screw up now, not with Mom in such critical condition. I owe it to her to get my act together. I didn”t realize then how much the cancer had taken a toll on her. So I accepted my punishment without hesitation.
I thought I”d be paired with some clueless freshman I could easily shuttle around and ignore. Boy, was I wrong.
I got her file a week ago. She”s a new recruit for the Journalism program, but I already knew who she was even before I got the official dossier. The elusive granddaughter of Roland Roberts. She probably doesn’t know our grandfathers are friends. When Dad mentioned I”d be part of the mentor program, they set the whole thing up. I”d never seen her until today, but I did my research and found her articles online. She”s got an impressive style.
It wasn”t until I saw her in the hallway that I realized how stunning she is. Flirting was instinctive, but it was her immediate shutdown that really intrigued me. It”s never happened to me before. She”s assertive and bold, yet there”s something innocent in those big blue eyes that makes me want to protect her. I know firsthand how cutthroat this school can be, especially with the girls. That”s what led me to the admissions office.
”Hey Rose” I say with a smile, knowing it”ll work its charm. She startles at the sight of me, then stumbles over her words.
”Um, hi, Ben, I mean Benedict. What can I help you with?”
I lean in closer. ”I need help with my schedule. I need it to match this.” I slide Amelia’s schedule across the counter to her. She takes it, then smiles.
”I can’t enroll you in calc again, Ben, but there”s an opening in the Journalism class. Lisa scared someone out of it hoping Bella could have the spot. But oh darn. It”s filled now.” She starts typing away. I like Rose. She”s quiet but has a devious side. She knows everyone”s secrets but only spills them for the right price.
”Anatomy is no problem; I can switch it out since you were going to have it next semester anyway. And you”re already signed up for Golf as a teacher’s assistant in the afternoon section, but I can switch you to mornings. Barkley needs an assistant since Peterson dropped.”
”Perfect” I say. I plan to be a very good mentor. ”Thanks for the help.”
”Anytime, Ben, but one thing,” she adds.
”Yeah?” I pause before heading out.
”Amelia is a nice girl,” she warns.
”I know. Later Rose.”
As far as anyone knows, I”m doing her grandfather a favor, keeping an eye out for her. But this is all for me. This year isn’t going to suck so bad after all.