Chapter Twenty-Three Sam #2
Gracie hops off the bed, the mattress shifting from the change in weight. “I think if my mom kept something this big from me, I’d want to find out why. Maybe finding stuff on her can help shed some light on all the other questions.”
She walks over to her closet and retrieves a pair of sneakers. Then she picks up mine from by the foot of my bed and holds them out to me.
“Come on. We’re not going to find the answers sitting here staring at papers.”
The library is nearly empty with the exception of a handful of students.
The library assistant is restocking books as she listens to something through her headphones.
Class finals aren’t close enough yet to bring in the caffeine-fueled panic, so we get a computer right away.
Gracie pulls out the chair, the legs scraping over the carpet.
I take a seat and cue up the log-in screen. After typing in my student information, the desktop view loads. Gracie points to an icon—a stack of books. My chest pulses at the single word beneath it. Archives.
I click on the app, and it takes a second for the muted blue background to morph into a bright white with Sovereign King’s Archives above an empty search bar. I type in my mother’s name, hesitating for a beat before clicking the magnifying glass beside the bar.
Gracie points at a listing in the middle of the screen. “There.”
Miranda Collins… student records… 2001-2005.
I click the hyperlink, my nerves already getting the best of me. My fingers go numb, and what little breath I have left leaves as information populates.
“Wow.” I blink.
I stare at the details, completely caught off guard by some of the things listed. She was on the yearbook committee, and in a few different clubs: Future Economists of SKU, Student Justice Coalition, and Poetry Club.
There’s even a list of awards she won.
Poetry awards. Yearbook committee recognitions. A campus leadership medal with her name etched in a bold serif font. She was brilliant. And she never told me. My throat goes tight, and I press a fist to my mouth to keep steady.
All these years, I thought she was just floating through life, just surviving parenthood, bills, her mental demons… and Gary. And this whole time, she was someone else, too. Someone with a voice and dreams. Someone who once had a life here.
Beneath the text and awards is a grid of photos, and my heart stops.
There she is, smiling and alive in a way I’ve never seen her.
In one of the images, her hair is longer, a little wild around the edges as if the wind was too much that day.
In an another, she’s eating soft-serve ice cream, strands of her perfectly laid sew-in tucked behind her ear.
There’s one of her with some girl whose arm is around my mom’s shoulders, and they’re laughing, both bent over and unable to keep it together.
It’s been years since I’ve seen her like this. And I don’t know what’s worse—that she had this whole life that I never knew about, or that something must have happened to make her bury it. I don’t know this version of her, but I want to. And while this doesn’t bring her back, it heals a part of me.
“Damn, Sam. You look so much like her. You could be her twin,” Gracie says, pulling me from my thoughts.
My eyes sting, but I blink away the tears. “Yeah,” is all I say, my voice catching.
Gracie leans closer, quieter now. She rubs my shoulder, but I can tell she’s not sure how to comfort me. Why would she? Her mom is alive and well; they speak every other day and seem to be the best of friends. I love that for her.
Pulling myself together, I survey the other images, each one making me more emotional than the last. But the final one stands out to me the most.
I freeze, tension spreading through my body. Gracie sits up, just as curious as I.
“What?” I whisper.
“That’s my mom,” Gracie blurts and points to the woman on my mother’s left. They’re similar, she and Gracie. The same warm brown complexion, big doe eyes, and long curly brown hair.
And Kane’s mom.
She’s to my mother’s right, and looks exactly how I remember her, but younger and brighter.
Healthier, mentally and physically. Her skin is a deep sepia brown that shines from the sunlight.
The sharp lines of her pixie cut frame her face perfectly, and her red lips are bold, loud, and full of life.
I don’t point out her identity to Gracie because I’d have to explain how I knew her.
My chest tightens once more, and my head starts to spin. Not only did my mother attend here, but so did Kane’s. And they were friends. All this time, I thought they met at the facility, but—
“Who is this?” I ask, pointing to the taller blond woman, with long wavy hair and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.
I read the names as if somehow it’ll change the faces staring back at me.
Ladies of Aurelian Circle: La’Kia Kane, Miranda Collins, Desiree Del Rosario, Amber Whitney, and Lynn Hansely.
“Amber is Alex’s mom.” Gracie points to the taller of the two, and then the other. “And Lynn is Christina’s.”
No fucking way. But she’s right. I see the resemblance, her eyes the same shade of green as his. He looks like his father, but he definitely has his mother’s hair and eyes.
“What’s the Aurelian Circle?” I ask.
When I got my acceptance, I studied every extracurricular this school had to offer, and I don’t recall seeing this listed anywhere.
She shrugs. “Never heard of it. See if it’ll let you click on it.”
I do as she suggests and another page loads.
The Aurelian Circle, an invitation only social club for high-performing Sovereign King’s University students with a desire to make a change in the world through charity and philanthropic efforts.
Gracie points to a line on the screen. “Looks like it was defuncted, in the spring of ’05.”
My expression knits, and I scowl without meaning to. “That’s the year my mother graduated.”
“Does it say why they shut it down? My mom never said anything about being in this club.” Gracie reaches over me to take the mouse and control the search. “That’s it?”
She goes to the top and types the club name into the search bar, but the only thing that pulls up is the same description.
That’s weird. Everything else we’ve searched had loads of results but this stops here.
The more I look into things, the deeper the hole gets, and I’m no closer to finding out the truth.
Before I can say anything else, a voice cuts through the quiet behind us.
“Look, girls. If it isn’t the rejects.”
Christina.
They laugh as I hop to my feet and spin to face them. Christina walks closer with two girls at her side, both in matching sneers.
“What did you just say?” I step forward, my fist already balled tight.
My nerves and emotions have been dragged through the mud more times than I’d like in the last forty-eight hours. The last thing I have time for is this bitch and her band of flunkies.
“You heard me,” she snaps back.
Gracie stands, and I don’t miss the way her entire posture changes. Her spine snaps straight, eyes blinking rapidly, breaths uneven.
“Hey, Gracie Poo.” Christina waves, her tone antagonizing.
“Fuck off,” Gracie bites back.
She cackles. “That’s the best you can do?” She peers at her friends, who join in on the laughter. “Oooh, I’m scared.”
“I don’t know what your problem is with me or Gracie, but this little mean girl act of yours is getting real old.”
“I told you Jackson was off-limits. But you had to go throw yourself at him like some desperate puck bunny. But why am I surprised? Sluts flock together, right? First Gracie, then you.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice the color drain from Gracie’s face as her body starts to shake.
“The only desperate one around here is you. Hung up on a boy who’s clearly not that fucking into you. Maybe your focus should be on your self-esteem and not who does or doesn’t want your sloppy seconds. And fighting over a piece of shit like that… Girl, are you good?”
“Watch yourself,” she seethes.
“I’ve played it cool, let all the little slick comments and jabs slide, but I’m warning you. Back the hell off.”
“Ladies,” a stern voices cuts through the tension. “Do I need to call security?”
Neither Christina nor I break eye contact, but I can feel the librarian looming near us.
“Let it, go, Christina,” one of her friends advises while grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the exit.
Christina walks away, her shoulders rising and falling in rapid succession. She’s not used to people standing up to her—girls like that never are. They expect people to just roll over and take whatever they dish out. Think they can do what they want, consequences be damned.
I’ve kept my cool, stopped myself from fighting back because all it would take is for one more thing to get back to Chancellor Williamsburg, and he’ll make good on his threat.
But not tonight. All the pent-up emotions, all the years of anger and resentment, came boiling to the surface, and I can’t just let this go. Not this time.
Christina throws a glance back at us. “Bitch.”
“Your momma,” I snap back before she makes it out of the library.