12
“Vadim, are you okay? Basile, are you crazy or what?!”
“Alma, do you see what I see? Just look!” my brother yells. His finger shakes with rage as he points at his computer screen.
“You didn’t have to hit him, you psycho!”
“Someone just sent me a photo of him with my half-naked sister, and I shouldn’t hit the guy? You’re right, I should kill him! I’m gonna kill him!”
He lunges at Vadim again.
I try to wedge myself between their brawny bodies.
Their muscles are taut with tension. My older brother is on the slender side, tall and lean, but his temper turns him into a bundle of nerves that’s hard to contain.
Vadim is a few inches taller, with much thicker biceps and a broader build, but he seems paralyzed.
Perhaps by the shock of the photo, by the blow he just received, or out of the respect he owes a Lancaster under their own roof.
I don’t know, but I can clearly tell he’s holding back.
When he finally decides to grab Basile and restrain him, their voices blur into a loud, chaotic mess of insults and barely intelligible threats.
I pull with all my might on Vadim’s T-shirt, which is bunched in my fist, while trying to press my other hand over my brother’s mouth to silence him.
I keep using my body as a barrier, doing my best to separate them, but my efforts are useless. Laughably so.
My father rushes upstairs and bursts into the room, closely followed by an overexcited Lily and then my mother, out of breath.
“What’s all this yelling about?”
“It’s nothing, sir. Just a little disagreement between your son and me. We got a bit carried away discussing films…” Vadim says.
Having let go of my brother, he discreetly positions himself so that his body shields the glowing computer screen.
“Basile, you will respect our guest and get your point across using rational arguments, rather than the cries of a wild beast,” my father scolds.
“Honestly, boys, you’re too old for this kind of bickering!” chides my mother, gently mediating.
“Oh, come on! Finally, some action!” Lily exclaims, her eyes shining as she looks from her brother to Vadim and back again.
“Everything is fine. We’re all going to calm down now,” I say, stepping closer to Basile.
My eyes beg him to keep this revelation to himself. I try and fill my look with all the sisterly love I can muster, hoping that all the promises we made to each other as kids and all the childhood memories we share are enough to buy his silence.
My brother fixes his polo shirt collar, smooths his rumpled sweater, and eventually speaks.
My heart is about to burst out of my chest.
“It’s fine. I got carried away. It’s nothing serious.”
I’m pretty sure he didn’t say this to please me or protect me.
He was just offended by my father’s reproaches and wanted to prove he could behave like an adult.
Be a real man. That is, a real man according to the Lancaster code: an intellectual with good manners and precise eloquence, capable of self-control instead of sinking to the level of impulsive, brainless adversaries. Like Vadim Arcadi.
Vadim Arcadi, who has just saved my life. And who is now smiling broadly at my parents as they slip away. He adds one last little flourish, in the form of a friendly pat on Basile’s shoulder.
I’m not really sure that was necessary…
“Thanks, Lancaster Junior,” he says, his voice still hovering somewhere between fake gratitude and outright cockiness.
“I didn’t do it for you, Arcadi. Now you’re going to stop being a smartass and explain yourself.”
“I don’t have an explanation.”
“Come again?” my brother snaps.
“Seriously, I can’t explain it.”
“This is your place, right?!”
“Yep.”
“And you’re telling me you don’t know how it happened?”
“The photo was taken from the street, not inside my apartment, Sherlock.”
“If I were you, I’d change my tone, dickhead.”
“Or else what? You’re going to hit me again? Or call your dad and tell him? Get all your buddies to beat me up? No, way man, you can’t do that to your sister.”
“If I received the photo by email, it’s probably already halfway around campus, you dumbass!”
I freeze at the thought.
“Think about it for a second, will you? Read the caption. Whoever sent this is targeting you. ‘Keep an eye on your sister.’ That’s not directed at me, you idiot.”
“It also says, ‘Shame on the Lancaster family.’ Now, what do you think that’s all about? Do you not get the message, Arcadi? Anyone would be ashamed to be seen with you. No normal girl would ever want you.”
“I don’t think Alma agrees with that…”
“Oh, so you’ve suddenly remembered I’m here! Unbelievable!” I huff. “Are we good? Are you done with your petty squabbling?”
Vadim lets out a dry laugh, while Basile glares at me.
“And you! Are you really saying you don’t know how you ended up at his place in the middle of the night either? How you found yourself half-naked in front of his window?”
“That’s none of your business, Basile.”
“Well apparently it is!” he yells, pointing at his computer. “Fuck! What the hell are you doing? Do you want to throw your life away?”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Vadim growls.
“Shut up.”
“Stop it! Why is no one trying to figure out who could have taken this damn photo?”
“Who knew you were going to his place?”
“Nobody,” Vadim answers.
“Clémentine knew,” I correct him immediately. “But she’d never do that.”
And Felix Alonso had been there just before… But saying that out loud would mean betraying Vadim, so I keep this information to myself.
“Who else?” Basile snarls through gritted teeth.
Vadim stares at me intensely, and I know we’re thinking the same thing right now. About the same person.
“It’s getting late. I’m going to go,” he says.
“What?”
“I’ll call you, Alma.”
I watch him go to my room to grab his leather jacket and then rush down the stairs. I hear him politely say goodbye to Georgia and slam the heavy door behind him.
Just like that, he’s gone.
***
All evening, I’m glued to my cell phone, waiting for a message from him.
I sit there while Basile lectures me and comes up with far-fetched theories about the photo.
During dinner, I’m bombarded with questions about my new classmate and my “plans” with Timothy Wallace.
I leave the table as quickly as possible and hurry back to my room, supposedly to study, but really just to be alone.
To think.
To think back on the night I spent in his apartment, which is forever etched in my memory. The night that could have been the best of my life, if it weren’t for this photo debacle.
And to relive Vadim’s hasty escape—the way he crashed into my world, and then snuck away like a thief. It hurts. He isn’t even on my side.
Arcadius: Alma, are you there?
A window flashes in the middle of my screen while I’m logged on to the college messaging platform in invisible mode.
Alma_from_paris: I don’t know. What I do know is that you’ve been gone for a long time.
My fingers type of their own accord. I want him to reassure me, to come back to me, to take me in his arms. And yet all I can do is send him reproaches. I can only think of the way he fled, of what a coward he is.
Arcadius: It was better for me to leave.
Alma_from_paris: Better for who exactly?
Arcadius: One more minute and you would have told your brother about Felix. He probably would have called the cops…
Alma_from_paris: So, you’ll do anything to protect your buddy! But what about me?
Arcadius: It wasn’t him, Alma. I swear to you, it couldn’t be him.
Alma_from_paris: He’s the only one who knew…
Arcadius: Do you know what the presumption of innocence is? I trust him. He’s my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.
Alma_from_paris: And it’s me half-naked in that photo, Vadim! It was my name they mentioned in that email, and my brother who was humiliated.
Arcadius: Alma, I wanted it to be perfect so badly… That night…
Arcadius: Fuck, if I ever catch the guy who did this…
My heart leaps. Those ellipses speak volumes, and they soothe me.
Alma_from_paris: Thank you for telling me that. Finally.
Arcadius: Alma?
Alma_from_paris: What?
Arcadius: I’m not the asshole you think I am.
Alma_from_paris: You’d better not be.
Arcadius: We’re going to find the bastard who’s threatening us.
Alma_from_paris: Are you sure about Felix?
Arcadius: Why would he do something like this?
Alma_from_paris: Because he hasn’t liked me since day one. Because I’m a rich kid who represents everything he hates. Because I’m stealing his best friend, and you won’t be there for him anymore if you’re with me.
Arcadius: Alma?
Alma_from_paris: Vadim?
Arcadius: I’m with you?
My heart skips a beat. I didn’t expect to have this discussion right now.
Arcadius: Are we together? What are we, you and me?
Alma_from_paris: You + Me?
I couldn’t come up with anything better… and yet, I’m smiling as I reread the few letters I just typed.
Arcadius: You + Me + Tim…
Arcadius: There’s one person too many there, right?
My stomach knots.
He’s right. And if anyone has been a coward up until now, it’s me. I don’t want to hurt Tim. It won’t be easy to cause him pain, or to disappoint my parents and his. But it’s time to own my decision. This can’t go on anymore.
Alma_from_paris: I think he’s figured it out, but I’m going to talk to him. Tomorrow. I promise.
Alma_from_paris: Vadim, believe me, I didn’t see any of this coming. I didn’t plan anything, but now… it’s just You + Me.
My heart flutters, and I would give anything to be able to see his face right in front of me. To read the emotion, however subtle, in his eyes.
Arcadius: And I’m going to track down whoever took this photo. I won’t let him hurt you.
Alma_from_paris: Do you have someone in mind?
Arcadius: We must have been followed. Perhaps Timothy suspected something and wanted to know for sure.
Or maybe one of his buddies decided to pay me a visit to tell me to stay away and found you there.
Or maybe even… Abrams. Imagine, he shows up at my place, planning to give me a lecture, and sees you there.
He thinks I’m distracting you from your studies, that our getting closer is making you lose sight of your goal of succeeding in cinema, so he takes that photo and sends it to your killjoy brother to put you back on the right track.
Alma_from_paris: Abrams means well. He’s just taken me under his wing, that’s all.
Arcadius: Maybe he’s fascinated by you, too.
Alma_from_paris: “Too”? Who else is fascinated by me?”
Arcadius: Ah, forget it…
More ellipses. More trouble with my heart.
Arcadius: I’ve gotta go now. Good night, Alma:)
Alma_from_paris: No, wait!
Arcadius: I’ll be thinking of you…
Gone again.
Vadim logs off without giving me time to reply. Without giving me time to breathe. To take in that last sentence.
To get my heart beating again.