Chapter 6 Avery #2
Because it wasn’t enough that Caulder Grant disappeared from my life. No, he had to reappear and be naturally better at everything I loved—and then some. He had to have turned into someone so bright they erased everyone around them, including me.
Especially me.
“Have I hit a sore spot?” Emerson says, practically purring as he looks from my face to Caulder’s. “I always suspected you two had beef, but how deep, exactly, does it go? And who’s to blame?”
“Just drop it,” Caulder says, but Emerson only laughs.
“C’mon, guys,” Emerson says. “What’s the lore? Or is that what you’re writing about in your essays? Was there some huge, traumatic event with both of you at the center? Did you—?”
“What’re you going to write about, Emerson?” Marlene asks, surprising me. I guess she was actually listening.
Emerson looks mildly annoyed at the interruption, tossing out an indignant snort. “Well—”
Footsteps make us all look up to the stairs, where Kaitlyn’s gliding down, fresh from her shower with her hair pulled back into a wet ponytail.
She’s wearing a Coastal Canyon volleyball tee, and, because she’s Kaitlyn Bendix, her gray sweatpants sit low on her hips, leaving a slice of her toned stomach visible for everyone to see.
I’m not a prude. Kaitlyn should show as much skin as she wants to.
In fact, I won a debate last year on the very issue of allowing crop tops at Coastal Canyon.
I support her desire to showcase her attributes.
But as she pulls her hands above her head to stretch, revealing even more skin, drawing Caulder’s and Emerson’s attention like a bowstring, I find my cheeks heating up for reasons I can’t logically explain.
Javi isn’t far behind her, and together they flop down onto the love seat. Kaitlyn heaves a dramatic sigh.
“God, I’m so sick of Dormy’s shit,” she says. “Is she physically incapable of minding her own business? How sad does your life have to be that harassing teenagers is where you peak?”
Ms. Dorman and Kaitlyn have never gotten along.
I don’t know how it started exactly. But last year, when both Kaitlyn and I were in Ms. Dorman’s English 10 Honors class, it was clear that the revulsion ran deep.
Kaitlyn’s always been chatty, and she regularly comes in late to her first block, with an iced latte and muffin in hand.
She’s also never been the kind of student to sneak in quietly.
No, Kaitlyn needed everyone to know that she had arrived.
She’d breeze in after banging open the door and float to her desk, then immediately fall into conversation with the other volleyball girls—whether or not Ms. Dorman had already started lecturing.
Kaitlyn glances around at all of us when no one speaks.
“Jesus,” she says. “Did I just walk into the morgue? What’s with the vibe?”
“Emerson brought up college essays,” Marlene says, keeping her eyes on her sketch pad. “Kind of killed the mood.”
I’m more than a little impressed that she’s calling out Emerson. He definitely looks shocked that she brought it up. Kaitlyn smirks.
“Oh yeah?” she says.
Marlene nods. “He was about to tell us what he’s writing about.”
I glance from her to Emerson, not liking the dark shadow crossing over his face. There’s a lethal edge to his expression that’s quickly replaced by his devil-may-care grin, gone so swiftly he makes you doubt whether it was ever really there at all.
“I was just trying to get to know our fearless co-captains a little bit better,” he says, shifting his eyes to mine. “I asked Avery what essay she’s writing for Stanford. She hasn’t spilled yet, so why should I?”
I wince. I thought I’d sidestepped this conversation.
The truth is, he’s right. In the draft I started, I did milk the tragedy of my life for the sake of convincing Stanford to take me.
I wrote about my mom struggling to pay our bills because my dad couldn’t stop gambling and cheating on her.
Working extra shifts at my job at Big Joe’s Smoothie Shop so she wouldn’t have to worry about paying my debate team dues.
It’s all true, but that doesn’t mean I liked writing about it.
It’s nothing I would ever tell anyone in real life because I don’t want to sound pathetic or like I’m seeking sympathy.
But with the rest of my future on the line, what choice did I have?
Emerson doesn’t need to know that, though. No one does.
“Ugh, you are killing the vibe,” Kaitlyn says. “No one wants to talk about that shit.”
“Marlene apparently does,” Emerson says, now turning his sharp eyes on her.
He does a sweep of the room then, of Caulder, of Marlene, of Javi and Kaitlyn together. Like he’s deciding something.
For a moment I think that, whatever decision he’s made, it’s the right one. And then, of course, he speaks.
“We can’t all write about being brown, you know,” he says, looking from Marlene to Javi. “We can’t all write some tragic bullshit about our parents illegally crossing the border or whatever you guys wrote about.”
There’s a sharp, collective intake of breath, as if no one can believe Emerson actually said what he just said. It’s only a moment, though, before Javi stands up and strides directly toward Emerson.
“The fuck did you say to me?” Javi demands.
“I’m just saying,” Emerson says as Caulder steps in front of him to face Javi. Caulder’s saying something to Javi, low and quiet, but the whites of Javi’s eyes shine in the light.
“Keep talking,” Javi snaps. “Keep talking about shit you don’t know anything about, and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you do.”
“It’s just a fact!” Emerson all but shouts. “I’m just stating facts. A white guy like me can’t get into schools I deserve to get into with a 4.17 GPA. A 4.17! But you, you write some bullshit about whatever gang you’re in—”
“Emerson, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’m going to shut you up myself.”
Not Javi’s words, though he still looks angry enough to have spit them. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. Emerson’s always tested boundaries, but tonight, he flung himself across them.
It’s Caulder who says the words. Caulder who Emerson finally seems to realize is standing in front of him, not even an arm’s length away.
And maybe Emerson sees that, even though technically they’re both tall, he is all long, gangly limbs, while Caulder is one taut line of muscle ready to strike.
His jaw tightens as he looks past Caulder, his gaze scraping over Javi and Kaitlyn and finally on to Marlene, still on the couch.
Her eyes shimmer with tears, and there’s a set to her jaw that I’ve never seen before.
It makes me furious, suddenly, because Marlene doesn’t deserve this.
Ever since she appeared at her first Debate Club meeting and asked me in her soft voice what she needed to do to stay, it’s been my job to protect her.
Mine and Caulder’s, yes, but mine more. Because I see her.
I see the way she works a thousand times harder than everyone else.
Not many sophomores would join a team of seniors after transferring schools, but she did. She cares like I care.
Suddenly, a dark part of me wants Caulder to launch Emerson across the room with a single punch. But that part’s quickly reminded that a move like that would get Caulder legitimately sued by Emerson’s wealthy, connected family.
“Whatever,” Emerson says. “I’m going upstairs.”
He moves to step away, but Caulder stops him, holding up his hand.
“Apologize first,” Caulder says.
Emerson rolls his eyes, then almost yells, “Fine. I’m sorry if you were all offended.”
It’s the world’s shittiest apology, a non-apology, if you really think about it. He’s not sorry for what he said. He’s sorry that it made things uncomfortable for him.
Still, Caulder backs off, putting a hand on Javi’s shoulder that gets Javi to step back as well. I can tell he’s not satisfied, though, and I don’t blame him.
There’s a flash of lightning—there then gone. But the tension lingers, thanks to Emerson’s bullshit.