“We totally understand,” Aunt Naomi adds with an empathetic smile. “This is a big change for you.”
Cooper stays quiet but looks deep in thought. With his mom being on the tourism board and him being here tonight, I can only assume he volunteers at the events. So he’s probably relieved by my answer.
A half hour later, Cooper heads home without so much as a goodbye in my direction, and I head to the shower. But just before I hop in, someone knocks on the bathroom door. I swing it open and find my mom standing there.
“You will help next weekend,” she says, her voice low and stern. The sternest I’ve ever heard from her, actually.
“Mom—”
“Your aunt is letting us stay here for free. She filled her fridge and went out of her way to set up rooms for us, and she asked for nothing in return. The least you can do is volunteer at weekend events.”
“So, I’m being punished for your decision to move us here?” I ask, fury building in the pit of my stomach. This isn’t fair. Isn’t it punishment enough that I’m here at all?
“It’s not a punishment, Ellis,” she says, annoyed with me. “Volunteering your time is a kindness, and it’s the right thing to do. They’re family, and they’re helping us. You can hate me and treat me like I’m the worst person in the world, but I didn’t raise you to act spoiled and entitled. Frankly, I can’t believe I have to have this conversation.” She turns, but as she walks away, she adds, “You’ll be there next weekend. It’s not up for discussion. But if it makes you feel better, think of it this way: helping the local government will be a great activity to add to that high school résumé you’ve been so concerned about.”
She disappears down the steps, shaking her head, and I close the bathroom door.
For the next twenty minutes, my tears are washed away while the sound of the shower drowns out my sobs.
Nothing is how it’s supposed to be. I’m surrounded by family in a town where everyone knows everyone. Yet I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
Chapter Five
Sloane drives us the two miles to Bramble Falls High, where the original brick structure with two large white pillars sits on a lawn dotted with trees both big and small. Sprawling acres of infinite woods sit behind the building, the early morning sun captured in a thick mist overhead, giving the picturesque illusion that the trees are glowing.
Sloane parks in the student lot, and we climb out of her junky brown hatchback. After spending the final day of summer break holed up in my room yesterday, working on my Columbia application while everyone else celebrated Labor Day with a cookout and friends in the backyard, I tossed and turned all night, my brain a never-ending carousel of thoughts—about my fight with Mom, about my dad still not calling me back, about my first day of school. When my alarm went off this morning, I’d just fallen asleep.
I looked at my single rack of clothing, full of the basic fall essentials I thought I might need for the next three months, andsighed, trying not to think about what fun, quirky outfit I might be curating if I were back in New York. Instead I pulled out a sleeveless white button-down dress I made from an oversized men’s oxford and paired it with red tube socks and some soft brown Gucci loafers. To finish it off, I tied a green-and-red Gucci ribbon underneath my collar and secured it with mom’s cameo brooch. I curled my hair into loose waves and tried to hide my tired eyes with concealer and mascara. Now I’m running on adrenaline and the harvest spice latte Sloane and I stopped for because I would have died without it. Luckily, I didn’t have to endure Cooper’s death stare at the crack of dawn, since Sloane said he doesn’t work mornings on school days.
As we walk up the short flight of concrete steps toward the front door of the school, a few girls run over to us and throw their arms around Sloane, squealing about how much they missed her despite seeing her around all summer. My heart twitches with what I think might be… jealousy?
I have plenty of acquaintances in New York—ones who are in the same extracurricular clubs, ones I compete against for better grades, ones I commiserate with about upcoming tests, ones I walk into school with. But Fern is the only close friend who’s ever lasted. Everyone else got tired of me saying I was too busy to hang out. After I blew off enough parties, they stopped inviting me. I go to a competitive high school, so everyone is focused on their academics. But in their free time, my old friends do what other teenagers do—movies, parties, sleepovers, shopping, dates. My “free time” is allocated to anything and everything that will help me get into my dream college or eventually get me a job atDad’s company. In high school, friends quickly became a thing of the past.
Fern and I work only because we don’t require too much of each other.
Sloane introduces me to everyone, including her friends Hannah, a curvy white girl with wavy brunette hair and cute denim overalls, and Preeti, a stunning Indian girl with eyelashes to die for, both of whom I met many summers ago but barely remember. They all disperse, some going to find their lockers and others going to find more of their friends, and Sloane grins at me.
“You’re going to love it here,” she says.
I give her the best smile I can muster given the circumstances.Sure.
Sloane pulls me through the propped-open double doors into the school. A blue Bramble Falls High banner hangs from the ceiling of the commons, where students loiter, catching up with friends or sitting at tables staring at their phones. Ahead, freshly painted white walls are lined with blue metal lockers.
“The freshmen and sophomores are down that hall,” Sloane explains, pointing to a hall to our right. “I’ll be with the juniors in that middle hall, and you’ll be down there.” She points to the hall to our left. “It’s super easy to navigate. Each grade level is set up in a U shape with both ends leading here. It’s impossible to get lost.”
“Good, because I have the worst sense of direction,” I say.
“I remember,” Sloane says with a chuckle, probably recalling when I managed to get lost at the mall during one of my summer visits here.
Sloane shows me the gymnasium and the auditorium, the artroom, and a music room that also serves as the band’s practice space throughout the winter. Once our short tour of the school is over, she leads me to the heavy mahogany door of the main office.
“Welp, I probably won’t see you today, so good luck, have fun, and I’ll meet you at the flagpole out front at the end of the day,” Sloane says, her eyes catching on somebody behind me. “Ash, wait up!” She gives me one last look. “And let me know if you need me to punch Cooper.”
I laugh. “I never knew you were so violent.”
“Just sayin’?”—she throws an arm over my shoulder—“I’ve got your back.”
“Noted,” I tell her. Sloane drops her arm to her side and grins at me before practically jogging over to a cute Asian guy wearing basketball shorts and a hoodie, an orange backpack slung over one shoulder. He smiles as she approaches, and she says something that makes him laugh before she ruffles his black hair. They disappear down the junior hall, and I turn toward the office, take a deep breath, and pull open the door.
