My whole body feels heavy, weary with the humiliation and realization that nothing is what I thought it was. My black sparkly flats glisten under the moonlight and the soft glow of each street lamp as I pass under it on my walk back to the dorms.
As much as I want to hate Declan, I’m not sure I can blame him for wanting nothing to do with me. Everyone else doesn’t like me. I wish he had just been more upfront about it, instead of pretending to be nice to me while we worked on our English project.
Yeah, well the truth is out now. Next time a teacher tells us to partner up, I’m going to stand up and walk back to my dorm. If they let Belle do her school work online, they’ll just have to let me do it, too. I’m not going to sit here and be humiliated repeatedly for the next few months.
I keep trying to get myself angry. Anger is easier than sorrow. I want to hate Declan. Hate the students at Shelfbrooke. I don’t want to be sad.
But sadness keeps leeching onto me anyhow. It crawls up my legs and wraps around my heart and squeezes until all I want to do is drop into a ball and cry.
I turn onto the pathway that leads to the staff dorms, and then I stop short. It’s only been fifteen minutes since I left my dorm, all dressed up with hair I spent an hour curling and makeup I spent another hour applying. Belle was excited for me, too. She told me to have fun and make friends and do all the things she can’t do since she’s unable to leave our room.
Going back home now would just disappoint her and show how truly pathetic I am. My hands clench into fists and I turn on my heel, walking away from the dorms, but in the opposite direction of the party.
I go to the gardens.
Shelfbrooke piles so much school work on its students that we rarely have free time. And when I am done with my homework, I usually hang out with Belle, or sit in the gardens and try to relax. I haven’t done much exploring, especially after I memorized the pathways that are on the outer banks of the gardens. I can get from one end to the other, using the same paths each time, but I’ve never ventured further into the masterfully designed walls that create a labyrinth of beautiful flowers and plants that stretch on for acres.
Tonight, that changes.
I refuse to cry here, not in the first garden. Not near the stone statues that students love to pose in front of for selfies. I can’t cry anywhere that might have other students lurking nearby. I need to go further.
I stick to the south wall of the garden, where the moonlight shines brightly down a long pathway that’s devoid of any of the beautiful showy flowers that the west side of the garden has. Here, it’s just two tall walls of vines with a cobblestone walkway between them. I walk for ten minutes, then twenty.
I only take a couple of turns, when it looks like the pathway ahead of me turns into a dead end.
The glow of the campus lights don’t reach this far into the gardens. I have only the moonlight to guide me, and the dark shadows that indicate another pathway up ahead. Perhaps on another day, this might be a little frightening, wandering around in the dark, with no clue where I am.
But tonight it feels freeing.
I am not afraid of the dark.
I used to be afraid of being alone, but right now it doesn’t seem so bad. No one can hurt you when you are alone.
I turn and amble slowly down new pathways, my fingers skittering over the petals of flowers as I pass them. I lose track of which turn I take, which direction is back home. I don’t really care anymore. The gardens make a perfect refuge.
A soft beep fills the air. At first I think it’s my phone, but then the sound happens again, and it’s definitely not coming from my pocket.
“Are you seriously going to check your phone right now?” a guy says.
“Sorry,” a softer voice says back. “I’ll turn it off.”
“Good. Now where were we?”
Ew!
I make a sharp turn and walk in the opposite direction so I don’t stumble upon whatever that couple was doing back there. Clearly, I’m not far enough into the gardens to fully lose myself and everyone else.
I keep walking.
I walk until my feet start to hurt because these adorable ballet flats are just that—adorable. They aren’t comfortable or meant to be walked in for so long. I find an old wooden bench that looks like it hasn’t been used in decades and I sit down and pull off my shoes to let my feet have a break. The moonlight is right overhead now, lighting up a good bit of the area around me. I think my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, because it’s not so dark anymore. I take out my phone and scroll through social media. I haven’t made a single post since I moved here three weeks ago.
And no one has noticed.
My Cali friends are still posting their normal stuff. Parties, shopping sprees, photos on private planes. Normally I would be included in these photos, but now I’m not, and no one seems to care.
I read through some comments, and not one person asks where Sophia is. Even Viv has gone on posting a few times a day like her life is exactly the same.
Does anyone, anywhere care about me?
