“You don’t have to thank me, Jase. You’re family.” She pulls away from me and musses my hair with a smile, just like Ethan did with Caleb a moment ago.
You’re family.
I glance over at Zoe involuntarily and wonder if she sees it the same way. She turns around as if she feels me looking at her. Reed’s arm slides down her back, and he says something to her I can’t hear. Zoe answers him but keeps looking at me. Then she hugs him, Tristan, and Nick goodbye and finally walks over to her mom and me, her steps light and delicate.
She stands close to me, and the scent of her shampoo envelops me, but she isn’t close enough to touch me. She makes no attemptto hug me as she did the others. Instead, a beaming smile spreads over her face.
“Congrats on graduating,” she says.
“Thanks,” I reply, not knowing what else to say. Ever since Zoe and I started sharing our secrets on little pieces of paper, it’s become difficult to talk to her in person. Or even to be close to her. Because I suddenly want too many things that I shouldn’t want from my best friend’s little sister.
“I just asked Jase if he’d join us for lunch. His parents are stuck at the clinic. But I couldn’t talk him into it. You try. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” Ceara gives Zoe a look that I can’t interpret, but she obviously sees through the lie about my grandparents. Ceara kisses her daughter’s cheek and leaves us alone.
“Don’t you want to come?” Zoe tilts her head inquisitively, and her long hair cascades over her shoulder like a curtain. She doesn’t ask why, and I suppress a sigh of relief.
“No, I have to go home. I should get going now. I’ll see you later at Adaline’s party, all right?”
“Sure. Jase—”
“See you later, Pixie.” I cut her off and have to grin as she wrinkles her nose in exasperation. She always acts like she hates that nickname, but I know better. She secretly likes it.
I don’t give her a chance to reply as I walk out and make my way home without even saying goodbye to my friends. We’ll see each other again in a few hours anyway.
I’m met with complete silence in the house as the door slams shut behind me, and whatever little spark of hope I had left is extinguished. They really aren’t here. When Lia graduated last year, it was a celebration: Mom and Dad were both home. Grandma andGrandpa came all the way from LA. Grandma did the cooking. Meanwhile, my graduation is ignored completely.
I laugh bitterly, throw my cap and gown into a careless heap on the floor in the hallway, and go upstairs to my room. Maybe that will remind them that today is an important day.
My room is tidy, as usual, even though it only takes me about three seconds to create total chaos. Margaret, our housekeeper, is always tidying up no matter how often I tell her she doesn’t need to. But since Margaret has made order of my chaos, I see the letter lying on my desk the second I enter the room. I immediately recognize the Harvard coat of arms on the envelope and freeze.
It’s more than a reminder of what I’m supposed to do. It’s an order. I already know what the letter says before I open it. My fingers are like ice as I pull it out of the envelope.
ACCEPTED.
It’s a goddamn acceptance letter from Harvard University. Anyone else would probably flip at the possibility of going there. But I wouldn’t, because I didn’t even apply to the damn school. I drop the piece of paper as if it burned me.
Downstairs, the front door opens, and I hear Mom’s voice followed by a deeper one: Dad. So they came home after all.
My legs move of their own accord as hope washes over me—stupid, irrational hope. But when I walk into the dining room, I see two boxes from the little Italian place they sometimes go to when Mom doesn’t feel like cooking. Two, not three. They came home for their lunch break and didn’t bring me anything. They didn’t even ask me if I was at home or if I wanted something to eat.
Neither of them notices me as they talk about some bullshitfrom the clinic. I have as little interest in what they’re saying as they probably do in me.
Congratulations on your graduation, Jase.
Anger boils over inside me. They could spend at least one fucking day trying to pretend we’re a normal family and that I mean something to them. A few hours, even.
I turn around without a word and go back to my room. I pick up the letter from the floor and go back to where they’re eating. Dad only notices me when I drop the letter on his lasagna.
“What the hell is this?” I make no effort to conceal how pissed off I am.
Dad removes the letter from his food with such dispassionate composure that it makes me want to scream. “Looks like your acceptance letter to Harvard,” he replies coolly.
I laugh involuntarily in disbelief. “I didn’t even apply.”
“Of course you did.” Dad continues eating without even looking at me. “You wrote your application essay. Don’t you remember?”
Yes, I remember writing that stupid essay that they require for the application. I also remember that I never sent it. Which can only mean one thing.
“Are you kidding me? You applied for me. You made sure I got in. I don’t know which fucking contacts you used, but I certainly didn’t apply to Harvard,” I blurt out. Mom sighs.
