"That's it. It has to be," I say to Buttercup. "I don't have deep feelings for Penn. I love what he was able to give me." I grab my book from the floor and set it on the ledge of the door before getting the broom.
I've spent too much time cataloging what he makes me feel and what's conspicuously missing. I’ve been obsessing over all the things I want to feel and don’t because I wanted him to be the one making me feel them. But when I close my eyes at night, it's not him I'm kissing, and when I dream, it's not his eyes staring back at me. His touch isn't the one setting my soul on fire.
A branch breaking followed by the faint sound of a hushed whisper outside the barn steals my attention. It's 10:30 p.m., and the stables are located at the back of the property. There isno reason students should be back here unless they are coming to the barn. I slowly set the broom against the stall, my heart now racing as I realize that I'm utterly alone, at night, too far away from any other building for anyone to hear me scream.
The whisper comes again, low and definitely human. My mouth goes dry. Behind me, Buttercup shifts in her stall, and the creak of wood sounds deafening in the sudden silence I'm straining against. Every horror story I've ever heard about girls being alone at night flashes through my mind.Stop it. Stop.
But my hands are shaking as I inch toward Buttercup's window, careful to keep my body pressed against the wall and out of sight. The old floorboards protest under my feet, and I freeze, certain whoever's out there must have heard. My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips as I hold my breath and peer through the window.
Nothing. Just the dark paddock stretching toward the tree line. Then, a glint of light in the moonlight catches my eye. Reflective tape. The kind Headmaster Trejo made mandatory after a student nearly got hit by the groundskeeper's truck. Relief crashes over me. Just a student sneaking around after curfew.
But then the figure moves, and my relief crystallizes into something else. I know that walk, the slight hitch in the left stride, the hunched shoulders. I've seen it a thousand times across the dining hall, on the way to polo practice.
"Hollis?" I whisper.
My cousin. Why is he sneaking through the woods at 10:30 at night, wearing that stupid reflective jacket?
The relief I feel spirals into confusion then curiosity. Hollis doesn't sneak. He doesn't break rules, which is probably why he didn't think to change jackets. He doesn't skulk through the woods in the dark, until now.
I watch him pause near a twisted oak, looking left then right before continuing deeper. He's heading toward the old accessroad, the one that leads to the maintenance buildings and the back gate.
He's moving faster now, with purpose. In seconds, he'll be out of sight. Every rational instinct tells me to let it go, finish my work, head back to the dorm, and pretend I saw nothing. But he's my cousin. We've been at this boarding school together since we were kids. What could be so important that Hollis would risk breaking curfew?
"This is stupid. Mind your own business, Asha," I scold, but I'm already reaching for my jacket. I grab my phone and slip out the barn door.
At the fence, I pause. The woods are a solid wall of black, and those stupid horror movies scream at me once more,Turn around!But then I see another flash up ahead, and I duck through the fence rails.
The darkness swallows me. I can't see him, but I hear him crunching leaves and snapping twigs. He's not trying to be quiet anymore; he's rushing. My eyes adjust, and I can make out his silhouette on a narrow path ahead. I'm a few yards behind him when he stops. I freeze, pressing myself against the nearest tree, sure he must have heard me, but he doesn't turn around. Instead, he's looking at something ahead.
A light flickers between the trees, and this time, it's not reflective tape. It's real lights—headlights. My breath catches when I see the vehicle crawling down the old access road, moving slowly with its lights on low, navigating the old path. It rolls to a stop in front of Hollis, and I recognize it immediately: a Bronco. Trigger Hale.
My fear is quickly replaced with anger. Of all the people Hollis could be sneaking out to meet, it has to be him.What the hell is Hollis doing meeting up with him?
Hollis is a good kid. He doesn't get into trouble, but here he is, standing in the woods at almost eleven at night, waiting for Trigger Hale like they've done this before.
I watch as the driver's side door opens, and Trigger's unmistakable frame emerges, all lean muscle and cocky confidence, even in the dark. He says something to Hollis; I can't hear the words, but I can hear the casual tone, as if this is completely normal.
Hollis moves toward the passenger side, his hand reaching for the door handle. And that's when I make a snap decision.No. Absolutely not.I don't know what they're planning, but I'm not letting Hollis get pulled into whatever scheme Trigger has going. Hollis could get expelled. He could get hurt, and I'm not standing here watching it happen.
Before I can second-guess myself, I'm out of the woods, my hand pulling open the back door, before I slide across the backseat and ask, "Where are we going?"
Hollis whips around, his face draining of color even in the dim glow of the headlights. "What the hell?”
Trigger turns too, but his face isn’t marred with shock. Instead, there's nothing but annoyance. "WE…" he emphasizes the word, "aren't going anywhere. Get out, Fairfield."
"If Hollis is going, so am I. I'm not going to let you take him off grounds and get him in trouble," I say plainly.
"You realize we've been going off grounds together once a month on our free days since freshman year," he points out smugly.
My eyes narrow on his, hating that he makes a valid point, but this is different. "You just made a case against yourself. This isn't a free day; this is the middle of the night. And the fact that the two of you are sneaking around proves you're up to no good."
"Fine." Trigger turns to Hollis. "Get out."
"What? No, I'm going. He's my?—"
"She can't go," he cuts him off, his glare piercing through Hollis as they share something unspoken that I don't like.
This thing between me and Trigger doesn't need to involve my cousin. "Even if you kick him out, I'm still going. I'm not getting out."
