Except.
Icanrelate on some level. Mads barely volunteers anything at all, and the distance pulls and stretches between us each day.
Change is a loneliness Sumner’s also experiencing. Maybe his loss isn’t the same as losing a parent, and neither can be compared as larger or more severe than the other, but I’d imagine it dredges up similar feelings. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Innate sadness.
“And that’s why you’re playing Capture too,” I guess.
“Right.” He adjusts his frames. “I figure I could either keep feeling bad for myself or try to find my place.”
We follow the curved path that leads toward the houses. There’s no one else hanging around the courtyard this late.
“You never talked about your dad,” I say, but I know we both hear the unspokenlast summer.
“Not much to say.” I think that’s all he’s going to offer until he continues. “And you were going through it—and Jared and Madelene—and it didn’t feel right to bring up. Because even though he’s made a ton of poor decisions, he’s still around.”
“But not really,” I argue. “If he’s not in your life. Or, you know, refuses to be.”
Sumner doesn’t contend this point.
“It’s a different type of grief,” I offer, “knowing he could have been a more stable presence and chose not to. Mourning anotherlife you could have had but didn’t. It leaves you to take on too much, which isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not.”
“Yes, it does.” I stop. Look at him. “I’ve never had to worry if Mads could eat. Or if my mom was making enough to afford the mortgage. Itistoo much, whether you feel that stress or not.”
Sumner bows his head. “Yeah,” he says, the word distant and thoughtful. “I didn’t mean to discredit theorizing. Or your dad. That’s not what I believe. It’s just—when I was younger? My mom put me in this after school math program because my teacher was stunned by how quickly I could calculate. And when I was solving simple multiplication tables, it was like all my anxiety went away because I could lose myself in it. I didn’t realize it was a skill. I was just—focused. Absorbed.
“Then flash forward to middle school, where I was taking home math trophies—I know you’re dying to make fun of me, it’s okay.” He casts a glance my way, the corners of his mouth upturned. “I ended up winning a state competiton and a local paper featured me. My mom sends it to my dad, who’s a hedge fund manager in New York City at this point, and it gets his attention. That’s when he starts looking into advanced schools and decides, by the time I enter high school, I’ll attend Ivernia.
“But before, thatwholetime, he acted like we didn’t exist. New Jersey isn’t far from the city, and hestillcouldn’t be bothered to make an effort. But as soon as I do something worthy, it’s like I’msuddenly important enough.” He takes a breath. “I never want Preston to feel that way. Not if I can help it.”
I’ve never had to earn my family’s love. It was given. Unconditional. Not measured in accolades and honors. Sometimes I don’t feel as talented as Mads or Jared, but I never doubted how much my parents cared.
This is the most vulnerable Sumner’s ever been with me. It feels fragile, like he’s offered me something delicate in hopes I won’t shatter it. We may have our own unresolved issues, but I know what it looks like when someone puts an inkling of trust in you.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Because it makes sense, him holding on to logic and rationality in order to quiet the internal apprehension causing discourse inside his brain. Almost like when I reread the Sherlock Holmes series. I understand what’s going to happen and can get lost in the story, even if only for an hour. We cling to these comforts to quell our internal fears.
“I know you hate making promises you can’t keep, but here’s one I’m certain of,” I begin. “Preston? Willneverquestion how much you love him. That’s not nothing, Sumner. I promise.”
His Adam’s apple moves through a swallow. “Thank you,” he says faintly.
The glow from the lamppost pools over him in a warm golden ray. I adjust my headband to give my hands something to do when the thought occurs to me. I may not know what’s going on withMadelene since she won’t tell me outright, but I won’t allow the physical distance between us to create an emotional distance. I’ll keep trying.
A comfortable silence falls between us. We peel off the path and pause outside Hyde House, where a few students filter out and head toward Segner for the evening. My mouth bends into a half smile. Maybe this won’t be so bad. We have a shared goal. Tonightsort ofproved we can work together without bickering to death.
As I start to veer toward Hyde House, his voice stops me. “Carmichael?”
I turn.
“You sure you want him to go back?”
A confused crease forms between my brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking me this, considering the implications of having him stay. The longer he’s here, the riskier it becomes to hide who he isnot. And what about home? He’d never see Caroline again. Never see his mother and father. What would that mean for his future? If he doesn’t go back, would Ivernia still exist under a different founder? My parents met here. I grew up here. What would it mean for us? Would we be in the same predicament we’re in now—but in some kind of alternate universe?
We can’t risk that. There’s no way of knowing for certain, which means it’s in our best interest to correct the paradox. If an unordinary occurrence can happen once, then there must be a chance of its reversal.
Amusement relaxes across his face. “You need a brief overviewof the Victorian era? Arsenic, for one thing. Like,so mucharsenic for no reason.” He begins ticking these on his fingers. “Then, you know, cholera. Street sewage. Tuberculosis.”
