I can’t pretend. I can’t come clean. Either way, I lose.
Our etiquette coach releases us for the remainder of our Saturday, and I pull William aside as conversation breaks out among students.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I begin, my heart squeezing. “I’m not sure if we—if this romantic tension between us—is a good idea.”
Confusion gathers between his brows. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, not at all. And it’s not about last night.” I feel worse by the second, but it’s necessary. “You’re wonderful. You really are. I just think it’s best if we don’t have our feelings distracting us. I mean, it’s going to make it harder when we eventually reverse our wishes after the presentation ball, don’t you think?”
He attempts to mask his disappointment with a thin smile. “Right you are,” he offers courteously. “As much as I am devoted to the cause, as I am you, I do see it’s wise to step back from our amorous entanglement.”
My throat constricts. A sting gathers behind my nose. Putting an end to any growing feelings between us is the right thing to do, though it’s not easy. I don’t want to get upset in front of him, especially since I’m the one who made the suggestion.
Inessa and Sabine join us, voices overlapping as they conspire to give William a driving lesson in the empty teachers’ parking lot.They insist he should try for fun, especially since Inessa is one of the few seniors who has her car with her. It’s a needed distraction, and this seems to boost his morale. The excitement is clear on his face.
“Should you like to join?” he asks, still hopeful.
But I need some alone time with my thoughts, so I tell him to have fun without me. A tightening cramp simmers in my lower abdomen. I want to get back to my room before it gets worse. Inessa and Sabine say they’ll find me later; then we part ways.
I shrug my coat on and head toward Hyde, quickening my pace and securing my scarf around my neck to protect it from the blustery chill. The weather has dipped to the mid-forties, and my hands nestle in my pockets for warmth. As I’m nearing the front door, footsteps sprint close behind. Slowing, I glance back to find Sumner.
“Hey.” He’s breathing hard. His wire-rimmed glasses have returned, the duct tape no longer holding the broken side together. “I need to show you something.”
I’m not exactly in the mood for company, and I’m alsoso closeto escaping into the comforting embrace of my room. “Can it wait?”
Uncertainty falls over his expression, and that’s when I notice the panic-stricken fear widening in his eyes. On a normal day, Sumner is a collected individual. It’s rare to see him shaken, which is why this drives a sudden hot fear through my gut.
He shakes his head. “Not really.”
Alarm seizes my nervous system. “What’s going on?”
“No one’s hurt or anything, but still.” There’s urgency in his voice. “It’s this way.”
And then we’re sprinting toward the administration building. I’m dizzy. The pain from my stomach spreads down to my thighs, and I try to catch my breath in the sharpening cold. His mouth tenses as he scans his badge and holds the door open, ushering me in first.
I follow him through the hallway toward registration, my footsteps slowing. Surely we’re not paying Ellerby a visit on a Saturday? But he’s not rushing toward her office. Instead, he turns down a familiar corridor.
And I freeze.
I’ve avoided this wing since the beginning of the year. A collection of framed history decorates the walls: class portraits, administration headshots, and newspaper articles highlighting accolades and honors given to students over the years. But that’s not what’s kept me away. It’s the wall of recognized faculty and staff immortalized in photographs the size of greeting cards, the years they taught printed underneath.
Including one of my father.
A lump rises in my throat. “What are we doing here?”
Sumner rotates toward me, cheeks flushed from the biting chill. There’s something fragile and broken behind his eyes.
“I was walking by just now,” he begins, “and that’s when I noticed it.”
It takes everything in me not to double over in pain. “Noticed—?”
He motions to the frames. “This.”
My gaze roams over the portraits, maybe five dozen of them, all neatly spaced in rows. I linger on my dad’s photograph, second row from the bottom, four from the left. And there he is. White collared shirt beneath a knitted caramel sweater, thirty-two years young, with dense chestnut hair swept back and a smile as bright as all the stars combined. Daniel Carmichael, astronomy instructor.
A soft, vulnerable space aches behind my ribs. The loss is permeating. A reminder I can never separate myself from it.
But Sumner isn’t gesturing to the photograph of my dad.
