“Has to be.” Elaine’s voice is sharp with spite. “What else would a St. Peter’s boy want with someone like her? He probably gives her things. You know. Payment.”
My face burns. My stomach drops.
“He’s always carrying her bag, like she’s some kind of princess,” Trina mocks.
“She’s the housekeeper’s daughter,” Elaine says, drawing out the words like they’re dirty. “Her mom cleans his toilets. I heard her dad ran out on them years ago. And she thinks she can date Cristiano Montoni?”
More cruel laughter. They use the restroom and then walk out, their voices fading as the door swings closed.
I sit down on the toilet. My legs feel numb and my chest is tight. Cristiano and I are friends. Just friends. He carries my bag because he’s kind, not because I’m—because we’re—
Oh, God. Do people really think that about us? Does everyone think that?
What else would a St. Peter’s boy want with someone like her?
I think about Cristiano’s bedroom, that I’ve only glimpsed through the doorway. Huge and furnished with dark wood and expensive fabrics. He even has his own bathroom.
Then there’s my room, the tiny space at the top of the house, barely big enough for a bed and a dresser. The bathroom I share with Mom. The pre-owned and bought-on-sale clothes in my closet and the secondhand paperback books on my bookshelf.
His future is college, somewhere prestigious. Marrying someone appropriate like Ashley Ricci.
My future is…what?
Community college, if I’m lucky. Some kind of unimportant job. A small apartment. A small life.
Cristiano’s family owns a huge portion of Malus. I’ve seen the casinos. The skyscrapers. All that will be Cristiano’s one day. His world is golden and gleaming and full of possibility. Mine is gray and ordinary and forgettable. A daughter abandoned by her own father, just like Elaine pointed out. I haven’t laid eyes on Dad since I was four.
I’ve always known this, and it’s never bothered me before. So why does it hurt so much now?
I press my forehead against my knees and close my eyes.
Cristiano and I are friends, and a girl like me can never be anything more to a boy like him. Not really. Not in any way that matters.
Our friendship won’t last. Not beyond high school, or once Cristiano grows into his self-confidence, which won’t be long because he’s getting more and more handsome every day. Soon he won’t need my small kindnesses and encouragement anymore.
Maybe I should thank Elaine for the short, sharp reality check.
I wipe my eyes, straighten my spine, and unlock the stall.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks pale. Ordinary. Mousy, just like Mr. Montoni said.
I wash my hands and go back to class, reminding myself that sitting at a graffitied desk in an airless room among students whose parents also work minimum wage is where I belong.
“I love thee not,therefore pursue me not.” I recite Demetrius’s words to the sky.
I’m lying on my back in our spot at the bottom of the garden, the grass soft beneath me, my battered copy ofA Midsummer Night’s Dreamheld up against the clouds. Saturday afternoon sun warms my face, and the hedges block everything else out. The mansion, the world, all of it.
“I’ll follow thee and make a heaven out of hell, to die upon the hand I love so well.” Helena’s declaration whispers over my lips. She’s ridiculous, chasing a man who doesn’t want her, but there’s something about her desperation that makes my chest ache. To love someone that much that you’d follow them anywhere, and even die for them?
There are muffled footsteps in the grass. I lower the book and sit up as Cristiano limps through the gap in the hedges.
My heart does that little skip it’s been doing lately, but then I see his face, and everything else falls away.
There’s a bruise blooming along his cheekbone, purple and angry. But it’s his eyes that make my stomach drop. They’re red-rimmed and hollow with devastation.
He doesn’t say anything. Just stands there, shoulders hunched, hands hanging at his sides, looking at me like I’m the only solid thing in a world that’s crumbling.
“Cristiano.” I reach up and grasp his hand, my book tumbling to the grass. “What happened?”
