trying to ruin my life!”
“Excuse me?” I don’t need the space heater anymore. I snatch off one glove at a time and stuff them into the pocket of my hoodie. “You think I’m trying to ruin your life? You were the one that cost me my scholarship—”
The words are hollow.
I’ve been thinking like this for so long, it flies from me unchecked. I regret it the moment it flies out of my mouth—instead of bringing Rhodes closer, I know I’m only pushing her further away.
Rhodes recoils, clutching her chest.
“That wasn’t my—I didn’t mean—Jesus God, Iliana, all of this is because of the ACAD scholarship?” Her laugh lacks humor. “You can’t just take away my opportunities because you lost one of yours. This scholarship is a zero-sum game, but life isn’t—and this is super effing shitty, even for you.”
One word at a time, I process what she’s saying.
You. Can’t. Take. Away. My. Opportunities.
The other Capstone Award lady is gone, and she’s been replaced.
Something happened, and Rhodes thinks it’s because of me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you really going to make me give you the play-by-play?” Rhodes presses the heel of her palm against one eye, and her chin quivers. Alice—Rhodes—hates it when people see her cry, but I can’t look away. “Isn’t it enough for you to know I’m out?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rhodes watches me in silence.
She closes the distance between us in a handful of long, sweeping strides—one moment she’s standing in the doorway and the next, her breath ruffles my hair.
I flinch.
She doesn’t hit me, though: She simply lifts my chin so I have no other choice but to look her in the eyes. Her skin against mine, even in this small way, stands my arm hair on end.
Everything in her is burning: her eyes, her face, her spirit.
I have no idea what she sees when she’s looking at me. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but she’s showing me things I know she’d never want anyone to witness: the way she pants through each breath, the shake in her hands, the intensity of her gaze—all of it tells me that Rhodes—Alice—is vulnerable. Afraid.
Something shifts; there’s a crackle in the air and everything feels different.
I reach up between us—for what purpose, I have no idea—and Rhodes’s eyes widen, just a little. She lets go and takes two giant steps backward.
“Why do we keep doing this to each other?” I ask.
Rhodes shakes her head.
She turns her back to me. Her reflection in the window reveals her hands bunched back up against her face, presumably to catch more tears she doesn’t want me to see.
“I don’t know why anyone else would have ratted on me—or my mom, I guess—to the board,” she says. “It seemed so, I don’t know. Neat. Tidy. Like poetic justice or something.”
I’m glad my back is to her—I don’t want her to see my face right now, all screwed up and screaming concern.
I feel sick even considering the fact that someone was working very hard to sabotage her—even if a few short months ago, that person could have easily been me.
I want to ask a thousand questions—what was said in the meeting? What was Bootsie’s phrasing? What exactly did her mom do? But I’m afraid that something even as simple as seeking out details could be the thing that sends her scurrying away.
I want her to be close to me, so I choose my next words carefully.
“Life is rarely ever poetic,” I say. “No, I wanted to beat you fair and square—I won’t ever know I’m the best if I’m not up against you.”
Rhodes watches me for a long moment before she speaks again. “Thanks, I think.”
“I wouldn’t have ever done that to you, not in a million years. Honest.” It’s easier to fumble with the padlock in front of me, long forgotten in whatever this moment is evolving into. No matter how many times I punch my number into the mechanical dials, I can’t get it to unlock. “I’ve … lost everything. I, er, I don’t mean to say that, uh, like a jab, but—”
“No, I get it.” Rhodes’s voice is soft. “That night was horrible for all of us.”
“I know it wasn’t your fault,” I say. “I’ve been really unfair.”
Behind me, a chair screeches against the linoleum. One shoe sole, then another, squeaks on the surface of one of the tables. “My dad called SCAD for you, when it happened.”
Another pang of guilt. I turn to face her, finally.
Mom’s words