In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,15
cars that to me, have just as much life and beauty to them as the birthday gift from the prince.
“Here.” I hand Charlie my keys with a smile. “Take my car, but put your seat belt on, and don't do anything reckless.” Dad laughs and gives me a quick hug. “I'm cooking you dinner tonight. I'm experimenting with a vegan recipe I found online. Also, I bought Bagel Bites in case it totally sucks.”
“You're on,” Charlie says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before he heads for the convertible, cursing under his breath and running his hand along the door before he climbs in and takes off.
“He's dying, you know,” I tell Zack as Dad drives away.
“I know,” he whispers, and since Charlie's gone, I give myself a few minutes to cry while Zack holds me. He does it so gently, so selflessly … I'm positive then that I've well and truly forgiven him.
Lower Banks Middle School is surrounded by a chain-link fence. There are security cameras, but I doubt anyone's watching the feed. More than likely, they're just there in case of any major vandalism. Once upon a time, there was a trio of full-time police officers who used to rotate their shifts, so there was someone here, rain or shine, whether the campus was open or closed.
Not anymore.
Budget cuts have hit the school so hard, it makes me feel both grateful and guilty that I've been blessed enough to study at Burberry Prep. Not everyone has a dad like mine though, someone who worked extra shifts to give me harp lessons, to push me to work harder, to fight with everything I had.
The round circle of grass in the middle of the courtyard is yellow and brown with patches of dry dirt. When Zack and I went here, it was always green and well-tended.
“It's gotten worse,” he says after he helps me crawl through one of the many holes in the fencing, and we stand there in the center of the dead lawn, looking back through time.
“So much worse,” I say, feeling this stirring in my belly. One day, I'm going to make it a mission to help schools like these. How many smart and talented kids are tossed aside by the system? They deserve a chance, just like I had.
A charity case. A piece of trailer park trash. The bullied girl.
“Let's go to the bathroom,” I say after a minute, and Zack stiffens up beside me. I walk across the lawn and pause near one of the posts holding up the outdoor awning. Once upon a time, Zack encouraged a group of girls to throw me up against this exact post and dump my entire lunch down my shirt.
“Marnye,” he says, his voice cautious and fractured, like the memories are almost as hard for him as they are for me. No, maybe harder. He made the choice to treat me the way he did, and for no other reason than Lizzie picked me. And she picked me because of a stepdad that encouraged Jennifer to leave me at a rest stop because I cried too much.
I should really have a sit-down conversation with her.
“It's okay. Come on.” I turn toward the girls' bathroom, surprised to find the door unlocked. When I step inside, I see the splintered door frame and realize that somebody broke in here recently. Not surprising.
I pause at the entrance, my right hand on the door, my eyes locked on the large stall at the end, the one where I sat and swallowed all those pills.
“We don't have to do this,” Zack says, stopping behind me. “I'm sorry I even suggested we come over here. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking.”
“You were thinking we needed to face this together,” I tell him, moving into the room and walking over to that stall, the place I almost lost my life. I push the door in and stare at the floor. It smells like bleach, and there's no debris on the old tiles. The janitor must've been in here recently.
I sit down on the ground next to the toilet and curl my arms around my legs.
Zack joins me, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.
For a while, we wait there in total silence.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask finally, because we haven't really talked about the things that happened here. We've touched on them, but I want to confront them and move on.