Higher Ground Page 8

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m just glad I got over him. I’d hate to be the one waiting around forever for a man to make up his mind about me.”

  Four years is hardly forever. “Wade has no problem with commitment. We’ve been living together for two years, Hillary.”

  “Of course. Where are my manners, Professor Foster?”

  “It’s Dr. Foster.”

  “Right,” she says with a wicked smile. “It was good to see you. Merry Christmas. Keep an eye on your mail in May. I’ll be sure to send you and Wade a wedding invitation.”

  “We’ll be waiting with baited breath.” The smile I give her is as wide and as fake as hers.

  It’s not like me to hide, but I don’t follow her from the kitchen. I can hear her and Ari’s goodbyes from here, and the front door closes with a bang behind them. Before Wade comes looking for me, I ease up the stairs quietly to his old room.

  Hillary’s always managed to make me feel like a kid—a kid who doesn’t measure up. Today, she knew exactly where to drive the knife in, and she enjoyed twisting it. I’m angry with myself for letting her get to me.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m also angry with Wade, his parents, and with my brother and Corey.

  By the time Wade finds me, I’ve managed to pull myself together. He walks into the room and stands behind me while I stare out the window at his car in the driveway. “Well, that was weird,” he says.

  “For you or for her?”

  “Whoa.” He turns me with his arms and then traps me in them, pulling me close. “I’m happy Hillary’s getting married to Liam.”

  “Logan.” His lips turn up at my correction. “His name is Logan.”

  “Right. Logan. Whatever. I’m glad she’s happy. It’s okay for me to want her to be happy, isn’t it?”

  Petty words dance in my mind, but I trap them in my throat with sealed lips and a frown. “Sure.” The truth is that Wade didn’t look very happy downstairs. Deep down, I can’t help but wonder if that has to do with her or me.

  Wade and I have talked about marriage and having a family in the abstract terms of someday, what ifs, and maybes. He’s hinted he’d like to be more financially stable, more secure in his field, better prepared…

  Until today, I was okay with possibilities. Hearing he turned down an engagement ring, something purely symbolic, hurts more than I care to admit. For years, I’ve been under the impression that rings and forever were the end goal.

  Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe I’ve been hearing what I want to hear. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Did I do something wrong?” he asks. “I can usually read you like a book, but you’ve been different these last few days. You’ve been locked in your own head, and I have no idea what’s going on with you.”

  “I don’t, either,” I say. “Talking about high school has done a number on me. I feel seventeen and vulnerable again, but that’s my fault, not yours.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think it’s your fault at all.” His gaze drops as he clears his throat. “What did he do to you? I’m trying to be patient and let you tell me about Oliver in your own time, but it’s hard. I don’t have a good feeling about this, about him.”

  “I wish things were that simple, that cut and dry. Would you believe me if I told you he didn’t do anything? Not like you’re thinking, anyway. With Oliver, it was always what he didn’t do that mattered.”

  Chapter Eight

  Then

  I spent most of the final weekend of my last real summer break worrying about how things would change on the first day of my senior year. I’d spent half of my summer with Oliver, wrapped up in him and a world of powdered sugar. He’d been at Newman for years. He had friends, possibly a girlfriend. I didn’t know because I’d never asked. In the grand scheme of life, I was some girl he’d gone to elementary school with.

  I’d thought the navy blue uniforms of Academy were bad, but Newman’s green was hideous. My khaki skirt was basic at best, and the collar of my white blouse was choking me. The green jacket… Well, it reminded me of vomit. Of course, it could’ve been the butterflies in my stomach.

  Miss Verity made a huge breakfast that morning. Van wolfed down enough to feed an army, while I picked at a biscuit and sipped orange juice, even though it was coffee I was craving—coffee and sunshine.

  My dad insisted on driving us, at least for the first day. “First impressions are everything,” he said. “You don’t want to be late.”

  Neither of us wanted to be dropped off like a child, either, but Dad hardly ever offered anything on his own without pressure from Mom or Miss Verity. We didn’t know how to turn him down. That was how we ended up in the back seat of his car, waiting in the drop-off line in front of Newman Prep and watching other kids get out of the cars ahead of us in line. It was a sea of forest green, khaki, and brightly colored backpacks in all shapes and sizes.

  When we finally reached the front of the line, Dad turned in his seat to look at us. “Good luck,” he said. “Have a good day.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I opened the car door and got out first.

  “See ya.” Van scooted across the seat and followed, shutting the door behind him. He waited for the car to pull away before he stepped forward. “What the fuck? Since when does he care if we get to school on time?”

  I shrugged. “He’s trying.” The look Van gave me was enough to shut me up.

  We stood side by side, frozen in place, while curious students passed us on the sidewalk. They were already in groups, with built-in friends and established circles. We hadn’t even made it through the door and people were staring us down, whispers flying.

  “Violet!” Troya called my name as she stepped out of a green Tahoe in the drop off-line. Her shirt was untucked, and if her hair had been touched by a brush that morning, I couldn’t tell. “Van.” She smiled and stepped between us. “You guys ready for this shit?”

  “Not at all,” Van said.

  “We could always find Oliver and cut…” She trailed off when a boy with short, jet-black hair stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He peppered kisses along the skin of her neck, and without looking back, her hand raised to pull his head even closer. “This is Sonny. Sonny, this is Violet and Van.”

  He glanced up at us over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

  Van nodded, but I wasn’t cool enough to pull off a wordless greeting. “Hey,” I said.

  Sonny started walking, nudging Troya toward the school. “Let’s do this,” he said.

  Van and I stayed close to them, but I stopped in my tracks when I heard Oliver’s name being called by someone. Across the lawn, he was perched on a picnic table, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs and his feet resting on the bench in front of him. His green jacket was on the wooden surface next to him, and his tie was loose, exposing the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt. What stood out the most and lifted my lips for the first time that day were the smiley face suspenders hugging his frame.

  A small group of kids—boys and girls my age and possibly a few younger ones—was surrounding him. “So much for cutting,” Troya mumbled.

  When Oliver finally looked up from his conversation with a boy who looked more like a man with a five o’clock shadow, he moved his mouth, grabbed his jacket, and pushed himself off the table until he was standing on the bench. He ignored the people around him and stepped down onto the grass. His gaze was trained on me as he walked over to us.

  By the time he reached us, I was a silly, trembling child, nervous that something had somehow changed since Friday—nervous that if it hadn’t, it would. I was worried about my brother and scared to death of being the new kid.

  Oliver stopped in front of me, looked me up and down, and let out a low whistle. “You look good in khaki, Violet Foster.”

  “Green isn’t really my color,” I said, looking down at his goofy suspenders.

  “Liar.” He raised his hand to lift my chin with his fingers. “Your eyes are green.
Perfect green.”

  I swallowed to keep down the hysterical laughter that was threatening beneath the surface. A bell rang somewhere inside the sprawling building in front of us, and a collective groan was let out by everyone.

  The boy-man Oliver had been talking to walked up behind him, grinning wickedly as he approached. “Who’s your friend, Oliver?”

  “This is Violet. We went to elementary school together.” Oliver put on his jacket, nodding to Van in the process. “This is her brother, Van.” When he was done, he thumbed over his shoulder at his buddy with the stubble. “Guys, this is Frederick Penn.”

  Frederick shoved him out of the way and held out his hand to shake mine. “Just Penn." His hands were soft, and his thumb swept over my wrist as we shook. “So, you’re the girl he’s been disappearing with all summer.”

  Oliver shoved him playfully. “Step off, fucker.”

  “Jesus,” Troya said. “We’re going to be tardy if you two keep this up.”

  “Right.” Oliver stepped in next to me and let his hand rest on my waist. “Let’s go.”

  With Van right behind us, we walked up the steps together. Troya and Sonny stayed close to him, and more than once, I tried to join them. Everyone around us was staring. A few people said hello to Oliver, but his reply was a wave or a nod. He stopped and opened the door for me, waving me through without him.

  Several long tables were set up in the atrium, with papers hanging from the front of each. Troya and Oliver followed me and Van to the table marked for students with last names beginning with the letters A through G. Sonny and Penn fell in line with the N-through-R kids. After taking my schedule from a nice, older woman who introduced herself as my French 2 teacher, Mrs. Windell, I waited for the others against a wall past the tables.

  Van finished first and practically sprinted over to me when he was done. He’d decided to take Louisiana History that year, too, on the gamble we might have at least one class together, and it paid off. We had that class and the same lunch period. Troya finished next. While she and Van had advanced trig and religious studies together, she was also in our same history class. She and I lucked into the same chemistry period, too.

  “Partners?” she asked.

  I glanced over at Sonny. He was walking toward us with his schedule in hand. “What about the boys?” I asked.

  “Sonny’s taking biology, and Oliver’s signed up for physics.”

  “Partners.” I nodded in relief. One less thing to worry about.

  Sonny and Van ended up in the same biology and English classes. The only similarity between my schedule and Sonny’s was the same lunch period. While the others compared notes, my eyes were glued to Oliver, who stood a few feet away at the table.

  He walked over slowly when he was done, and before I could say a word, he plucked the piece of paper from my hand and glanced at it. “English, French 2, history, and lunch. Cool. Why the hell are you taking calculus? I thought you told me you’re majoring in English in college.”

  “It’s an AP class,” I said. “If I can test out at the end of the year, it means fewer math classes for my undergrad.”

  He grinned. “Smart girl.” A second bell rang, and we made our way further down the hall. “You seem different. You’re being quiet again.”

  “It’s a bit intimidating,” I said.

  “You and Van walked in with us. No one here is going to fuck with either of you, so don’t worry about that, okay?” The smile on his face belied the threat in his tone. I nodded, unsure of this Oliver. “Penn’s in your homeroom. I’ll see you in English.”

  Penn tugged my sleeve. “We’re this way,” he said.

  “Good luck,” I said to Van before he walked away.

  “You, too,” he replied.

  Penn led me away from the others and into a stairwell at the end of a long hall. “So why’d you leave Academy?” he asked.

  Van and I had expected the questions, so we had agreed to be truthful but not provide unnecessary details. “My brother was kicked out for fighting, and I was tossed for calling out the principle.”

  “Whoa.” He stopped to look over his shoulder at me. “You don’t look like a badass.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I lost my temper.”

  “Huh. Interesting.” When we reached the last room on the second floor, he opened the door for me. For the second time that day, he studied me from head to toe.

  “Thanks.”

  He followed me into the class and took the seat across from mine. “Welcome to Newman, Violet. I think you’re going to like it here.”

  By the end of that first day, I was convinced Penn was right. My teachers seemed okay, I’d spent half of my day with Oliver, and because textbooks hadn’t been passed out, there was no homework. Newman wasn’t nearly as anal as Academy. Oliver’s word held; kids were friendly with me and Van. Troya and Sonny had introduced him to people throughout the day the same way Oliver had taken care of me.

  He either knew everyone or everyone knew him. The boy who’d barely spoken during the years I’d known him as a child was gone. In his place was a charming, confident boy, one who ruled the school. He waved or said hello to everyone who greeted him—everyone but a brunette with killer tits named Celeste. She tried several times to catch his attention, and when that didn’t work, she sat down on the other side of him in the cafeteria during lunch.

  Oliver leaned back, balancing his chair on its back two legs, and avoided her gaze by talking to Penn about some band while she made small talk about Troya’s purple nail polish.

  After school, she joined the crowd lingering at the picnic table on the lawn. Oliver was back on his wooden throne, and once again, the jacket and tie were off.

  “Can you come over?” he asked me as I approached. “My mom works late on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. We hang out at my place, smoke a little, and have study sessions when my old man’s out on the river.”

  “Study sessions?”

  “Sure,” he said with a grin. “We talk French, watch the History Channel, and study the four food groups.”

  It was a tempting offer, especially when Celeste confirmed she was going. If it weren’t for Van, I’d have jumped on it immediately. Letting him walk home alone on our first day wasn’t something I could stomach, though. Van still hadn’t shown up, so I took a moment to look around for him. Troya and Sonny were missing, too, so that helped keep the worry away.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Van’s coming.” Oliver stepped down from the table to stand next to me. “Sonny hit him up in English.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Being so nice to my brother?”

  Oliver reached back to grab his jacket. “He’s cool.” His body was turned away from me, taut with that same hint of fire he let flame every now and then. “I know what it’s like to be fucked with for no good reason.”

  He didn’t have many friends when I knew him before. Well, none that I could remember. It’s hard to imagine the boy in front of me being shoved around. Then again, Van had a black belt in karate, so I never thought anyone would mess with him, either. Size isn’t everything. He could’ve kicked Elijah’s ass any day of the week. Wondering why he hadn’t was what kept me awake at night.

  “Okay,” I said. “I need to call Miss Verity.”

  “Already taken care of,” Van said from behind me. His straight blond hair was almost the color of straw in the August sun, and the top button of his dress shirt and the cuffs of his sleeves were undone. “I talked to her. We’re at the library.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and let his jacket rest between his forearm and his hip.

  “You really need to get more creative, dude.” Oliver nudged Van’s shoulder lightly and laughed as he walked by us. “Come on. Let’s go before anyone else decides to tag along.” It was hard to miss the pointed look he gave Celeste, but she pretended to be oblivious and invited.

  She caught me staring at her a couple of times during the walk to Oliver’s ho
use. I’d never been there before or even asked where he lived, so I followed the crowd up Saint Charles until we turned right onto South Carrollton. Halfway down the block, Mitchell’s car was parked in front of a two-story house.

  He met us at the end of the driveway and stopped in front of Oliver for their handshake-hug thing. “Left you something in the Pringles can, man,” Mitchell said. “I’ve got to run. Sociology girl gets out of class in less than an hour, and I promised I’d pick her up.”

  “It’s cool.” Oliver pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and shoved it into his brother’s hand.

  “Let me know if you need more.” Mitchell moved to Troya, gave her a quick hug, and bumped fists with Sonny. Penn and I got a wave and a nod of recognition before he walked away.

  Crape jasmine bushes lined each side of the house. The front door was open behind the screen, and the sound of the television bled out onto the porch.

  “I thought Mitchell had his own place,” I said as I followed Oliver into the house.

  He moved to the table, lifted the remote, and turned down the volume so he wouldn’t have to shout to answer me. “He does. He and his roommate live in a duplex over on Dupre. Two of their friends rent the other side, but he’s here a lot.” He shook his head and grinned at me over his shoulder. “Can’t seem to stay away.”

  Penn tossed his backpack and jacket on the floor and fell onto a brown couch. “It’s these couches, man. Your mom has excellent taste.”

  “Whatever.” Oliver tossed his things down close to Penn’s, so the rest of us did, too. He made his way down a long hall, and while I wasn’t brave enough to follow him, Celeste was. They disappeared around a corner and out of sight.

  Troya toed out of her shoes, stretched her arms above her head, and yawned. “This has been a long fucking day. You want a soda?”

  “Sure.” I followed her in the same direction Oliver had gone, down the hall, and into his kitchen.

  Celeste was leaning forward, blocking my view, and Oliver’s eyes caught mine the moment I stepped into the room. She glanced over her shoulder at me and then took a step back.