“I vastly prefer a society plot to hanging out in my dump of an apartment.”
One word remained unspoken—“alone.” I blinked at him. I don’t think I’d ever heard him speak like that before. The standard Poe qualities of bitterness and sarcasm were there, but this was casual and matter-of-fact. It’s like he had nothing to hide, as if he’d figured: I’d seen his apartment (maybe I was the only one who had), I knew what it looked like, so why bother putting up a front? Or maybe he was hoping I’d disagree with him, defend the “dump”? Or maybe he decided that letting me glimpse his feelings was only fair payback for my big revelation of the evening. Who knew? But he did have my sympathies. How many nights had I been glad that I had Lydia waiting for me, fun and funny and not at all like Poe’s pet snake?
“Do you…want to grab a slice of pizza or something?” I blurted out.
He hesitated. “You want to be seen in public with…” a microsecond pause, “…your face looking like that?”
I cocked my head to the side. “The real question is, do you want to be seen in public with a face like this?”
“I’d consider it.” He stood, his expression still wary.
I pasted on a weak smile. “Are you sure they don’t do deliveries to the law library?”
“Yes, but I think I have a bag of stale Doritos in my study carrel.”
“Pass.”
So I had pizza with Poe. (Er, Jamie. But really, I have a hard time reminding myself of that.) And we didn’t talk much at all. Just ate. It’s surprising how ravenous heartbreak makes you. Also surprising is how long I’d been at Eli without discovering some of the truly bizarre items on the menu at one of our most classic restaurants. White clam pizza. Who knew? Total revelation.
When he dropped me off in front of Prescott College, he said. “Are you going to Cavador?”
“Yeah,” I swiped my card at the gate. “There are nine from my club going. You?”
He nodded. “Cheapest vacation ever. And some of my club will be there, too. It’ll be nice to see them again.” He took another deep breath. “Amy, I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but I think that when you come back from Spring Break, everything will be different.”
“So I just need to make it through another few days and all my troubles will be over?” Yeah, right. Cavador Key was a retreat, not a miracle cure.
“It’s possible.”
Oh, Poe. If only he knew how impossible it would be.
7. Escape
Two days later (two days!), Brandon finally grew the cojones to e-mail me.
From: Brandon.Weare@eli.edu
Subject: Things
Dear Amy,
Even after deciding that it had to be via e-mail, I still went through a dozen drafts of this letter. I apologize in advance for anything I fail to say, but I eventually realized that it was a far worse sin to not contact you than it would be to send you an imperfect version.
I can’t imagine what you think of me right now, or what you have been imagining this past week. I am so sorry for the silence, and for everything I’m about to say.
We can’t see each other anymore. (But you already knew that, didn’t you?) I allowed myself to go to a bad place this month—why, I can’t say—and I dragged you into it. I don’t know what is to blame: the horrific winter weather? The nostalgia prompted by our imminent graduation? The fact that our “anniversary” (if you can call it that) was passing? I don’t know. But I know that it’s my fault. You and I have been over for a long time. I understand that now. And I do want to thank you for being there for me these past few weeks and for humoring me while I worked out my issues.
I wish you the best of luck with your applications. I know you’ll do great.
Your friend,
Brandon
“He’s so full of shit” was Lydia’s pronouncement upon viewing.
“Agreed,” Jenny said, digging into the family-sized pack of gumdrops on the bed. “Now explain again how the Gumdrop Drops work?” Lydia came over with a shot glass and perched near my pillow to show the Diggers’ newest twenty-one-year-old our suite’s signature drinking game.
Demetria, stomach squashing my corduroy husband, slammed back her third shot of vodka and rolled her eyes. (She’d decided to forgo the candy chasers.) “This is five classes of rhetoric and as many ounces of Absolut speaking, but that is one fine piece of work there. The way he seems to take all the blame upon himself while simultaneously practically calling you a slut? And ‘your friend.’ Unbelievable! Pièce de résistance, girl. Be glad you didn’t fuck him this time around.”
Jenny jabbed her in the ribs. “You’re not helping.”
“Are we even sure he wrote it himself?” Odile asked, swooping in. The tips of her red hair brushed the keyboard as she bent over the computer screen and scrutinized the letter. “Maybe that bitch did it.”
“She’s not a bitch,” Clarissa said from her position on the windowsill. Everyone else shot her eye-daggers and she put up her hands. “Hey! I said I was Team Haskel here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to commit character assassination. I can put Amy above all others without demonizing my barb—other friends.”
Lydia rolled her eyes, handed Jenny a shot, and took off for points common room. “Gotta pack,” she called back by means of an excuse. Rose & Grave was once again the elephant that lived, unremarked-upon, in our suite.
“I think Brandon wrote this himself,” I said. “Let’s not go all Sense and Sensibility here.”
“Especially given that the names are all backward,” Clarissa agreed.
I glanced at the e-mail again, my finger hovering over the Delete button. No, Brandon had written it, and I’d bet a fellowship spot little Miss Dragon’s Head didn’t even know about it. There was no reason to make him write me after her declaration of victory last night.
“Good riddance, I say.” Odile poured herself another drink. “Shake him off, pack up your bikini, and blow this joint for a while.”
My bikini was packed, but it was purely decorative. I’m no swimmer.
“She’s right,” Jenny said. “If it helps, focus on all the good we’re going to do building the house with Habitat.”
“I only wish I could go with you,” Odile went on, “but I can’t pass up this role.” The starlet had, just last night, canceled her plans to go to Cavador Key. But since the movie she was supposedly shooting didn’t seem to have a title, we all suspected she either had a hot new fling or a VIP pass to some glamorous club opening. “One Spring Break à la Dumas, and you wouldn’t even remember this prick’s name.”
“He’s not a prick,” I said stoutly.
“Amy,” Jenny said, shaking her head knowingly. “He didn’t pick you. That’s total p-you-know-what territory.” She paused. “At least for the moment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarissa turned to Jenny. “Don’t tell me you’ve started having tender feelings for Micah again.” Micah Price had convinced Jenny to expose our society for the coven of devil worshippers he believed it was. When she refused to keep passing on secrets to a paranoid conspiracy theorist website, because, well, we weren’t worshipping the devil, the jerk had broken her heart.[2]
The younger girl’s eyes widened. “No. That’s over. But until you forgive, how can you move on?” Forgiveness was a top priority for Saint Jenny.
“Move on?” Clarissa pounced. “So there’s someone else? Has a rebound man stolen our little hacker’s heart?”
Jenny blushed and tipped her head forward, though her stylish new pixie cut (complete with Eli-blue streaks through her black hair) did little to hide her expression.