Our Song (23 page)

When I finished, Annie just stared at me, slack jawed and completely silent. “Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m in shock. I’ve
never
heard you say anything remotely positive about yourself before, much less anything neutral. I’m glad that at least someone can make you realize how incredibly fabulous you are, and I don’t just mean your looks,” she said, taking a bite out of a muffin. “I definitely never heard you talk about Derek like this.”

I felt a small twitch at the back of my head as I thought about how the evening had started: with Derek’s surprise visit. That was the other thing I wasn’t divulging. What he had said and the small seed of doubt he had planted. I could practically feel it burrowing through my body, trying to find a place to take root.

The song was gently playing now, but it was so quiet it was barely audible. I was only aware it was still there if I listened carefully. It was just looping back to the beginning again, to the first line.
The only way for this to pass is to let go of your love
. In that moment I was finally ready to accept what it meant: that
Derek
was the one I had to let go of. The question was, could I?

“Well, it’s a good thing your brother’s the one who came to the door last night,” Annie said.

“He did?” I was genuinely surprised since Noah had been sound asleep when I left. But maybe he’d just been pretending like I’d been for the last couple of months. “Where was my mom?”

Annie shrugged. “Noah said she was in the garden. She must not have heard the bell even though I had to ring a few times before Noah even showed up. Anyway, he told me you went out so I left before your mom appeared and complicated everything. I figured you were with Nick.”

A ball of guilt set up shop in my stomach. “You protected me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“You know this just makes me feel like a worse friend.”

“Good,” Annie said with a smirk. “It should.”

I HADN’T MADE
it through half the morning when I got pulled out of history by the hall monitor. I had been summoned once again, this time by Dr. Green
and
Principal Kingston. A full-on intervention.

I ducked into the administrative office and took a seat on the bench next to Mrs. Shay’s desk. As the school secretary, she took her position as the gatekeeper to Principal Kingston very seriously, like he was some kind of prison warden or something.

“They’ll be with you shortly,” Mrs. Shay snipped, peering at me through her weird glasses. They were the thick, multi-prescription kind that made one of her eyeballs look ten times larger than the other. Her nickname around school was “the Cyclops,” and everyone always made fun of her behind her back. Only now, for the first time, I suddenly felt sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy being an old, one-eyed spinster in this town.

After ten minutes that felt like an eternity, Principal Kingston finally emerged.

“Right this way,” he said, ushering me to a black leather loveseat wedged into the back of his office. His infamous bushy, salt and pepper moustache fluttered with every breath.

Dr. Green was already seated in one of two mismatched oversized armchairs facing the couch. Aside from their clashing faded floral prints, like they’d been salvaged from a trash heap, the chairs were much too big for the space, pressing up against the round wooden coffee table between them. The whole room was small and cramped, with books and papers spilling out from every available surface, stale crumbs littering Principal Kingston’s desk.

“Would you like a glass of water?” he asked, settling down next to Dr. Green. A half-filled pitcher sat on the coffee table. The water was still and slightly murky, like it had been sitting there untouched for days.

“No, I’m good.” He was so close our knees were practically touching.

“Thank you for coming in to see us, Olive,” Dr. Green said. “We’re concerned. You’ve been back for over two months but your grades are still lagging.”

“Miss Porter said I could make up for the midterm with an essay. I’ve already—”

“We’re aware of that, but it’s not just English,” Principal Kingston interjected, reviewing a thick gray folder bearing my name. “Let’s see. It’s also math and social studies. Things aren’t as bad in history, but you’re still behind last term’s average.”

I looked down at my feet, pushing my toes into the ends of my ballet flats. His words washed over me as my mind went
back to last night. I thought about what it was like leaning against the edge of the tower with Nick, how it felt like we were the only two people in the universe, how when I was with him, nothing and nobody else mattered. And I thought about what it would be like to kiss him, if his stubble would tickle when his cheek brushed up against mine.

Principal Kingston cleared his throat like it was a secret code, and Dr. Green took over. “We want to help you, Olive.” Her condescending, shrinky voice felt like it was straight out of a guidance counselor manual, and I was half inclined to kick her. She was sitting close enough that I could claim it was an accident, but I was already on thin enough ice. Why couldn’t the school replace her with someone like Annie’s mom, who didn’t make you cringe every time she opened her mouth? “We’d hate to see you miss out on college next year when it’s well within your reach.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands on her lap, and stared at me through her purple-rimmed glasses. They matched her purple pumps. “But remember, you have to
want
to be helped.”

I felt a smile creep up the side of my mouth, thinking about what Nick would do if he were in my place, how he’d know the perfect thing to say to put her in her place.

“Is this amusing for you?” Dr. Green asked.

“No, of course not,” I said, trying to look more serious. It was getting harder to even pretend to care about my future when all I cared about was Nick. I could worry about the rest of my life later, when he was gone, back in England. I felt my heart sink just thinking about next year, about Nick leaving.
Maybe he would change his mind and stay; maybe he would decide that he didn’t want a future that didn’t include me. Maybe we could just pack our bags and get in his car and see where the road took us, just like my father.

“What about the pamphlet I gave you?” Dr. Green pressed on. “Have you sought any help?”

“Yes,” I said, mainly to get her off my back. What I did outside school hours was none of her business.

She raised her eyebrows over her glasses, like she didn’t believe me. “With whom?”

“One of the support groups.” I was being intentionally vague while still trying to answer her questions. The last thing I needed was for Dr. Green to get involved and mess things up. The meetings were my best cover for seeing Nick. “I’ve been going every week.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but based on your performance, I’m wondering if you’d benefit more from some individual therapy to help you through this.”

“No,” I said, with a little too much emotion. “I mean, I think the group’s really starting to help.” My mind went back to the church and the parrots. I wished I could be one of them and fly out of this room.

“Well. we can revisit that later,” she said, not fully convinced.

“In the meantime, I’m obliged to send Georgetown your transcript,” Principal Kingston added, tugging on the end of his mustache.

“Fine,” I said, looking at the floor, itching to leave. “Can I go now?”

• • •

There were twenty-five minutes until next period when they finally released me. I aimlessly wandered the halls, replaying the intervention in my mind. It sounded like they were trying to brainwash me to join their cult, to save me from what was sure to be a doomed fate without them. I read the veiled threat in their voices, but all it did was make me want to flee. What was the point of staying here? What was the point of anything? There was one person I knew would understand. I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.

Can u come get me?

I had barely pressed send when my phone buzzed with Nick’s response.

where r u?

school.

right now? it’s the middle of the day.

i know. and yes.

r u sure?

YES

It was the only thing I was certain of.

The beat-up old Jaguar was parked—if you could call it that—diagonally across the path leading up to the main entrance. I had waited for him in the darkroom where nobody, especially Principal Kingston or Dr. Green, could find me. When I got in the car, Nick reversed it back onto the street. The tires screeched as he turned left toward the freeway. I didn’t start breathing until five blocks later, when I realized I had gotten away with it. I didn’t trip some silent alarm, cross an invisible fence, or cause a
commotion of any kind. Playing hooky was as easy as walking out the front doors.

Nick hit a button on the dashboard and an ambient, methodical beat filled the car. All four windows opened simultaneously, inviting in a warm breeze that swept up my hair, the view, and all sense of time. I closed my eyes and let the wind and music wash over me. Derek, school, and all my worries were suddenly five blocks plus a million miles away.

I pretended I was still in the bell tower with Nick, the parrots soaring overhead as the neighborhood sounds mixed in with the images in my mind—the beeping of a reversing car, the whip-whip-whip of a rotating sprinkler, skateboard wheels ca-thumping on the pavement. They were like the distant drone of a beeping alarm clock pressing up against a pleasant dream. Until they started to blend in to the sound of the squawking birds. The unfinished song. Nick’s voice and the one singing to me. Until I could no longer distinguish between reality and what was playing out in my head. If there was even a difference.

It made me think about what Nick said last night as we watched the parrots disappear. And that he was right.

It was the sound of freedom.

WE HAD BEEN
driving down the 101 for almost half an hour when Nick exited and started up a steep hill.

“I love this part,” he said when we got to a stretch of road that crested the top.

We were miles from Vista Valley now, but the suburban layout beyond the freeway below looked almost identical: little square boxes on square plots, one after the other, all perfect little planned communities. “It’s like being on top of the world,” I said, peering down.

“You’re right.”

Nick glanced over, his eyes lingering on mine. Whenever he looked at me like that, so intentionally, I felt my whole body light up. I wondered how many times that could happen, if it was limited, like the amount of power in a battery, or infinite, like the sun.

We drove down the other side of the hill, into a residential neighborhood. It was nothing like any of the places Nick had taken me so far. He had clearly been here before because he was as
comfortable driving these windy roads as he was the gritty streets of Hollywood. There were no sidewalks, and the houses, which were large, gradually became even larger. The yards got more expansive, and the hedges lining each property even taller, until eventually all the homes we passed had disappeared from view.

“Where are we?” I asked. Now we were in the middle of nowhere, without another road, person, or house in sight.

Nick pointed to a discreet green sign with white cursive letters just up ahead. It read:
Welcome to Bel Air
.

Bel Air was legendary, like Beverly Hills on steroids, home to the rich and famous. “What are we doing here?”

“Patience, grasshopper.”

I nudged his arm, smiling. “Is that one of your British-isms I’m supposed to decode?”

“It’s American, actually. From an ancient television show my father watched as a boy.”

“Oh yeah?” It was the first time Nick had ever mentioned his father, much less anyone in his family. “What was it called?”

“I can’t remember,” he said, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Only it seemed like he did remember, and that for some reason, he didn’t want to talk about it.

He made a quick turn onto an even more secluded, hedge-lined road, and then stopped in front of a set of massive black gates. Reaching out his window, he punched a code into the keypad. Within seconds, the gates started to swing open. The car silently rolled onto a narrow, paved road, lined by tall trees, forest-deep. Once we were through, the gates closed behind us, swallowing us whole.

I stared up at the swaying branches. They stretched high across the road on either side and met in the middle like intertwining fingers, forming a natural canopy overhead. It felt like we had driven across a border into another world. Another universe, even. “Where are we?”

“Home,” Nick said, stepping on the gas.

The trees escorted us down the path, like well-trained cadets. They were so thick and tall it was almost intimidating, as if they had arms that could reach out and snatch us.
Home
.
He just said home.
It was the last place I expected him to be taking me. Up until now, we had been meeting in neutral territory, at least where Nick was concerned. He already knew where I lived and went to school, and he’d been to the country club, all of which gave him a pretty clear idea of what my life was like. But this was my first official foray into his private world. It could only mean one thing: that the dark cloud that sometimes enshrouded him was starting to dissolve and he was finally ready to let me in.

The trees thinned out as we approached a red wooden stable. The paint was faded and chipped. Leather saddles and metalhorseshoes dangled from hooks near the wide, open doors, revealing rows of vacant stalls inside. The fenced-in enclosure just beyond the barn was also deserted. The unlatched gate gently swayed in the wind as we drove past. The place didn’t just feel empty, but abandoned. “Where are the horses?”

Nick took his eyes off the road and glanced over at the stable. “My father got rid of them,” he said, as if he had forgotten about them. “Nobody rides anymore.”