Keep Your Friends Close

one

Sunday, September 5, 1999

I manage to reverse park on my third attempt, which isn’t so bad considering it’s the first time I’ve ever done it outside of driving lessons. It didn’t even come up on my test this summer. I turn the engine off and take a deep breath, closing my eyes to avoid looking toward the tall hedges that separate the parking lot from the main school building.

“You can do this,” I whisper as I unbuckle my seat belt. I open my eyes, do a quick makeup check in the rearview mirror and retrieve my bag from the passenger seat. I dig out the little pink Nokia and switch it on, admiring the glittery cover. It was gift from Mum—­a back-­to-­school present that I know she can’t afford—­so I do as I promised and type out a text message to let her know I’ve arrived safely. When she presented me with the phone last night, I was going to argue that I could just call her from the school pay phone, but the proud look on her face stopped me in my tracks.

“Chloe?” My stomach flips as a familiar male voice drifts in through the open window.

“Theo?”

Oh my god, he looks good, all floppy brown hair and big blue eyes. I didn’t expect him to meet me as soon as I arrived. We agreed to chat at some point today, but we’ve barely spoken all summer, so I just assumed I’d bump into him at the pajama party tonight. I smooth out my long brown hair and duck my head though the window.

“Hi! One sec, okay?” I wind the lever to close the window and then open the door, pulling my keys from the ignition. “How long have you been back?” I ask as I climb out, discreetly brushing crumbs from my lap. It was a long drive, and lunch was takeout from a McDonald’s drive-­through. Having my own car is amazing.

“A few hours. Got here around midday. It’s good to see you,” he says, holding his arms out for a hug.

I hesitate, but relief draws me to his broad frame. We’re still a couple, then. I mean, we didn’t break up over the summer or anything, but I’ve been stressing about our relationship for weeks. Phone calls were scarce, between me having to pull double shifts to pay for my driving lessons and Theo’s stint working for Eurocamp in Italy. One of us was always in a rush, and looking back, I feel like we barely spoke at all.

“I missed you,” I mumble into his neck, the relief of seeing him outweighing my trepidation at being back after the whole Head Girl thing. Theo isn’t the only person I haven’t spoken to this summer. I pull back to get a good look at him. His hair is a little longer, bangs now framing his face, but it suits him, and his white skin has the remnants of a summer tan. I smile up at him as he brushes my hair behind one ear.

“Is that . . . lettuce?” Between his fingers is a bright green shred from my Big Mac. Theo hates junk food.

“I had the window down,” I explain, trying not to sound too guilty. “Must be a leaf or something.”

“Right.” We stare at each other for a second. “Are your bags in the car? Do you need a hand?”

I really hope I’ve hidden the takeout bag under my seat. “Oh, yeah, please.” Why does it suddenly feel awkward between us? I unlock the trunk and pull out a suitcase as Theo studies my little red Fiesta. “What do you think? I know it’s not exactly a Porsche, but it gets me around and it was cheap, so—­”

“No, it’s cool,” he interrupts, taking the case from me and setting it down on the ground. “Listen, Chloe, there was a reason I wanted to see you as soon as you got here.”

“Oh?” I try to keep my voice light as I pretend to search for something in the trunk, but I feel that horrible little flip in my stomach, warning me something is wrong.

“Yeah. Come here.” Theo gently takes hold of my hands and pulls me round to face him. His big blue eyes are earnest as he lets out a sigh. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Clo.”

“What way?” I say it as innocently as I can muster, but I’m not stupid. I know what’s coming.

“You must feel it too. We drifted apart this summer . . .” My ears start to ring as Theo launches into his breakup speech. What an idiot. We drifted apart? He means we hardly spoke on the phone, and he didn’t reply to any of my letters until last week. Does he think I’m stupid? I knew this was coming, but when I saw him waiting for me, I thought maybe there was still a chance, that I’d been reading too much into the lack of contact. I didn’t think he’d break up with me as soon as I got out of the freaking car. Typical Theo—­he never wants to make a scene. Well, I’ll make a scene for him. I’ll scream right in his pretty face and drag my fingernails down his cheeks and tell everyone exactly what he tried to get me to do at the end-­of-­year party in July and . . .

“—­focus on our studies. I think some time apart will be really good for both of us.”

“Good for both of us?” I echo, realizing I haven’t heard a word Theo’s said. I sigh, my revenge fantasies fading as the reality of what’s happening overrides the anger, threatening to wind me like a punch to the gut.

“I knew you’d understand. I mean, I’m Head Boy, and you’re . . . deputy. We’re under a lot of pressure to succeed this year, especially now that we’re in Jewel and Bone. We need to focus.” He smiles gently, but I heard that pause before deputy. So that’s the reason for all this. I’m not good enough for Theo anymore. I want to rip off the wing mirrors from my car and beat him over the head with them. I want to drive my knee between his legs so hard that . . . “I’m so glad you’re cool with this, Clo.”

“Of course,” I say, taking my hands from his and painting an agreeable look on my face. Don’t show him you’re upset. Keep the peace; you know the drill. “You’re so sensible.”

“We can still be friends, right? I’d hate to lose you.”

Oh, please.

“Of course we’re still friends,” I agree, smiling as I pull my other case out of the trunk. What a prick.

“You’re the best.” Theo grins at me and gestures to the car. “This really is cool. Maybe we can take a drive to Prescott when we get some time off. You know, as friends.”

“Sure.” I really want to tell him to fuck off, but I have two massive suitcases and I don’t want to make two trips up to the main building if I can avoid it.

“Great.” Theo pretends to pat his bangs so he can check his watch. “Sorry, I’m late to meet the guys. You’ll be okay, right?” He’s already walking away as he says it.

“Right,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“See you later, Clo,” he calls over his shoulder. I stifle the urge to give him the finger and stare after him instead, trying not to cry. Just like that, I’m forgotten.

Theo disappears beyond the hedges, leaving me with two massive bags, a bruised ego and the start of a tension headache.



The parking lot is situated to the side of the main school building, so when I emerge onto the grounds of Morton House proper, I drag my cases along the colonnade that stretches along the front of the school. The walkway provides some much-­needed shade from the blazing afternoon sun as I pass the library, beads of sweat already threatening to ruin my makeup.

“May I, Miss Roberts?” I glance up in relief as the groundskeeper and general handyman approaches me from his perch at the main doors and holds his hands out for my bags.

“Yes, thanks, Mr. Loomis.”

I let him carry them up to the entrance and I step out from under the elegant columns and onto the driveway, wrapping my hair around one hand as I attempt to create a breeze on the nape of my neck with the other. I cross the gravel to the lawn and tell myself I’m simply taking a second to enjoy being back at school, not putting off the start of a new year. I let my hair drop and turn my face to the sun, forcing my shoulders to relax even though I’m almost melting. I can practically feel my freckles multiplying as I squint through the sunshine at the country’s most prestigious sixth form college, Morton Academy, looming in front of me.

No, looming is the wrong word. It’s too ominous sounding for the place that has felt like home since the moment I arrived. The sheer scale of the building is overwhelming, though, especially at first glance. There are four floors of honey-­colored stone supported by ranks of Greek-­inspired columns, and the facade is dotted with what seems to be a million windows. It always amazes me that this place was a family home once, back in the early nineteenth century. According to the keystone above the main doors, the house was built in 1838 for the incredibly rich Morton family, who owned the majority of the land in the area. That was until confirmed bachelor Patrick Morton inherited it at the turn of the century and decided that instead of letting a distant relative get their hands on it when he died, he’d do something for the community. Morton Academy was founded in 1906 to educate boys and girls who showed academic promise but didn’t have the funds for fancy establishments like Eton College or Harrow School, and it’s been thriving ever since.