You Don't Know My Name (The Black Angel Chronicles #1)(13)

“How’s your NYU application going?” I ask. Harper wants to go to one school and one school only so she’s applying early decision.

“Almost done. God, I hope I get in. I’m so freaking excited to get out of this cow town,” Harper answers, coming to a stop to let a golf cart full of forty-something men cross in front of her to reach the next hole. The driver gives us a polite wave with his golf-gloved hand.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” I reply, suddenly defensive of New Albany. I must admit: I thought of Columbus as a cow town before I moved here, but it’s really grown on me. I’ve lived in so many different places. Big cities like Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Chicago and small border towns like Derby Line, Vermont, and Laredo, Texas. Columbus has been a perfect happy medium for me.

“There’s no culture here. No art, no diversity,” Harper says, sticking her left arm out her open window and letting her hand ride the wave of the wind.

“What about the Short North? You can’t walk down a block of High Street without running into three art galleries.”

“Well, there’s no outlet here for someone like me who’s interested in filmmaking. Maybe after I finish film school and make a few hit indie films, I’ll come back and shoot one here or something. Culture this place up a bit,” Harper replies. The song changes and Louis Armstrong serenades us.

Harper has her whole life figured out. NYU film school, then move to LA and become the next Sofia Coppola. She knows exactly what she wants to do and she’s so excited about it. She beams every time she talks about the future. Luke too. He’s wanted to follow in his dad’s military-boot-size footsteps and go to West Point since he was a kid. I think if they both had it their way, they’d fast-forward through senior year and get on with the next chapter of their lives. I envy that. Their hopefulness. The fact that their futures are theirs to create. I’m so jealous of it sometimes my body aches. My life has never felt like my own. And my future certainly doesn’t belong to me.

Harper pulls off the main artery of the country club community and onto Landon Lane. Enormous oak trees create a canopy of crisscrossed branches and bright red leaves. Each Georgian brick house is more stunning than the next. Everything in New Albany is brick. No exceptions. It’s very Pleasantville. All my friends complain about it but I secretly like the order and perfection—the manicured lawns, beautifully kept flower beds, and miles of white picket fences.

Our New Albany house is by far my favorite of all the homes I’ve ever lived in. The brick is a rustic red-and-white wash; it makes the house look like it’s been standing since the 1700s even though it’s less than a decade old. Two white columns hold up the roof over the small front porch and black shutters frame every window.

“Still on for eight at Luke’s to study AP bio?” Harper asks as she pulls into my driveway. I pop open the door handle.

“Yup. I’ve got to ace this one if I want to get an A in the class, so no fooling around this time, Harper,” I say, grabbing my messenger bag and waving my finger at her. If procrastination was an Olympic sport, Harper would win the gold medal. Last time we all studied together, we spent the first ninety minutes watching YouTube videos and flipping through Instagram.

“Oh, whatever,” Harper replies, rolling her eyes and fluttering her long lashes. “You’re, like, the smartest person I’ve ever met. You get an A on every test you take yet freak out constantly that you’re going to fail. It’s annoying to us B students.”

“I got a B on that calculus test,” I say, a smile inching up my face. Harper fake strangles me from across the front seat console and the smile sticks.

“Oh my God! Let’s call TMZ! Reagan MacMillan got a B once on a test,” Harper replies and gives me a wink. “And by the way, I know for a fact … it was a B plus.”

“Truth,” I say and hop out of the car.

“Later, smarty-pants.”

I close the door and walk up the brick path that leads to my porch, turning my head toward the sky. The days are getting shorter and the sun is starting its daily dip toward the horizon. The white puffy clouds are turning a caramel cream and the blue sky is streaked with orange and gold.

Harper gives the horn a quick honk before driving out of the cul-de-sac and down my street. Fallen red leaves blow backward and dance together as she speeds away. I watch her taillights blink red at the stop sign. She turns the corner and heads to her street on the other side of the country club.

I put my hand on the doorknob, but a noisy motor stops me cold. I turn back around in time to see an unmarked gray van pulling slowly down the main street. It pauses and someone in the driver’s seat looks down our cul-de-sac. I strain my eyes to try to make out the person behind the wheel but the trees are casting shadows and I cannot see their face. I feel an uneasy knot tighten in my stomach. I step back out onto the porch and bounce down my front steps but just as I reach the sidewalk, the tires squeal and the van speeds away.

I shake out my arms, hoping to quell the nerves pulsing between my muscles. I open the heavy wooden front door and walk into the two-story foyer, immediately locking the door behind me. I lean my back up against the smooth wood, suddenly out of breath, my mind racing. Do I tell Mom and Dad about the van? Do I tell them about the janitor? What will they think? What will they say? My paranoia has been so much better. Mom and Dad are finally letting me stay at home by myself without Aunt Sam when they go on missions. They finally trust me to control myself.