They Wish They Were Us(51)

“You kids have to deal with a lot,” he says slowly. “More than I did when I was your age. I know how much pressure can be placed on you here. And after everything with Shaila . . .” He trails off and I can’t tell if his words are coded, if he’s trying to tell me something. “I know how close you two were. I miss her, too.”

Beaumont leans forward, causing the front legs of his chair to knock against the floor. I can smell his breath. Mint trying to mask tobacco. Menthol maybe. He places his hand on top of mine and his skin burns. I can feel the calluses on his fingertips. It’s too close. I want to run.

But instead, I wait a beat for him to finish, for him to say what I need him to say. That I was right to walk away. That things will be better after I’m out of here. But he doesn’t. That’s it.

“I’m okay,” I say, wriggling my hand out from under his. “Just forgot to study. That’s all.”

“Okay, then,” he says, bringing his hands to rest on his knees. “Why don’t you retake the test on Monday? I know you’re better than this.” He stabs the blood-red 65 in front of me with a thick finger.

“Thank you.”

Beaumont smiles wide, pleased with how all of this has gone, that he’s played the helpful, supportive teacher so well. “You’re so welcome.”



* * *



—

I force myself to make it through my after-school Science Bowl and Math Olympiad meetings, and when I finally arrive home, it’s a sweet relief. I shut the front door behind me and lean my head against the wood, never more grateful to be away from everything. Safe. Finally. But not for long.

“Jill. Get in here right now.” Mom is sitting at the dining room table with a glass of red wine. Dad stands behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. The rumpled sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to his elbows and his tie is loose, hanging limp around his neck. “Something you want to tell us?” Mom says before turning her mouth into a straight line.

“Just tell me what you want to hear. I can’t do this today.” I drop my bag and slump into a seat next to her.

She sighs and pats my head. “I knew this school would be a lot for you.” Mom takes a long sip and sets the glass back down. Dad wipes his face with his hands and I can tell he’s exhausted—that he didn’t need this tonight. A wave of shame passes through me. “I know how hard you’ve worked, how you’ve thrived and excelled beyond our wildest dreams.”

My heart sinks with the fraud of it all, the cheating, the grades. I’m exhausted by all the effort to pretend.

“But failing? Jill, this isn’t like you.”

“Mr. Beaumont called?” I ask.

She shakes her head, her dark bob swinging from side to side. “Headmaster Weingarten.”

He only calls when shit gets real. This can’t be good.

“He’s overreacting, Mom. Everything is fine. It was just one bad test. Mr. Beaumont is letting me retake it on Monday.”

“Is there something going on, honey?” Dad asks. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes are pleading. He wants me to know I can tell him anything, but . . . I can’t. I don’t think that’s what they really want, anyway. No parent really means that. They just want me to be perfect. A little trophy they can celebrate and fawn over when things go right. They don’t want a cheater, someone who inflicted pain on others without a second thought. They don’t want to know how I’ve corrupted Jared beyond repair, or how I’m terrorized at night wondering who really killed Shaila—and if everything we know is a lie. They can’t know the dozens of ways I let them down.

“Everything is fine,” I say again.

“Okay, then,” Dad relents.

Mom’s shoulders tense and she takes another sip, smacking her lips together. “Look,” she says. “I don’t have to tell you how hard we’ve worked to keep you and your brother at Gold Coast, how much we’ve sacrificed. You’ve done so well under all this pressure and you’ve already gotten into Brown. You’re so close. You’ve made us so proud. Let’s just keep it up, you know?”

She tries to relax, offering a sad half smile, but her eyes betray her. Worry. Doubt. I know they’re both thinking about the Women in Science and Engineering scholarship and how I desperately need to earn it in order to actually go to Providence. It’s not over yet and we all know it.

The lines around Mom’s mouth are deeper than they’ve ever been and I try to think of all the things they didn’t have because they decided to send us to Gold Coast. To find the money for uniforms and field trips and fancy meal plans and Science Bowl dues. To make us feel like we belong. To give us the world.

I used to think that by getting tapped to be a Player, I had earned a golden ticket, been given entry into the upper echelons of society. I did what my parents wanted. I became the trophy. I became worthy.

But I didn’t. It was all a lie. Fake grades. Fake friends. Dead friend.

I have to make this okay.

“I know,” I say softly.

“Good.” Mom picks up the wineglass and brings it millimeters from her mouth. She inhales deeply then drains the whole thing.