Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(19)

I don’t speak. I can’t. For once, I honestly have no idea what to say.

“You think you can waltz into whatever you want and get whatever you want, just like you always do—”

There’s no way on earth she sees me like that. Not when I spend half my life memorizing textbooks just to scrape the grades she gets so effortlessly. Not when she has strangers on social media basically proposing marriage in her comments section. Not when a single, judgmental look from her makes me lose my composure.

There’s just no way.

And yet I study her face, the firm set of her mouth and the certainty in her eyes, and I know: it’s the only way she’ll ever see me, because it’s what she wants to see.

How else can she justify all the things she said to me four years ago?

How can you justify all the things you said to her?

Suddenly, I’m exhausted. But I’m also weirdly determined, the way I feel right before a match when I know the rival team is good but ours is better.

I’m doing this enrichment program. I’m running off into the woods, whether she wants me there or not.

“Cheer up, Celine,” I say, rising to my feet. “Maybe you won’t get in.”





THURSDAY, 4:48 P.M.


     FAMILY CHAT


Brad: i want to do the explorer thing





Mason: LOLOLOLOL





Dad: Okay. Want to talk more when you get home?





Brad: if Celine’s doing it, i def can





Mum: I thought you said it sounded like a disgusting nightmare trail of doom and darkness?





Brad: that doesn’t sound like me at all





Mason: yes it does you DRAMA KING





Brad: i changed my mind





Brad: there’s a scholarship





Dad: A scholarship for camping in the woods?





Brad: a full one





Mum: Well, as long as you WANT to do it.





Brad: yeahhhh, now you’re on my side





CHAPTER FOUR





CELINE


I get in.

Obviously.

My application is shit-hot. I adapt the personal statement I’ve been writing for Cambridge, make more of a fuss about my social media channels because I know Katharine values entrepreneurial spirit, and have Mum check everything for me.

I’m still not telling her Dad’s involved, though. It couldn’t be more irrelevant. I mean, yes, there will be that celebration ball at the end of the program for Explorers and sponsors to mingle, but I doubt he’ll be there and if he is, he’ll be too busy vomiting with shame and regret to hold a conversation.

Giselle thinks I’m bonkers, committing to some experimental enrichment program in the woods, but there’s a scholarship and career connections on offer, and only the best are chosen, so here I am: proving once again that I’m the best.

I bear that in mind as I sink—and sink, and sink—into the saggy bed I’ve just been assigned at Sherwood Forest’s Visitor Cabin. This place is basically an old and underfunded dorm with dingy shared bathrooms and decorative logs stuck to the exterior. Across the room, a girl whose name might be Laura, or Aura, or possibly Rory (to say she mumbles would be an understatement) flicks blue eyes at me from beneath her shaggy hair, then looks away.

“Be careful,” Mum is saying on the phone. “Behave yourself. And stick with Brad.”

Oh, yeah. Bradley got in too.

I don’t groan at the reminder because I am very mature, but I do wrinkle my nose down at the dingy brown carpet.

“I know what you’re thinking”—Mum laughs like she can see my expression—“but he’s a good boy, and he’s more cautious than you. Take care of each other. Especially while your wrist is still healing!”

Yeah…about that “wearing a cast for six to eight weeks” thing? Apparently, it’s eight weeks for me. I’ll be free next Monday, a week after this expedition.

Bradley’s fault. Obviously.

“I mean it, Celine,” Mum says, turning stern. “I guarantee Maria is telling him the same thing.”

Not bloody likely. When we stepped off the coach twenty minutes ago, Bradley was already surrounded by people as always, grinning and relaxed, because he managed to make friends during the coach ride while I sat on my own listening to Frank Ocean’s Blonde and texting Michaela. I bet he’s chatting away to his little ginger roommate right now.

My roommate is glued to her phone with an expression that suggests she’s either Googling How to kill your BEP roomie and get away with it or reading really great fanfic.

“I’ll be good, Mummy.” By which I mean: I’ll try my best not to get killed in the night. “I have to go now, okay?”

“Okay, baby. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Laura/Aura/Rory glances up as I put the phone down and mumbles, “Five minutes till we meet outside.”

I blink. “Are you watching the time for us?”