Just Because of You

Welcome to the Edith Wharton Academy for Young Adults   HILARIE TOOK ONE, THEN two deep breaths as she looked up at the tall iron gate. She gritted her teeth at the ivy covering the iron rods when the breaths did nothing to slow down her racing pulse. Chill out. You’re just going to school, she thought. But she looked longingly behind her at the church and McDonald’s across the street, tempted to run into one of the buildings. She wasn’t a religious person by any means, but confessing her sins to a judgmental priest sounded more appealing than being among her peers. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Daily, I fantasize about killing my worthless ex. Usually with a machete, always in excessively painful detail. And she could always go for a Big Mac. After letting out a third breath, she forced herself to walk through the gate. She stiffened, bracing herself for condoms to hit her back. Fortunately, no objects were thrown at her as she walked between the ridiculously large and well-groomed lawns—seriously, not one blade of brown grass lay in the acres of green—but she did hear a redhead not-so-quietly whisper, “There goes the s**t,” to her friend. Before June, Hilarie might have said something to her, but after how much the summer had sucked out of her, she was too tired to do anything except walk past her. In the center of all the lawns lay a huge, extravagant fountain; the Nine Muses stood in a circle, all of them holding jugs that spouted streams of crystal-clear water. Hilarie glanced at her watch; she had 20 minutes till she had to get to class. Hoping the sound of the water would drown out later whispers of catty girls (and there were bound to be later ones), she sat down on the edge of the fountain and checked her flip-phone for messages. Will b there soon, Hil baby! Jessica had texted. You better, Hilarie thought. Jessica had been the one to suggest meeting up before school started. Otherwise, Hilarie would’ve still been in bed, wrapped in her comforter and dread of the s**t-shaming she would have to endure. If Jessica was late, Hilarie was so going to kill her. “Hey.” She ignored the male voice, playing Tetris on her phone, till she felt someone tug at the straps of her backpack. “Jesus!” she exclaimed, her phone flying out of her hand. Luckily, she caught it before it could go into the water. She turned, ready to drop a lecture about respecting girls’ boundaries on the guy, but had her breath taken away. The boy was beautiful: sleek, dark brown hair fashioned in an obviously expensive haircut; skin that seemed to have never known a zit or blemish; dazzling green eyes with flecks of gold; and full, pillow-like lips. He had to be a new student because she definitely would’ve recognized that face. He smirked. “Like what you see?” Pink filled her cheeks. Was he that cocky and/or was it that obvious she was drooling inside? “Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.” “You weren’t paying attention.” “How was I supposed to know you were saying ‘hey’ to me?” She narrowed her eyes at him. He wore a tieless white button-down shirt and vintage pair of Levi’s jeans—so not the school uniform, which for guys was a blue blazer, a black tie, a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. “Was I supposed to say, ‘Hey, girl with the ratty Jansport backpack’?” She asked through clenched teeth, “What do you want?” “I just wanted to talk to you.” She c****d her head. Hardly any guy ever “just wanted to talk” to her. “Are you trying to flirt with me? Word to the wise: don’t insult a girl’s backpack if you want to get under her skirt.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “I often find people are quick to forgive insults that come from a face like this.” “God,” she scoffed. “My name is Eric Lawington.” “Great,” she said, getting up and walking toward the academy itself, a building that looked like the epitome of Greek architecture with its smooth white marble walls and tall, elaborate Corinthian-style columns. Sadly, he managed to catch up with her. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” “Yoko Lennon.” “Oh, come on.” “You didn’t tell me to give you my real name.” 20 feet away from her, a girl with a diamond bracelet shot her a dirty look and said to her friend, evidently proud owner of a Louis Vuitton handbag, “What is she doing here? I thought she wouldn’t dare come here again after what happened last year.” Beside the girls were two boys typing things on their iPhones. Hilarie heard one of them say, “My friend told me she had three abortions this summer. Once a w***e, always a w***e, right?” Hilarie clenched her fists, tempted to smash them into the assholes’ faces. After taking yet another deep breath, she decided to content herself with muttering, “I’m here because I couldn’t stand the terrible thought of spending senior year without you lovely people.” “What was that?” Eric asked. You’re still here? Maybe he would leave her alone if he thought she was crazy. “I’m talking to the voices in my head,” she said. He gave her an infuriating smile. “You’re cute.” “Why aren’t you wearing the school uniform?” She resisted the urge to scowl at her uniform, which consisted of a blue blazer, a white blouse, a black skirt, knee-high white socks, and black shoes. If she, the scholarship student, disregarded the dress code, she wouldn’t be able to flaunt it without any consequences. “I don’t believe in dress codes.” “Oh, we have a wannabe rebel here.” She glared at his messenger bag—Armani, of course. Literally everyone else’s bags came with pricey designer names at Edith Wharton. She checked her phone and saw that there were no new messages. Where the hell is Jessica? “Can you give me directions to my first class?” he asked as they went inside. Though she didn’t feel inclined to help him, she sighed, then said, “Sure.” Perhaps she would be able to send him off in the opposite direction. “I’m supposed to go to room 107.” Her fingers went still. “AP English Literature and Composition?” “Yeah, how did you know?” “We’re in the same class.” s**t, she thought. Well, at least he wasn’t flinging misogynistic slurs at her (yet) like the rest of the school. With his good looks, he was bound to join the in-crowd, though. And the in-crowd would tell him all the reasons why he had to stay away from a s**t like her. “What a coincidence. We’re going to have so much fun analyzing Great Expectations together.” When they stepped inside room 107, Hilarie threw her backpack onto a desk in the front row. Of course Eric set his messenger bag on the desk next to hers. Hilarie texted Jessica, Seriously, WHERE ARE YOU? Jessica: Sorry, running late! I might miss AP English Are you saying I got up early for NOTHING? Sorry, sorry! I’ll make it up 2 u! chipotle 4 lunch? On me ofc OK. Steak burrito bowl. WITH GUAC. You’ve got it, Hil baby Exhaling, Hilarie leaned back against her chair. She loved Jessica, but God, could she be unreliable. “How do you like the school?” Eric asked. It’s hell. “It’s got its ups and downs.” “That sounds like a diplomatic answer.” She stared at his face, the smile on that oh-so kissable mouth. “You really shouldn’t be talking to me.” “Why?” he asked, sounding amused. She mock-whispered, “I’m the school slut.” He laughed. “What? If I touch you, will I get syphilis?” “Maybe.” “Oh my God, my sister’s sweet eighteen was amazing,” a girl with pink streaks in her black hair said to her companions as she walked into the room. “She arrived in the most fabulous carriage, had fire-eaters from Morocco do tricks for her, and had Lady Gaga and Britney Spears sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to her.” “Did you go to Jason’s brother’s twenty-first b-day bash?” a boy with a basketball in his hands said to a group of boys who were hanging on to his every word. “Man, if you didn’t, you missed something sick! He had Miss January and Miss May wrestle each other – in the mud! Dude, it was so hot – especially since they were tearing off each other’s lingerie.” “The summer internship at Italian Vogue was the best experience of my life,” a girl with perfectly straight auburn hair said to the circle of classmates surrounding her. “I learned so much about working for a fashion magazine. Plus –” She winked. “–I got to meet some sexy Italian boys.” Wow, sounds like they had amazing summers. Hilarie thought about her own summer: attending a funeral and working as a waitress at a coffee shop. Fun. “I went to Paris,” Eric said. “Bought the finest clothes and ate the best food.” Hilarie couldn’t tell if he was serious or making fun of their classmates. “Oh,” she said. “What did you do over the summer?” “Nothing.” “So what—?” The bell rang before Eric could finish his question.  Ten seconds later, Mr. Gallagher walked into the classroom. “Good morning, class,” he said. “Sorry for being late or for most of you, sorry for showing up at all.” A few students laughed politely. “There was a little accident in the parking lot. Don’t worry, no one got hurt, but someone’s helicopter did suffer a bit of damage, so I had to help the principal persuade the helicopter-owner to not sue the school. Anyway, let’s start –” He was interrupted by the entrance of a tardy student. “Sorry, Mr. Gallagher, but my limo driver got stuck in traffic.” A chill went up Hilarie’s spine. She knew the owner of the deep drawl all too well. Even without turning around, she could see every detail on his face: the lonely freckle on his nose, the twinkle in his dark blue eyes, the tiny scar next to his thin lips, and the soft blond hair that always smelled like papaya. Timothy Buck, her ex-boyfriend and the reason why her reputation possessed a big slutty stain, had arrived. ***