Across town, a girl with a ponytail gripped her steering wheel, her jaw tight with guilt. Rachael hadn't called Rowland since he'd left her house. And now, she was back in the city she'd once fled, still without closure.
Her phone lay untouched on the passenger seat. She considered picking it up, calling him, but shook her head. Better this way. Cleaner.
Her crimson car rolled to a stop in a sleek apartment complex. She found a space, parked, and stepped out into the breeze, grateful her hair was tightly tied. The wind was relentless today.
The security guard nodded a greeting as she entered the building. The receptionist, a kind woman with deep skin and soft eyes, handed over her keys. Rachael signed the documents and took the elevator to the top floor.
The hallway was still and carpeted. The suitcase wheels echoed faintly behind her.
Her phone rang just as she reached her apartment door.
"Hi, Mommy," she answered softly. "I just got in."
The door opened into a warm, minimalist space. Cream-toned furniture. A low white table. A vase of fresh flowers. The large windows let in the golden afternoon light.
"I'm here to stay. Don't worry about me."
Her mother was offering to visit, to keep her company, but Rachael declined. She rolled her suitcase into the bedroom. Thick green sheets. Five pillows. More space than she needed.
"I love you too," she said, ending the call and setting her phone on the table.
Unpacking could wait. She stood by the window, gazing down at the street. A pair of women walked by, laughing. Somewhere in the distance, Nickel Boron's mansion was visible. She could almost see it, his window.
Her chest tightened. She could still feel his touch. Still remember the way he smiled, the way his kisses landed softly and confidently.
She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. Could she really move on?
The city outside glittered beneath the sun, but in her heart, it was still raining.
********
The weariness on her face was obvious to anyone who looked. Tasha had woken up late, too late, and was now dressing quickly after soaking in a too-hot bath and brushing her hair smooth so it flowed neatly over her shoulders.
Mrs. Rita was already in the kitchen by the time Tasha stumbled in, nearly nine.
"I thought you'd left already," she said, watching as Tasha shoved bread into her mouth. "Clinton left almost an hour ago." She glanced at her bare wrist, as if imagining a watch there. "The driver could've given you a lift. You're going the same way."
Tasha gulped down the cold yogurt. It wouldn't have been so bad, riding to school with him.
Since the night of the kiss, the one in the kitchen, heated and almost dangerous, she hadn't spoken to Clinton. Their eyes met often, in passing, at the table, in the hall when he breezed by with styled hair and sleek, expensive clothes. But she avoided conversation. Someone might overhear.
Now she sprinted to catch the bus, breath fogging in the morning air, thinking maybe today she'd say hello if they crossed paths at school. The memory of their lips meeting, melting into each other with a kind of clumsy zeal, made her blush. She hid her smile with her hand. She'd done that so many times this week it was almost becoming a reflex.
At the gates of the building, she paused to dig through her bag. She wished she wore a watch. Her fingers fumbled past textbooks and pens before finding her phone.
10:45.
She groaned. The class was nearly over, three minutes left. It was better not to walk in now, not with forty pairs of eyes turning her way. She feared embarrassment more than most other miseries in life.
Tucking the phone back into her bag, lightweight, always, she reminded herself that she'd packed only what the day required. She hated carrying too much. Her schedule was pinned to the wall above her bed, and she followed it like scripture.
She hovered near the classroom, waiting for the lecture to end, hoping someone kind would help her catch up. She didn't need much, just a little explanation. She was quick to understand, even with a missed lesson.
Then she heard someone call her name.
Tasha turned. A girl approached, grey flannel trousers, yellow canvas shoes, her shirt untucked, hair tied in a scarf. No heavy makeup. Natural face. Comfortable in a way that made Tasha feel oddly seen.
It was Danielle.
She greeted Tasha with a smile and a double cheek-peck, her lip gloss glinting softly.
"I looked for you since that day," Danielle said, blinking slowly. She wore a touch of mascara, subtle, visible only up close. "I thought you'd dropped out. That you quit school or something."
Tasha laughed gently. "I don't think I ever would."
Danielle shrugged. "Me neither. My parents want me to graduate, become the best literary writer the family's ever seen. I can't disappoint them."
"I get it," Tasha said with a sigh. "I have to make my dad proud too. And the family that's sponsoring me. But... I feel like I'm starting to slip."
Danielle's expression shifted.
"I missed a class today," Tasha added, embarrassed.
Danielle grinned. "Girl, I've skipped like a million times. It's not the end of the world. As long as you're reading and passing your tests, you're good."
She flipped her head with a carefree confidence.
"We've got a combined class in ten minutes," she added, not bothering to check the time. "I'll grab my books from my locker and meet you in the hall."
"Sure," Tasha said, and opened her arms when Danielle leaned in for a hug.
"Hey, can I get your number? We might get lost in the crowd. There'll probably be loads of people."
Danielle stopped walking, then nodded.
"Of course."
Tasha handed her the phone. Danielle typed in her number swiftly, and smiled.
——
Samuel laughed softly, his gaze fixed on the boy standing across the room. Harrison's comment had surprised him, and clearly, the others felt the same. Without a word, the remaining three boys exchanged glances, the silence in the spotless hall stretching.
Daniel was perched at a desk on the west side, the only one writing in a notebook. He paused, distracted by what he'd just heard.
Harrison, with his dark-orange hair tousled to perfection, shrugged at their continued stares. He combed a hand through his glossy strands before adding with a smirk, "It's the only way I can skip school for a full week. We just need dates for the party. Nice girls, just for the night. Then it's over."
But their silence lingered. Harrison had saved this topic for when they were together, choosing not to mention it over the phone. Seeing their lukewarm reactions, he was starting to regret it.
"I'm surprised," Clinton muttered, eyes shifting away.