“Well, it is a very expensive school, and you were very fortunate to be accepted. You should appreciate it more,” Elena reminds me. My chest sinks with guilt.

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I am very grateful…for everything.” I force myself to swallow some pride and look my benefactor in the eyes. Her expression softens from scorn to satisfaction and she nods with a righteous smile in return.

  “Good. You deserve it. You’re quite gifted with the piano, you know. I think you may be better than me by now.” I roll my shoulders and sit taller, surprised to be honored by her compliment.

  “Maybe you can play for us.”

  I’d forgotten briefly that Ava was here. I shrink a few inches back into my seat and glance to my left.

  “Yeah, sure. I’d be honored.” Lies—I cannot think of anything I’d rather do less, other than to watch Ava and Henry reenact the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.

  Elena’s purse buzzes with a call and she holds up a finger in apology for taking a business call. It’s a wonderful excuse for the three of us to remain silent and look our separate ways. Henry has pulled his phone from his pocket and has started to type, and Ava is straining her neck trying to read what he’s writing. I bounce my focus between them both for a few seconds then lose interest, letting my forehead fall against the window so I can count the mile markers until we change freeways. When my back pocket buzzes, I reach into jeans and pull my phone into my lap. I’m expecting an update from Alice, or something from Collin since I texted him that I was giving in and heading to Elena’s for the holiday. It takes me a second or two to make sense of Henry’s name, and when I do, I slide my phone to the side of my hip out of Ava’s view.

  Henry: I was going to break up with Ava today. Elena did not ask me about inviting her. Help.

  I have to read through the message twice to believe it, and I let myself enjoy the humor for a few more seconds before I pretend it has nothing to do with Henry and slide my phone away from Ava and into my other pocket. I go back to counting signs along the highway until Elena finishes her call, and I only half listen to her share the marketing fiasco that threatens to unravel their agreement with a Canadian papermill.

  I drift back into my blissful numb place that will get me through the next four days, and I start to appreciate the fact that I’ll have endless access to the piano and all of Elena’s books for my final English paper when Henry ruins everything for every single one of us.

  “Ava, I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

  My palm slips from my chin to cover my mouth and I expose my teeth to feel them along my hand. Why would he do this now? I’m embarrassed for her…for me…all of us.

  “I’m sorry, but…what?” My eyes close because that’s probably how I would react, and hearing it from the outside is cringeworthy.

  “Henry, you’re being rude.” Elena chides him, and I push my palm against my lips with more force to hold in the laugh that wants to slip out because of the absurdity playing out in this tiny space.

  “Rude is pretending you’re into someone when you’re not,” Henry says, and the irony makes holding in my laugh unbearable. Everyone looks at me when I practically snort, and I hold up my palm to apologize, patting my chest as if I’ve just coughed or swallowed a fly.

  “Henry, I’m packed and I’m staying with you for the weekend…I don’t understand…” Ava argues, talking with her hands so violently that glitter flies from her arms and spreads around the floor of the car. She’s like a holiday explosion.

  “You live in the city. You can take a car, or your parents will come.” Henry’s head falls to the side as he feigns empathy. What’s stunning is how he doesn’t even seem remorseful. Everything about him screams relieved, as if he’s handed in a test and just been told that the grade on it is meaningless.

  I push my back into the corner of the seat and door, creating more distance and expanding my view. Ava’s lips are parted and her words are stalled; Henry’s head remains tilted in fake apology. Elena’s eyes, however, are on me, along with a hint of a smile, and I can’t tell if it’s assuming I’m to blame or if she’s taking credit for this youthful angst and chaos happening in front of us.

  “Ava, maybe it’s best that I have Phillip take you home.”

  Ava doesn’t flinch at Elena’s suggestion, but now that it’s been said, it’s what will be. Eventually, my glittered classmate sinks back into her seat and folds her arms, staring out her own window now, stewing and jilted.

  There are no work calls to Elena to rescue us all from the next fifteen minutes of stifling quiet, so we ride with grinding teeth and flexed jaws. I tuck my hands under my legs and keep my eyes low. Henry, however, relaxes and stretches out his long legs until the toe of his right shoe taps into mine. I assume it’s an accident at first, so I shift my legs and cross my ankles. His foot slides forward a few more inches, though, tapping me again, and lifting up and down in a signal. I smirk at our feet, his size eleven canvas slip-ons against my worn, vinyl clogs. Two feet that do not belong in the same car. I twist my foot sideways a few times, tapping back in response, and when I lift my chin, I see Ava’s eyes in my periphery.

  I should apologize, or look her in the eyes directly at the very least. But I don’t move. I connect with Henry and leave my foot right where it is. Damn them all. I woke up a little different today.

  CHAPTER 7

  Wednesday, Henry was nowhere to be found. Neither was Alice.

  The Alderman home sat dark, cold, and quiet—minus a single fire burning in the sitting room where Elena keeps her desk. She sat on that uncomfortable-looking green velvet sofa for most of the day reading the same book over and over again.

  Brontë. Emily. An afternoon of Wuthering Heights seemed fitting for her.

  I spent the hours at the piano, rehearsing for my winter test. I’m not sure if I believe in the class—technical piano. I need to earn high marks, though, because I do believe in every course that follows. I want to write my own music, and to ace all of those things that Ms. Manning put in my academic plan.

  By the time Elena decided to be done reading, my fingers were sore, the joints feeling bruised and swollen. I didn’t want to stop, but I knew I had to. I expected Elena to visit the music room one last time before heading up, but she didn’t. I left my things as they were and went to bed so I could return to the keys in the morning.

  It isn’t the smell of oven-baked turkey or sweet potatoes that wakes me now. It’s the banging of off-key chords. In my twisted half-awake state, I imagine the sound coming from my own hands, and I sit up quickly and ball my fists in my lap to make it stop.

  It doesn’t. It continues, along with a whaling type of cry and lyrics that make zero sense. Lights in the hallway just outside my guest room flip on, so I move to my door just as Elena rushes by, wrapping herself in a thick robe.

  “That’s quite enough,” she growls, cascading down the stairs as if she’s sliding on ice. For a moment, I worry she’ll fall. When she disappears around the corner, I leave my room and move to the railing to see if I can hear anything below.

  “I hate you so much.” It’s Henry’s voice, only it isn’t. It’s garbled—sloppy.

  He’s drunk.

  “Yes, and that’s fine. But there are still rules. You need to be presentable in a few hours.” The piano echoes again, keys pressing haphazardly to form a terrible, flat chorus. “I said that’s enough.”

  A small squeak pings down the hallway, followed by the heavy thump of the piano lid falling to a close. The lights below click off, so I rush back into my room and crack my door enough to hear them as they pass. After a few stumbles and protests by Henry up the stairs, they finally seem to be moving smoothly back toward Henry’s room. He was gone all day, and hearing this version of him, I’m curious how he made it home.

  Fifteen and drunk.

  “Why do I have to be presentable? It’s not like anyone will be here. It’s just going to be me and you…and her.”

  My shoulders sag and my palm slides along the wall as I let my ear fall flat against the plaster. My door is cracked too thin to see anything, but I’m the only her left. Ava was sent home as soon as we arrived.

  “Alice will be eating with us. It’s the polite thing to do, don’t you think? Her husband will be working. And they are our friends.”

  “You don’t have any friends,” Henry shoots back, belching through a laugh.

  “Friends are enemies in disguise,” Elena says. I pause at her jaded response.

  Henry coughs out an angry laugh, but he doesn’t argue with her beyond that. A breath later, they stumble into his room—two doors down and across the hall. I wait, breath held and feet still, until I hear his door close, and I cover my mouth to keep myself silent until I hear Elena’s door shut at the end of the hallway.

  I move to my phone, plugged in and resting atop my still half-packed suitcase. If I get sent away like Ava was, I want to be ready to go. I check the time, and yawn seeing it read a few minutes after four in the morning. There’s no sense returning to the bed. I’m too wired right now, too…curious. Nosey, really.

  I walk back to the door and crouch down, resting my back against the wall as I sit and push my fingertips through the crack to open it just a little wider. I wait for something to see, anticipating a shout or the sound of something being thrown. There’s nothing but the distant tick of a clock and the normal pops and creaks that come with old brownstones settling in the winter.

  My phone buzzes in my palm, startling me, and I swipe to read.

  Henry: Did you hear that?

  I’m not sure which part he means, so I simply respond yes.

  Henry: I’m sorry I woke you.

  I try to decipher his apology for a few minutes before writing back that it’s fine. I delete the part where I apologize for him having to spend his Thanksgiving with me, instead forgiving him for being drunk and saying things he doesn’t mean. Only, I think he very much meant it when he told Elena he hated her.

  I wait for more questions or him to need me—need someone—but after ten minutes of nothing, I give up and slide down into a more comfortable position to read on my phone for a while. My eyes are surprisingly heavy after a chapter or two; I give in and close them while I rest on the floor, figuring I’ll make it back to the bed eventually.

  The warm sun on my chest wakes me the second time. The open drapes let in the light from the morning sunrise, and my room glows. Windows are rarely open in this place. It’s like a tomb, as if sun rays might spoil the secrets inside these walls.

  My cheek feels flat on the left side, and my elbow and shoulder are sore to the touch. Wooden floors do not make for great rest. I suppose drunk teenaged boys don’t either.

  “You look like I feel.” I rub my face and lift my body to twist toward my now-open door.

  “You look like you sounded last night,” I bite back.

  “Touché,” Henry says.

  He peers down the hallway then slips inside my door, closing it behind him and kneeling down next to me with a steaming cup of coffee. I take it, then hesitate, arching a brow at him.

  “Where’s yours?”

  “Drank two of them already,” he says, his mouth frowning with a sour tinge. He can’t feel good.

  I blow across the top and stretch out my legs while I sit, the clanking sounds of a turkey dinner being prepared echoing up the stairs. I take a sip, which burns the tip of my tongue, then wince as I set the cup on the floor.

  “How many people are cooking down there?” I bring my legs up to hug them, also to hide the childish teddy-bear shirt I’m sleeping in. I should have worn Nicki’s clothes to bed.

  “Just two, but Alice is here. She asked if you were all right.”

  I grimace, cynical.

  “I think you mean she asked if I was all right as in acceptable.” I pick up my cup again and blow into the liquid, making tiny ripples along the top.

  “I think she really misses you.” Henry’s mouth pulls tight, his face struggling to find the right expression to sell the lie. I reach forward and let my fingers wrap along his forearm.

  “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me. The fact that I’m away at boarding school is a huge win for them. They get to keep the support money my parents set up through the state, and they don’t have to parent.”

  I don’t often dwell on the fact that my parents are gone. I never have, really. From the moment I was shuffled along through the system to cousins who are ill-equipped, I knew that crying and wishing wasn’t going to change the hard facts. My parents were dead; I had to be all right with my new normal. I do miss them, though. I miss them most on days like today.

  “Is it really just going to be the four of us?” I attempt another sip, happy to find it not quite so scalding this time.

  Henry’s brow draws in sharp, the confused wrinkle deep along the bridge of his nose.

  “Last night…during your episode.” His expression softens. “You said that it was just going to be the four of us—me, you, Elena, and Alice.”

  Henry’s eyes drift to the floor between us and his mouth twists before he gives me a nod.

  “It’s better than it usually is. Normally, it’s just Elena and me. One year, she made the caterer stay.” He breathes out a laugh that masks his sadness. His normal isn’t so great either.

  “Where were you yesterday?” I take a bigger sip this time, mostly to busy my lips while I ward off the nerves I feel from asking such a bold question.

  Henry’s mouth puckers, eventually giving way to a burst of a laugh that sends his body rocking backward.

  “The new neighbors,” he says, nodding his head toward the back of the house.

  My eyes flare.

  “You mean…the house?”

  I’m a little hurt that Henry didn’t offer to take me with him, but when he explains that he was there because Elena set him up to do some work for the man who owns the house, I ease up on feeling jilted.

  “He’s a woodworker, makes this really beautiful custom furniture, and Elena thought I might learn something.”

  “I didn’t realize you wanted to be a carpenter.” He’s actually never mentioned it to me, not once. I know that our talks haven’t always been deep, but he’s well aware of my musical ambitions. Career dreams aren’t something people our age keep secret.

  “Oh God, no. I don’t,” he says, clearing that up…sort of. “Elena just wants me to learn something. And they have a daughter, who I’m sure she wanted me to meet.”

  He rolls his eyes, and I draw in another long sip while envy boils in my gut.

  “That’s her thing, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s like arranged marriages, only it’s arranged winter formal dates, and proms, and photo ops. It’s like she wants me to be some society celebrity or something. She’s always been pushing me to be where the eyes are.”

  “And where are the eyes?” I ask, burying my other question about the daughter he was supposed to meet next door.

  “Why, darling,” he begins, standing up and offering me a hand. I take it and smirk as I do. He bends at the waist before lifting me to my feet, and finishes his answer. “Don’t you know that the eyes are everywhere? And those are the only ones that matter.”

  I scowl a little in thought as he brings me to my feet. The floor is warm where the sun has baked it, and it feels good on my bare feet. While Henry is dressed for a formal dinner in a pair of black slacks and a red sweater over a white shirt and tie, I’m still rocking the friendly bear smile on my chest and oversized sweatpants that have pushed their way up my calves.

  “Why do these eyes matter so much?” I ask, not letting go of his right hand but bending down to pick up my cup. He takes it from me when I stand, then places it on the top of a dresser so he can hold both of my hands with his. He pushes me back a little and turns me into his own made-up waltz.

  “Because they have to adore you if they see you everywhere.” His answers come out like scripture, and I wonder what formed his opinion. He’s clearly done explaining it to me, though, as he spins me out of his hold and drifts back through the door behind him.

  “Now get dressed and meet me downstairs before they put us to work.” He winks and closes my door gently.

  My phone buzzes against the wall where I left it propped up last night, so I take it in my hand and move to my suitcase to pick out my outfit of the day. I can’t wear the dress around the house for eight hours, so I’ll need something different for now. Most of my things are casual, but I do have a few of Nicki’s tops that maybe I could pair with my jeans or something. I check the message on my phone while I lay out my options, and smile when I see Nicki’s name.

  Nicki: It’s dress day. You better own this, bitch.

  I laugh quietly and write her back.

  Me: I will wear it, but not until later. I need to be comfortable for the next several hours.

  Nicki: Then go with Vixen.

  Me: What’s Vixen?

  She doesn’t respond, leaving me clueless for a few minutes until I unfold her long-sleeved black shirt with holes for my thumbs at the wrist. The word VIXEN is printed along the chest in black on black; it’s only there in the right light. I smile at the word, ready to be a little bit like Nicki for now. It’s actually just what I need.

  The shirt works well enough with my jeans, and my messy hair cooperates with a little finger combing and a knit cap. Henry is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the front door and his eyes trained down the hallway on lookout. He does a doubletake on me as I get close, which brings blood to my cheeks at first.

  “You look like you’re about to rob a GAP,” he jokes, sending what was excited tightness in my cheeks down to my toes like lead.

  Feeling a lot less sassy, I follow him out the door and down the front path to the street lined with cars and a faint covering of mist. He doesn’t seem in much of a hurry, and like every other adventure I’ve been on with him, the destination hasn’t been revealed.