But she’s not done. “You weren’t even interested before I took you here—”
“Er, technically, I took you here.”
“But now you think you can waltz into whatever you want and get whatever you want, just like you always do—”
That is so outrageously wrong that I laugh out loud. It’s like a single, off-kilter yelp, halfway between amusement and astonishment. “Are you serious?” I always get what I want? Is she high? If that were true, I’d be doing literally anything other than arguing with Celine Bangura right now.
“Of course I’m serious,” she snaps, but when I don’t reply—when I don’t bite back—a little furrow pops up between her eyebrows. “What?” she demands.
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?”
She shrinks into her gray hoodie. “Um…”
So she’s not a murderer; she’s just shy. Now I feel bad. “That’s…nice,” I clarify awkwardly.
Her smile has a lot in common with a wince.
The BEP has been a whirlwind so far. We hopped on a coach this morning, it took us basically up the road to Sherwood Forest, we were introduced to our supervisors （Zion is an Energizer Bunny with locs, and Holly is basically Kourtney Kardashian）， and then we were told to pair off and given fifteen minutes to stow our stuff in our bedrooms and report for duty. I’m not sure how I ended up with Laura/Aura/Rory, but it probably has something to do with her being shy and me being…mutinously silent. In a very confident way. Obviously.
I try to make more conversation and, annoyingly, I find myself thinking of what Bradley would say.
Something obnoxious, probably.
But what comes out of my mouth is, “Cute nails.”
She examines the chipped purple polish, and her razor-sharp nose flushes pink. “Oh. I can never make it stay…”
“Well, who can?” I allow. “But it’s a nice color.”
Her nose blushes pinker. She smiles with a bit more warmth and a bit less terror. Success! I am practically a social butterfly.
“My name’s Celine, by the way,” I say, even though I already told her. I’m hoping she’ll reintroduce herself, and—
Yep. She sits up straighter on her own rickety bed, despite the heavy-looking purple duffel bag planted in her lap, and says, “I’m…Rora.”
Pretty sure I still did not hear that right. “Laura?”
There’s more nose blushing. “Aurora? Like in, er, Sleeping Beauty?”