“What?” She looks over to me, her eyes wide. “Going where?”
Leaning against the door, I ready myself for a conversation I’ve been dreading. “France. Prep school. I told you I applied.”
“You’re leaving in a week and just now telling me?” I brace myself, knowing I’m in for it. I knew better than to secure a girlfriend over the summer.
“I thought France was a long shot.” It most definitely was, but my French roots aided greatly in my acceptance, the irony not lost on me that my French roots are precisely why I set my sights on it in the first place.
But that’s not why she was betting I had no chance.
“Yeah, I guess it was, for a guy like me, living like this,” my tone bitter.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I let the anger roll off me, knowing that dig was meant to sting because she feels stung herself. “I didn’t set out to hurt you.”
“No good guy ever does.”
“Don’t accuse me of that.”
“I won’t now. I was warned.”
“Let me go handle them.” I pull some sweats from my half-collapsed chest of drawers. “I’ll be back.”
“It’s fine,” she pulls her sundress on. “I have to be home early since I broke curfew with you last night.” The shake in her voice doesn’t sit well.
“Victoria.” She looks up at me as the first of her tears fall. “I told you this couldn’t get deep when we got together because there was a chance I was leaving.”
“I know.” Her disappointment stems from hopes that she would be some sort of exception. But our relationship was superficial because I couldn’t share anything with her. She was the perfect girl to pass a summer with. Though highly privileged and a little demanding at times, she has a good heart. She harrumphs, fastening her sandals. “I considered myself lucky to be with you. Now I wish I didn’t know what it was like.”
“I’ll call you later.”
She doesn’t respond.
“I will call you.”
“And say what? I don’t see the point.” She shakes her head. “Good luck in France.”
She lifts up on her toes to kiss me, and I kiss her back, releasing her as she steps away, hesitating before opening my door. “I love the fact that you’re getting out of here. You’re so much better than this place.”
I watch her retreat down the hall. Shortly after, I hear the front door close. Guilt gnaws at me and I bat it down as I dress. From this point on, anything resembling a relationship will only hinder my progress—another thing I have to give up if I intend to see my plans through. I indulged in Victoria because she was my last for the foreseeable future. After dressing, I take angry strides across the hall and slap open Dom’s bedroom door with my palm. Sean sits on his twin bed, pouring some of Delphine’s vodka into a flask before replacing the booze with his water bottle. Caught red-handed, he gives me a mischievous grin and lifts a shoulder. “What? I’ve been doing this for months. It keeps her less drunk and more hydrated.”
“I told you to stay out of my room when she’s over.”
“She’s always over,” Dom says, tapping on his remote control from where he sits on a beanbag he’s outgrown, engrossed in the game. “But I can see the appeal, nice tits.”
I slap the remote out of his hand, and he lifts his chin, ready for my wrath.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You know better,” I growl.