“I didn’t mean to,” I lie.
Mr. Remington sees right through me. “You want to go to Yale. My other son goes to Yale. A… safe choice.”
“Your son did say that Harvard was the better one of the two. I could be convinced by a well-structured argument,” I say with a lipless smile.
“Could you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He puffs out his chest, as if he means to do just that, when a striking figure of fire and gold catches all of our eyes. “Penthesilea!”
“Third!” Penthesilea sways between us, her dress spiraling around her. “Third” or Mr. Remington or whoever the fuck takes Penthesilea’s hand and spins her under his arm. Penthesilea laughs, so pretty and delicate. “It’s been ages.”
“I was just telling your father that I haven’t seen you in months. Pierce doesn’t bring around his best influence much anymore,” Mr. Remington says.
Penthesilea giggles. “He wanted there to be an even playing field. That’s all.”
“Is it? Even?”
Mr. Remington’s smile flakes away, revealing a far grimmer expression as Graham swaggers up. His eyes aren’t bloodshot, but he and his father have matching glasses, full of shimmering brown liquor, and it’s clear he’s been keeping pace.
“Yes. It is. We make the Finish as fair as possible. The girls are all presented with the same accommodations, the same goals,” Mr. Remington says stiffly. “Graham, we’ve gone over this.”
“Hello, Graham,” Penthesilea greets him, but she isn’t smiling anymore.
“Hey, Penny. Four’s over there if you’re looking for him,” Graham says, barely sparing her a look. Instead, he inspects me. “Adina Walker,” he declares, his voice just a little too loud, garnering attention from some of the others. “The good girl. That’s… that’s disappointing.”
“Looks like I did have what it takes,” I say pointedly.
Graham nods. “Maybe. But you still don’t belong here.”
It’s the way he says it that sparks anger in me, that same anger that I felt in the woods.
“I don’t need to be reminded,” I say. He doesn’t know me, but I know what I’m capable of, what I could be with the same opportunity as these girls.
“You are making our guests uncomfortable. Graham, if you would please remove yourself,” Mr. Remington says through clenched teeth. Graham ignores his father with the practiced ease of someone who’s been doing it for years.
“It’s not an insult,” Graham says. “It just means you have a soul.”
Of course, he’s one of those. A sad, disillusioned rich boy who thinks that money is dirty. He’s only able to think that because he’s had it all his life.
He leans in close, close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. It’s sweet and strong and hot against my cheek. “I hope you and that soul survive this,” he confesses.
Then Mr. Remington wrenches him away from me. “Do you have any goddamn sense, Graham?” he demands, dragging him off.
They make it only a few steps before Graham shakes off his father’s hand. Mr. Remington is taller and broader, but there’s something in Graham’s stance that makes him hesitate for a moment. It’s just enough time for Graham to storm across the ballroom and open the balcony doors. Mr. Remington stares after him before stalking off toward his other son, jerking him away from the gaggle of girls, pointing violently after Graham.
“I’m so sorry for Graham,” Penthesilea says in earnest.
“Why are you apologizing for him? He’s not your brother,” I retort, sharper than I intend.
Penthesilea seems surprised by the barbs in my words. I down the champagne and pass the empty glass off to the nearest server with a murmured thank you. I pinch the bridge of my nose as my stomach roils. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have gotten so aggressive so suddenly. That’s my problem. I have so very little patience left to give. I need to find some.
“I think I need… a moment,” I murmur. “Excuse me.”
“Adina, careful—” Saint begins, reaching for my wrist.
“Saint, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just need to… breathe.” I’m kinder as I finish, shedding my annoyance with my only ally in this before I ruin that, too. I slip away from her, and dart back through the ballroom doors.
Outside the ballroom, away from the crackling croon of the phonograph, my lungs still tighten with anxiety.
I look down at my black circle skirt and laugh breathlessly. Every time I close my eyes, I can picture the silk and velvet and taffeta cocktail dresses and gowns, each costing at least a grand. And here I stand in a borrowed black dress thinking I can win.
I still feel too exposed. My feet are moving before I can think of a plan or direction. Creeping down the hallway, I stick close to the wall then slip into the next room, pausing when I register it as an empty music room. It’s eerie looking, with only the moon streaming through the long windows and a single glass door that leads out to a balcony. I plink out a high note on the baby grand as I scoot around a stray music stand, then I push the door open, letting the warm summer air wrap around me and hopefully start to loosen my lungs.
I shut the door behind me, flinching at the click that booms like thunder in the silence, before I settle and finally let out a heavy sigh. My chest does start to feel far more open, and I can register the ends of my limbs more now.
“Can’t breathe in there, can you?”
“Fuck!” I yelp, looking for the source of the voice.
I realize my mistake. The balcony isn’t a singular one but instead wraps around the entire back of the second floor, and there, just a few doors down, is Graham, sitting on the ground with his back to the brick wall, glass balanced on his knee.
“It’s… it’s…”—he hiccups—“so much in there. Loud as shit.”
“You’re pretty loud,” I accuse.
“With the truth? I’m the only one who’s going to tell it to you in this shithole,” Graham says back.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I say dryly, moving closer so he’ll stop yelling. “You made a scene. Penthesilea apologized for you.”
Graham rolls his eyes. “Penny knows better than to apologize for my poor behavior.”
“Yeah, well, she’s… dating Pierce. I think she feels responsible for some reason,” I say stiltedly, feeling bad still for snapping at her for that. “Then your dad said something to your brother.”
Graham lets out another sharp laugh, which he drowns in his glass. “Yeah, of course he told Four. ‘Call your brother, Four. Watch out for your brother, Four. Teach your brother right from wrong, Four.’ As if I’m not the older one. As if I didn’t practically raise that kid on my own.”
I scoff. “You mean like the nannies didn’t raise you both?”
“The nannies aren’t the godsend they’re meant to be, especially when your dad’s fucking them,” Graham says. He shakes his head. “I inherited all my bad traits, as you can see. Can’t seem to shake them. Blood is thick and all that shit.”