Right Where We Belong, page 15
“I need you to know there’s a high statistical likelihood that we don’t figure this out.” His voice is low, but gentle. “But I’ll try.”
I swallow. “Thank you.”
Sumner averts his gaze to the back of the room. His mouth twists in contemplation. It’s an expression I know well.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Sumner rubs his eyes underneath his glasses. “I think I’m tired.”
We’re silent as we leave the classroom and step into the hallway. Lionel laughs at something William says up ahead, and we’re slow to follow them outside.
“We can keep meeting on Fridays.” He uses his back to push open the door. “Or weekends when I’m not with crew.”
Clouds overtake the sky. There’s a balmy scent like gathering moisture lingering in the air.
“I still can’t believe you joined.”
In the moonlight, his eyes are a shade of dark, muted blue. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s unlike you, I guess.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “My three best friends graduated last year and now? They barely respond to the group chat,” he blurts. “My mom won’t talk to me unless it’s through my brother, and my dad hasn’t bothered since I was fourteen. So, yeah, maybe I decided to change it up this year, so I didn’t have to live like a lonely shut-in for the next nine months.”
Guilt streams through my chest. The weight of transition falls on Sumner too. Anytime I was upset over a test score or felt the teeniest bit homesick, I’d go find Jared. No one knows you better than family, at least in my experience. Jared never expelled me from his presence or made me feel insignificant. Even when he was hanging out with his friends, he’d pause to hear me out. It’d hurt if my core group of friends stopped responding to my messages, let alone my family.
Except.
I can relate on some level. Mads barely volunteers anything at all, and the distance pulls and stretches between us each day.
Change is a loneliness Sumner’s also experiencing. Maybe his loss isn’t the same as losing a parent, and neither can be compared as larger or more severe than the other, but I’d imagine it dredges up similar feelings. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Innate sadness.
“And that’s why you’re playing Capture too,” I guess.
“Right.” He adjusts his frames. “I figure I could either keep feeling bad for myself or try to find my place.”
We follow the curved path that leads toward the houses. There’s no one else hanging around the courtyard this late.
“You never talked about your dad,” I say, but I know we both hear the unspoken last summer.
“Not much to say.” I think that’s all he’s going to offer until he continues. “And you were going through it—and Jared and Madelene—and it didn’t feel right to bring up. Because even though he’s made a ton of poor decisions, he’s still around.”
“But not really,” I argue. “If he’s not in your life. Or, you know, refuses to be.”
Sumner doesn’t contend this point.
“It’s a different type of grief,” I offer, “knowing he could have been a more stable presence and chose not to. Mourning another life you could have had but didn’t. It leaves you to take on too much, which isn’t fair.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not.”
“Yes, it does.” I stop. Look at him. “I’ve never had to worry if Mads could eat. Or if my mom was making enough to afford the mortgage. It is too much, whether you feel that stress or not.”
Sumner bows his head. “Yeah,” he says, the word distant and thoughtful. “I didn’t mean to discredit theorizing. Or your dad. That’s not what I believe. It’s just—when I was younger? My mom put me in this after school math program because my teacher was stunned by how quickly I could calculate. And when I was solving simple multiplication tables, it was like all my anxiety went away because I could lose myself in it. I didn’t realize it was a skill. I was just—focused. Absorbed.
“Then flash forward to middle school, where I was taking home math trophies—I know you’re dying to make fun of me, it’s okay.” He casts a glance my way, the corners of his mouth upturned. “I ended up winning a state competiton and a local paper featured me. My mom sends it to my dad, who’s a hedge fund manager in New York City at this point, and it gets his attention. That’s when he starts looking into advanced schools and decides, by the time I enter high school, I’ll attend Ivernia.
“But before, that whole time, he acted like we didn’t exist. New Jersey isn’t far from the city, and he still couldn’t be bothered to make an effort. But as soon as I do something worthy, it’s like I’m suddenly important enough.” He takes a breath. “I never want Preston to feel that way. Not if I can help it.”
I’ve never had to earn my family’s love. It was given. Unconditional. Not measured in accolades and honors. Sometimes I don’t feel as talented as Mads or Jared, but I never doubted how much my parents cared.
This is the most vulnerable Sumner’s ever been with me. It feels fragile, like he’s offered me something delicate in hopes I won’t shatter it. We may have our own unresolved issues, but I know what it looks like when someone puts an inkling of trust in you.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Because it makes sense, him holding on to logic and rationality in order to quiet the internal apprehension causing discourse inside his brain. Almost like when I reread the Sherlock Holmes series. I understand what’s going to happen and can get lost in the story, even if only for an hour. We cling to these comforts to quell our internal fears.
“I know you hate making promises you can’t keep, but here’s one I’m certain of,” I begin. “Preston? Will never question how much you love him. That’s not nothing, Sumner. I promise.”
His Adam’s apple moves through a swallow. “Thank you,” he says faintly.
The glow from the lamppost pools over him in a warm golden ray. I adjust my headband to give my hands something to do when the thought occurs to me. I may not know what’s going on with Madelene since she won’t tell me outright, but I won’t allow the physical distance between us to create an emotional distance. I’ll keep trying.
A comfortable silence falls between us. We peel off the path and pause outside Hyde House, where a few students filter out and head toward Segner for the evening. My mouth bends into a half smile. Maybe this won’t be so bad. We have a shared goal. Tonight sort of proved we can work together without bickering to death.
As I start to veer toward Hyde House, his voice stops me. “Carmichael?”
I turn.
“You sure you want him to go back?”
A confused crease forms between my brows. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I’m not sure why he’s asking me this, considering the implications of having him stay. The longer he’s here, the riskier it becomes to hide who he is not. And what about home? He’d never see Caroline again. Never see his mother and father. What would that mean for his future? If he doesn’t go back, would Ivernia still exist under a different founder? My parents met here. I grew up here. What would it mean for us? Would we be in the same predicament we’re in now—but in some kind of alternate universe?
We can’t risk that. There’s no way of knowing for certain, which means it’s in our best interest to correct the paradox. If an unordinary occurrence can happen once, then there must be a chance of its reversal.
Amusement relaxes across his face. “You need a brief overview of the Victorian era? Arsenic, for one thing. Like, so much arsenic for no reason.” He begins ticking these on his fingers. “Then, you know, cholera. Street sewage. Tuberculosis.”
“Well, when you put it that way—”
Our phones simultaneously bleep with the same melodic email chime. I reach into my cardigan and tap over to my inbox, where I discover a message directed to the entire student body. In the subject line, Headmistress Ellerby has written: A NOTICE ABOUT IVERNIA SCHOOL.
I hold my breath. When I click into the email, I see it. A detailed memo about the school’s impending closure.
21
The email is all anyone can talk about over the weekend. While Ellerby noted they’re seeking alternative options, she expressed there’s little the board can do to legally ensure Ivernia can stay on our current land. Negotiations are ongoing, she wrote, but it wasn’t anything Sumner and I didn’t already know—it just didn’t feel as final as it does now. Our grades and classes will continue to count toward our overall educational curriculum, and we’re told to proceed as usual.
This, of course, is all Analiese wants to talk about. Her stressed reaction is what I’d expected. She spirals. Asks me questions no one can answer. Tries to get a meeting with Ellerby, but can’t, so she resorts to passing her anxiety on to me. By Sunday I need a break, so I intentionally avoid her by going on a long hike with Lionel and William.
To make matters worse, Ellerby hasn’t replied to my fundraising email. So when I drag myself to the Ladies of Polite Society welcome tea in Langley Center on Monday, I am not the least bit joyous or hopeful. On the upside, at least I don’t have another terrible one-on-one with Mrs. Vidar-Tett, especially since I haven’t bothered to redo the assignment.
Langley is Ivernia’s only non-traditional auditorium large enough to transform into whatever space you might need. It’s where our assemblies and other events are hosted. Wood flooring takes up the surface area, scuffed and dinged from folding chairs dragged across it over the years. Thick oak beams run across the ceiling and large sash windows welcome the natural light. Today, four circular plastic tables are positioned near the stage, which holds a podium and a mic.
The tables are set with porcelain teacups, tiny bowls of sugar cubes, and trays of dainty finger sandwiches. A teapot sits in the center atop a laced doily. I find an empty seat with Sabine and Inessa, who both look as bummed as I feel.
Inessa kicks out a chair for me. “Welcome to the funeral.”
“Don’t even joke,” Sabine chides. “I’m still hopeful.”
“I’m not,” Inessa declares.
Sabine gives me a sympathetic smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You doing okay?”
“Not really,” I admit.
I talked to my mom and Jared on Friday. She was adamant about trusting the process and hoping they’d find a solution. If not, I could come home and finish the school year with Madelene. It wasn’t ideal, but it was my only option. What I couldn’t quite articulate was that this was my home too.
Jared didn’t tell me everything would be fine or lie and say they’d figure it out. He just told me he wished there was more he could do. It wasn’t fair, but like Sumner had said, it doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not. It’s reality.
Three solid claps gather everyone’s attention to the front of the stage. Headmistress Ellerby clacks over to the microphone and adjusts it before speaking.
“I know all of you are feeling unsettled about the email I sent on Friday,” she begins. “But I do hope you can give your full attention to the welcome program our mentors have planned for you.” Scattered, unenthusiastic claps echo around us. I join in half-heartedly. “I’ve known our school to rally fiercely in the face of adversity. And while things may look bleak, we won’t give up. Which is why we’d like to do the presentation ball a bit differently this year.”
She looks right at me as she says it.
“Mrs. Vidar-Tett.” Ellerby steps aside, gesturing for her to come up.
Mrs. Vidar-Tett takes her place. “Thank you, headmistress.” Her gaze sweeps around the room. “I’ve spoken with the other mentors, as well as some of my mentees, who are in agreement that Ladies of Polite Society would benefit from a rebrand. Starting with the name.”
On the projection screen behind her, a logo ignites with bold text underneath: Student Leaders of Tomorrow.
“This organization welcomes seniors to participate in activities geared toward servicing community, your school, and yourselves,” she continues. “Our program is designed to impart values, confidence, and skills you may require in your future endeavors. And while this does still include a presentation ball to reward your hard work, we’d like to extend our thanks to Delaney Carmichael for the idea of having this event act as a fundraiser for the school.”
Multiple heads rotate in my direction. It takes me a moment to process what I’ve just heard. They thought my idea was worth exploring. Well, William’s idea, really.
“The presentation ball will also act as an alumni gala,” she continues through the murmurs. “You will be the ones reaching out and inviting our former graduates, letting them know their contributions will directly benefit the future of Ivernia on this campus. The gala will take place on December sixth. We hope the proceeds will be enough to secure the deed to this land, though we can’t guarantee it will.”
Sabine’s hand flies up. Mrs. Vidar-Tett points to her.
“We can ask the community to sponsor the event.” She sits up straighter. “We can list them on the program—or on a banner depending on the size of the donation.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Vidar-Tett says warmly. “Community outreach is a wonderful way to expand this initiative. I’m going to have our mentors pass out our new itinerary.”
I accept an agenda from Ellerby as she comes by. She clasps me on the shoulder. “Well done,” she says before quickly moving along.
Overlapping voices rise in volume as excitement builds. This could actually be a viable solution to saving Ivernia.
“Delaney, this is brilliant,” Inessa says, then promptly stuffs an entire cucumber sandwich into her mouth.
My smile drops when I reach the bottom of the page. Under the details of the presentation ball it states, Escorts required. I understand keeping some tradition, but this one seems pointless. They’ve also kept etiquette and dance lessons on the agenda, but they’ve tweaked the dress code. White formal wear and gloves are no longer mandatory.
“Seriously.” Sabine reaches for the tea. Everyone’s mood seems to have improved, like it was the morale booster we needed. “I know my dad will donate—and he can probably talk his colleagues into giving.”
“Delaney?”
I whirl in my seat and find Mrs. Vidar-Tett motioning for me. “I’ll be right back,” I tell them.
I follow her toward the back of the room, away from the chatter and instrumental music humming through the speakers.
“I wanted to apologize for our last meeting,” she explains. “I can’t understand what you’re going through, and I won’t pretend to, but I do want to support whatever you want for your future.”
This takes me by surprise. I don’t quite know how to react, so I say, “Oh—thank you.”
“I just hope that, if you do need someone to talk to, you find that. It doesn’t have to be me, though you know my offers stands.” She smiles. “One of the great things about this place is that it’s full of people who care about you.” She nods toward my table, then begins to walk away.
A hollow emptiness expands inside me. I don’t understand why. She’s supporting what I want for my future, but maybe that’s the terrifying part. Pinpointing what I want.
Inessa calls me back over, so I push the thought from my mind and try to enjoy this tiny slice of success.
Later, when the welcome tea is over, I’m making my way toward the dining hall when a figure barrels toward me. It takes me a moment to realize it’s William.
“I’ve been searching for you,” he says once he’s closer. “I must speak with you. Urgently.”
My eyes widen. “Was there a breakthrough with the equations?”
He shakes his head as he pulls a library book from his shoulder bag, turns a few pages, then positions it toward me. There’s an image I don’t recognize, mostly because it’s a clearing made of grass and dirt and not much else. The text underneath reads, Formerly Dunbry Park, the residence of the Right Hon. Lord and Lady Cromwell.
He’s found his family’s estate.
The text offers nothing else, nothing of William or his ancestry, which leads me to believe he hasn’t accidentally stumbled upon his future.
“It’s gone,” he says, voice empty. “It was demolished. The expense of maintaining it became a burden and so they…destroyed it.”
I lift my gaze. His round eyes hold oceans of concern, his expression completely crushed. We learned about this in world history, if only briefly. Country manors and estates in the United Kingdom were seen as unnecessary financial burdens to those who’d inherited them because they didn’t have the means to pay taxes and staff, which resulted in abandonment or demolition.
The heat of my hand sinks onto his sweatshirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry.”
There’s nothing I can say to rectify his misery. It’s a helpless feeling.
He blinks rapidly at the page, as though it’s an illusion that might fix itself. “I had hoped to return,” he says quietly. “If we were unsuccessful in our attempts at manipulating time, I hoped I could at least return home. Even if my family—” He doesn’t finish that thought. “I thought home would remain.”
A lump rises in my throat. The devastation of this revelation makes lead of my bones, heavy and fraught. It’s what I’d felt back at wish night, hadn’t I? That reassurance you could return to a place that would always exist. Because if a place filled with memories could be forever taken away, destroyed with the passage of time, then what’s left?
Nothing.
No one will remember it.
And everything that once mattered no longer will.
William’s eyes dip to my hand. I’m still touching his arm. Reddening, I hastily remove it.
“I heard about Ivernia,” he says, moving an inch closer. “And I do not wish to lose this home, too.”
His eyes are ablaze, lips slightly parted, revealing imperfect teeth and tender volition. When I’m around him, my nerve endings sparkle like the last dregs of fireworks popping and shimmering across the night sky. I know pieces of him, but there’s an urge to learn more. This otherworldly mystery with impeccable manners and a desire to save this place even though it hasn’t been home for very long.
