Higher Ground (19 page)

He never learns.

We get a lecture about the flu over seafood noodles, and during the meal, Wren takes Germ-X from her purse three times to clean her hands. I miss our late-night girl talks and ice-cream-and-movie marathons, not the sanitizer.

“Did y’all get a lot done today?” Wade asks.

“I’m done with my shopping now,” Wren says.

“She killed it this year. Look at this,” I tell him, pulling the planner from my bag.

He takes the black faux leather between his fingers and opens the book. “Nice.” He inspects a few of the pages, nodding his approval.

When he’s done, I tuck it away safely between my wallet and makeup bag.

“Sorry we’re crashing your New Orleans visit,” Wren says to Wade.

“Maybe you’ll remember some of this trip.” He reaches for the ticket when the server brings it to the table. “It’s on me,” he says.

Wren leaves the tip, and we walk out into the cool night air together. “What now?” she asks.

“We could catch a movie,” Wade says. “Unless you need to go home and pack?” He looks at me.

“It won’t take long, but your interview’s tomorrow. You sure you want to stay out?”

“I’m going to be up and freaking out, anyway. I’d rather do something fun with you.”

“Aaaaand I’m out,” Wren says. “Y’all go be cute alone somewhere. Leave me out of that nonsense. I have to work tomorrow, and I need my bed.” She steps up to hug me. “Thank you for the socks. I love them.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for the planner.”

“Have a safe flight. Text me when you get to New Orleans, okay?”

“Okay.”

Wade flags a cab for her and opens the door. She pauses right before she gets in, turns, and holds my stare. “Call her.”

I wave. “See you next week.”

She rolls her eyes and disappears inside the cab. Wade closes the door after her and then turns to face me when she’s gone.

“Call who?”

“She thinks I should talk to Troya before the reception.”

“Do you think she’ll cause trouble or something?” he asks with a frown.

“No. She wouldn’t do that. She loves Van. She’d never do anything to hurt him.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Oliver and Troya were friends and cousins, but they had little in common. Don’t let your opinion of him cloud your judgment of her.”

I made that mistake, and it cost me dearly.

“Did she take his side when you were arrested?”

“No.” I laugh and feel light for a moment. “She gave him a black eye. Don’t look so surprised,” I say when he raises his brows. “I think she punched him to keep Van from doing it. He was angrier than Dad.”

“Did Miss Verity know you were going to get in trouble that night?”

“Think of a gut feeling you’ve had in the past.” I pause to give him time to consider what I’ve said. “Now amplify it times a hundred.”

He stares at me as he picks apart something in his head. “Is that how it feels for you?”

“Sometimes.”

Then

Van snuck into my room as soon as he heard Dad close the door of my parents’ bedroom.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. “Dad was shouting. Mom was crying. Miss Verity made coffee after midnight…”

I didn’t want to tell him, but once I started, I couldn’t stop. He sat next to me on my bed and put his arm around me when I started sobbing quietly. Exhaustion, shame, anger, and hurt swirled in my thoughts and gut. With my face and my fist buried in my little brother’s t-shirt, I cried until there weren’t any tears left and sleep took over.

The next morning, Van was still in my bed when I opened my eyes. If I thought I’d felt bad the night before, it was nothing compared to how small I felt under my brother’s stare.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know what kills me?” he asked. “You’ll break up with a guy for treating me like shit, but you’ll stay with someone who does it to you.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” I made it to the bathroom in time to dry-heave in front of the toilet, a false alarm. My hands shook, and the tell-tale taste of salt and snot coated the back of my throat. “I need a shower!” I called over my shoulder.

Instead of waiting for an answer, I slammed the door, turned the faucet to scalding hot, and stripped down. I spent at least ten minutes brushing my teeth and disinfecting my mouth with stout mouthwash. My hair was knotted and dirty from the tryst in the cemetery, and after cleaning it, I scrubbed every inch of my body under the water, trying to wash away the guilt, disappointment, and traces of Oliver.

My brother was right. Miss Verity was right. Hell, Penn was right. Oliver was sucking me dry. Letting my father end it seemed like the easiest way out. Not seeing him would be a good thing.

My mother was waiting on my bed when I got back to my room. I walked past her to the closet and stepped inside to dress in privacy.

“I’m taking your laptop,” she said. “If you need the internet for schoolwork, you can use the computer in our office under our supervision.” I walked out into the room, and she stood and held out a large envelope. “Here. This came a few minutes ago.”

It was from Auburn, and it was fat.

I got in.

I took it from her and hugged it against my chest. As promised, she went to my desk, unhooked my laptop from the charger, and tucked it under her arm.

“Your father and I would like to speak to you.”

They were waiting in their office, and I took the seat between their desks. My wet hair and bare feet seemed inadequate with my mother’s pearls on one side of me and my father’s Polo sweater vest on the other. I’d accused him of selling out the night before. That’s what they wanted from me, and I knew it.

“Your phone and laptop are off limits until we decide otherwise,” my father started. “If we catch you using Van’s, he’ll lose his, too.”

“Okay.”

“If you try to see Oliver against our wishes, we’ll file a restraining order against him,” my mother said. “I don’t care what you told your father. I know the marijuana was his.” I stayed quiet, which was a mistake because it ignited her temper. “You’re still going to take up for him?” She stood and walked around her desk to stand directly in front of me. “He let you go to jail for him, Violet!”

I shook my head and chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from talking.

“Miss Verity will take you to school and pick you up every day,” Dad said. “I’ll have to talk to Doctor Winston on Monday morning to explain what happened. Hopefully, this won’t be a repeat of last year.”

“Yes,” I said. “How embarrassing.”

“You’re not even sorry,” Mom said. “What’s it going to take?”

“Sorry doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then neither do those papers upstairs from Auburn!” my father yelled. “You want to go? You want to be a grownup? Start acting like one!”

“Oh,
now
you want me to go?!” I yelled back.

“Yeah.” He nodded and rested his hands on his hips. “I do.”

Words failed me. I should’ve been careful about what I’d wished for. I’d wanted them to let me go because they believed in me. Instead, they were sending me away because they didn’t. One thing was clear: they didn’t want me around.

“I’ll call Auburn and make the necessary arrangements for a visit,” Mom said. “Spend the rest of the day in your room. Clean it. Study. Read. I don’t care. But don’t leave your room.”

“Fine.” I was more than happy to stay in my room, so I spent the rest of the weekend in there alone except for meal times. Van brought up trays of food and ate with me on our porch.

Miss Verity drove us to school Monday morning. At the drop off, she stopped me before we could exit. “I’ll be here to pick you up this afternoon,” she said. “Don’t linger.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Van walked next to me in perfect synchronization. He was the pillar between me and Oliver, and when I turned my head to my right for a peek at the picnic table, my brother’s frame blocked my view. For the first time, we walked straight up the stairs to homeroom without stopping.

“Find me if you need me,” he said right before he left me at Mrs. Laurel’s door.

I went to my desk without looking directly at any of my classmates. Penn stopped next to me, touched my arm for few seconds, and leaned down. “Are you okay?”

It wasn’t what I’d expected, so I looked up. His concern made my cheeks burn, and I lowered my gaze to my backpack on the desk in front of me. “I’m grounded.”

“That sucks.” He slid into his seat across from me and shook his head. “Oliver told us what he did.”

“Told who?” I asked, glancing around the room to see if anyone was staring. No one was, though.

“Me and Troya. Don’t freak out.”

“He’s an asshole.” The bell rang, so I turned to face forward.

“Yeah, he is,” he agreed quietly.

Scared to see Oliver, I hesitated in the halls between homeroom and first period. Anger was easier with city blocks and silence between us. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of Oliver, his black eye, my father, and the principal, Doctor Winston, standing outside my first period classroom.

“Good morning, Violet,” Doctor Winston said. “I’ve already spoken to Miss Sanders, and you’re excused from class. We’re going to meet in my office.” She caught me glancing at Oliver in alarm. “Mr. Bergeron will be joining us at your father’s request.”

What followed was one of the most embarrassing hours of my life. In classes I shared with Oliver, my seat would be moved across the room. He was told, very clearly, to stay away from me and was then excused back to class. I wasn’t as lucky. There was still the matter of my legal troubles to discuss.

Doctor Winston was more than unhappy. She made it known, several times, that she could’ve expelled me for being arrested. At the beginning of the year, I’d signed a copy of the student handbook, and one of the things acknowledged by that signature was the expectation I would uphold the standards of the school by refraining from illegal activity.

I’d failed spectacularly by landing myself in jail over the weekend on multiple charges.

She was wrong, though, if she thought she could make me feel any worse than I already did. The guidance counselor, Mr. Stacy, was called in at the end of the meeting, and it was decided I would meet with him twice a week until graduation. It was to help me, not punish me. At least, that’s what they said.

For the first week, I would have In-School Suspension. During that time, all of my teachers would be instructed to keep me and Oliver separated when I returned to regular classes. I was placed on probation, so my enrollment status with the school would depend on my compliance and future good behavior.

“You’re three months away from graduation, Violet,” Doctor Winston said as I was walking to the door with Mr. Stacy. “Whether or not you cross that stage is up to you now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Dad shook her hand, ignored me completely, and went in the opposite direction toward the exit down the hall.

The next time he spoke to me was the morning of my hearing. Miss Verity told me to wear my school uniform to court. I was a nervous, shaking mess, so I took her advice and tried to look as nonthreatening as possible.

George’s dad met us downtown, and that was when I realized how serious the situation was. I held onto Dad’s forearm and followed them down a hall and up a flight of stairs to a courtroom. We took seats in the back of the room and waited for my name to be called.

The judge wore wire-rimmed glasses and had long brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She called my name, briefly glanced at me as we walked forward, and then turned her attention to the papers in her hand. She waited until I was sworn in to call out the charges. I’d expected two joints and a fake license bagged up and presented as evidence, but real life and TV are different. She dropped the papers, leaned back in her chair, and pushed her glasses against her face.

“How do you plead?” she asked.

“Guilty, Your Honor,” I said.

“Tell me what happened the night you were arrested, Miss Foster.”

I looked at my father, and the panic on his face made me switch to Mr. Murphy’s calm smile instead. “She doesn’t need details,” he said quietly. “Stick to the facts.”

“My… A friend and I went to the parade, and on the way home, we snuck into the cemetery. A couple of officers saw us when we were leaving.”

“Had you been drinking?” she asked.

I licked my dry lips and inhaled. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Did you smoke marijuana?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Dad took a small step backward, but I stayed glued to Mr. Murphy’s side.

“Where did you get the drugs found in your pocket?”

I’d lied to my father, but perjury was something else entirely. “The marijuana belonged to my friend. He must’ve put it in my pocket.”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “Was that your friend’s fake identification found with it?”

“No, Your Honor.”

She gave me a long look. “One hundred hours of community service is a good place to start,” she said. “Two weeks at a rehab center or six weeks in an outpatient program—your choice—and probation for the next six months, with random drug screenings until the time of completion.”

Mr. Murphy accepted on my behalf but requested a shorter probation, one that would end on my birthday in June instead of the date she’d specified in August. “Miss Foster has been offered a scholarship to Auburn, and she’ll need to set up residence there prior to the start of term.”

“All right,” she conceded with a nod. “If she meets the terms of her probation and completes the community service before her birthday, I’ll agree to those terms. New court date is June 23rd. When I see you again, Miss Foster, you’ll be a legal adult. It sounds like you have an amazing opportunity in your future. Don’t blow it.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

We walked out together, and Mr. Murphy shook my father’s hand. They discussed the next steps, and Mr. Murphy recommended an outpatient treatment center. By the end of the week, I was evaluated and talking out my issues in individual and group therapy sessions with other “at risk” teens. Mr. Murphy helped me get a job picking up trash at the zoo to work off my community service.

Every now and then, I lost my temper when Van was allowed to go out and I wasn’t. I asked for my phone and my laptop, but my parents kept both. There was some yelling and some boredom—lots and lots of boredom.

It took a couple of weeks to settle into the new routine, but I managed. Adjusting at school after my suspension ended was much harder. As promised, Oliver had been moved away from me in every class we shared. Sometimes he would look at me in the halls, smirk flirtatiously, and wrap his arm around whatever girl was closest at the time. It was a silent message, but it was loud and clear.

Our friends seemed to be bouncing between us. They were mine during school hours, but they were Oliver’s when I was trapped at home every afternoon. They still smoked and partied, but Van was the exception. His loyalty was to me, and he made it clear he was finished with Oliver.

It almost seemed like things would be okay… until the day my period was due came and went with no period. I checked and double-checked my empty pill packet, but it wasn’t a user error. After a few days, I panicked.

Of course, the one time I actually wanted to talk to Oliver, he didn’t show up for school. Miss Verity picked me and Van up and drove us home. When we got there, instead of following Van inside the house, I stood next to her car in the garage.

“I need to leave,” I said.

My grandmother stopped and turned to look at me. “Why?” she asked.

I didn’t bother with lies. There was no point with her. “I need to talk to Oliver.”

“Your parents—”

“Miss Verity, please,” I said. “I need one hour, maybe less.”

She thought for a moment, eyes squinted and lips pursed. “You have one hour.”

“Thank you.” I nodded and dropped my backpack on the trunk of the car. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

I caught the first trolley and rode it as far as possible to save time. Getting to Oliver’s house and back in less than an hour would’ve been tricky under normal circumstances, and those were anything but.

There was a crowd at his place when I arrived. Penn’s car was parked out front with several others, and Celeste met me on the porch.

“Hey, girl,” she said, hooking her arm through mine, trying to steer me down the steps I’d just climbed. “Finally ungrounded?”

“No. Probably never.” I stopped and held firm on the porch. “I need to talk to Oliver.”

She looked down at her feet and interlaced her fingers with mine. “Talk to him some other time,” she said.

“Why?” I asked, looking at the door. “Is he fucking someone in there?”

She shrugged and pulled her hand away.

I walked through the front door and saw a mixture of people I recognized from school and some from Mitchell’s place. Oliver was on the brown couch with his hand up the skirt of some girl who looked older than Ronnie. His lips were on her neck, and the people around them ignored her panting and the way her hand clawed at his forearm as he finger-fucked her.