Chapter 4

The next morning, I went to see my guidance counselor, Mr. Harrison. His office was cluttered with college pennants and stacks of papers.

"Crestwood?" he said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when I told him my decision. "Finley Brooks, that' s an incredible achievement. But it' s... remote. And the program is notoriously intense. Are you sure?"

"I' m sure," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "The research opportunities are unparalleled." It was a lie, or at least a partial one. The real reason was escape.

"Well, you should discuss this with your family," he advised gently. "It' s a big move."

"No," I said, a little too quickly. "This is my decision. It has to be."

I looked at him, my desperation hopefully masked by determination. "Please, Mr. Harrison. Can you just process the paperwork? And... can you keep this confidential for now? I don' t want anyone to know until it' s final."

He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright, Finley Brooks. I' ll help you. Let' s get this done."

He told me the final confirmation would arrive in a few days. After that, I would leave for the campus almost immediately for a preparatory program.

"Thank you," I said, a wave of genuine gratitude washing over me. He was the first adult who seemed to be on my side.

As I left his office, I almost ran straight into Demian. He wasn' t alone. Finley was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

"There you are," he said, his eyes scanning me up and down. "Where did you run off to last night?" His tone was light, but his grip on Finley' s arm tightened. He was possessive, even when he didn' t want me.

"I was just talking to Mr. Harrison about my university plans," I replied vaguely.

"Oh?" He tried to step closer, to create a sense of intimacy that wasn' t there. "Need help with your applications? You know I can get you into a good school."

I sidestepped him. "I' m fine on my own."

I tried to walk away, but he blocked my path. "Finley Brooks, don' t be like this. Do you really love me?"

The question was so absurd, so completely disconnected from reality, that I almost laughed.

Before I could answer, Finley tugged on his arm. "Demian, come on. We' re going to be late for lunch."

He immediately turned his attention to her, his face softening. "Sorry, babe. Be right there." He looked back at me. "We' ll talk later."

He walked away with my sister, their shoulders brushing. I watched them go, another painful confirmation of the truth.

As I walked down the hall, I heard two girls whispering behind me.

"Did you hear? Demian and Finley were making out in his car after the party."

"I thought he was with her sister. The quiet one."

"Please. She was just a placeholder. Everyone knows he' s always wanted Finley."

The words were like salt in an open wound. I felt like a fool, a joke that the entire school was in on.

My choice was the right one. Crestwood was my only path forward.

I went back to my dorm room to pack a few things to take home. The room was small and sterile, a temporary space I' d never felt attached to. I opened a drawer and found an old, worn notebook. It was a diary I' d kept, filled with my silly, secret thoughts about Demian.

Tucked inside was a photo of him, a candid shot I' d taken one afternoon in the library. He was smiling.

I stared at it for a long moment, then ripped it in half. Then in half again. I tore the picture into tiny pieces, the act a small, violent release of my pain.

A roommate I barely knew, Jessica, walked in. She saw the pieces of the photo in my hand.

"Is that Demian Oliver?" she asked, picking up a stray piece from the floor. "What are you doing with his picture? Are you another one of his obsessed fans?"

Her words were laced with contempt. "You should know your place. He' s with your sister now. Don' t be pathetic."

I snatched the piece of the photo from her hand. "It' s none of your business."

Then, in a fit of anger, I walked to the open window and threw the handful of torn paper out into the wind.

The tiny white squares fluttered down, scattering like bitter confetti. And then, my heart stopped.

Demian was standing right below my window. A few of the pieces landed on his dark hair and shoulders. He looked up, his eyes locking with mine.