"I think Oxford's a little out of my reach," I said, putting down the coffee and dusting some stray sand from my hands. "I'm kind of starting to stress about college. Everyone I know has to get into an Ivy League school, like it's going to make or break the rest of our lives. I never even thought about the Ivies until I got to Easton, and now it's,
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like, 'Omigod! What if I don't get in?'" I said, raising my shoulders and spreading my fingers wide.
Upton laughed and took another bite of croissant. "You don't have to go to an Ivy to have a life."
I rolled my eyes. "Said the guy who goes to Oxford."
"I'm serious," he told me. 'You can get a proper education almost anywhere. It's just up to you how much work you want to put into it. The important thing is to go somewhere that you feel comfortable. Otherwise you'll spend all your time trying to fit in instead of trying to learn."
I stared out at the ocean. The waves were larger now, starting to splash their way up the beach toward our picnic spot. "Huh. No one's ever put it that way before."
"Not only am I not an ass, I'm also quite wise," Upton joked, spearing a piece of melon with his fork.
I sighed and pulled my knees up under my chin, hugging my shins as I looked out at the choppy water. This was an interesting concept--figure out where I'd feel comfortable. After the insane experiences I'd had at Easton, maybe I should look for a big school. Big and southern and warm. With lots and lots of sunshine, modern buildings, and no tradition at all. I laughed to myself and tightened my sweatshirt around my torso. University of Miami, here I come.
"Is it just me, or is it getting cold out here?" I asked.
My words were still hanging in the air when I felt the first raindrop.
"That's our cue," Upton said. He sat up straight and opened the picnic basket. Already a steady drizzle was starting to fall. "Leave the trays. Save as much of the food as you can."
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"Just leave the silver trays?" I asked. Did his family sweat money or something?
"There's no time. These things come on fast," he said.
He was right. The rain was starting to fall harder, soaking through my skirt and sweatshirt. "We dumped the bread, cheese, and croissants into the basket, grabbed the thermoses, and left the rest on the blanket. Upton grabbed my hand and squinted up the beach.
"We can duck under the roof at Shutters," he said, pointing at a covered deck that was mostly obscured by dozens of blossoming bushes.
Upton jogged up the beach, no easy feat in the downy sand when toting a few pounds of food in one hand and clinging to me with the other. Before I knew it, we were climbing a set of stone steps and ducking under the wooden overhang that covered an outdoor restaurant. Several of the tables were occupied, and the diners were visibly startled at our sudden arrival. The maitre d' stepped forward and greeted us. He was a handsome, dark-skinned man with a huge smile and four hoop earrings in his left ear.
"Good morning, Mr. Giles," he said, placing his hands together. "Caught in the storm?"
It seemed as if everyone relaxed when they realized one of the vagabonds off the street was actually Upton Giles. I was reminded that this was a small island and that Upton's circle was even smaller.
"Afraid so, Marquis," Upton said, running his hand over his hair a few times to shed some of the rain. "Mind if we wait it out here for a bit?"
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Marquis gestured with an open hand toward the front of the restaurant. "Feel free to sit in the lounge until it passes."
Upton tugged on my hand, leading me toward the lounge. But two steps later, we nearly bumped into the Ryan family, who were walking out to the patio. Paige, dressed in a white fleece warm-up suit, took one look at my hand in Upton's and glanced away, irritated. Man, this girl took the Upton Game seriously. Too bad I was winning.
"Upton! Reed!" Daniel greeted us with a warm smile. "What did you do, go for a walk in the rain?"
"We attempted a picnic," Upton said, glancing past Daniel at his parents. "But the weather didn't cooperate."
He dropped my
hand to adjust the basket, and then left my fingers hanging there. Paige noticed this and smirked. I tucked both hands under my arms to feel less conspicuous.
"Why don't you join us, then?" Mr. Ryan suggested. His salt-and-pepper hair looked as hard as a helmet, and his teeth glowed white. In tan khakis, with his aviator sunglasses hanging out of the collar of his blue polo, he looked like a poster boy for the Republican convention.
"I doubt they want to horn in on a family breakfast," Mrs. Ryan said, slipping between her two progeny to step past us. "They have better manners than that. At least Upton does," she said with a sniff, eyeing my soggy hoodie with disgust. "Come, Paige, Daniel. Marquis has our usual table ready."