What the hell is going on?
Nothing makes sense.
The rest of the day is awful, as my father looks at me in disappointment, and my mother glares at Dare.
“You’re going to be on the next flight to London,” she tells him. “It leaves in the morning.”
He nods and doesn’t argue. I do, but no one listens.
“Mom, we can’t be separated,” I tell her earnestly, as I watch Dare from the window. He disappears into the Carriage House without even turning around. I know he probably feels me watching, but he doesn’t check to see. He’s on his phone and I don’t know who he’s talking to, and everything scares me.
The idea of being separated makes my heart pound.
“He understands me,” I tell my mother.
“Calla Elizabeth,” she turns to me, her face stern. “You are sixteen-years old. I’m your mother. I understand you. Dare is going home to Sussex.”
Sixteen? I’m fourteen. Aren’t I?
I open my mouth.
“But…”
“This is for the best,” she interrupts firmly.
I don’t want this.
But no one cares, and I seem to have lost a large chunk of time.
After dinner, Finn approaches me. He’s dressed in a button-up shirt and his hair is freshly washed.
“What were you thinking?” he asks, and he honestly can’t tell. He knows me better than anyone and he believes this nonsense too.
“I didn’t sleep with Dare,” I tell him. “I wasn’t drunk. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not what it looks like.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t argue.
“I’m going to a concert,” he tells me. “I still have your ticket. You’re coming right?”
His words.
He says them tiredly, like he’s said them a hundred times before.
My memory is murkymurkymurky, but I remember Quid Pro Quo. A concert. I was supposed to go, and I am sixteen because we have driver’s licenses. But this will be Dare’s last night here, and I have to see him. I have to talk to him. I have to fix this.
I shake my head and turn toward the wall. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Fine,” Finn sighs. “I’ll go alone. I just don’t know what’s going on with you, Cal.”
“That makes two of us,” I snap.
Finn leaves and I’m alone.
Alone is my least favorite thing to be.
“Calla,” my mom calls. I find her in the salon downstairs. I approach her carefully and she’s stern when she speaks to me.
“I’m going to book club. You will stay here and out of trouble.”