At some point, I need to tell him. Let him decide if he wants things to stay the way they are or move on. I'm good either way, but that's not how a relationship should be.
I text him back.
Me: School was bullshit
Me: Headed home
Me: I'll call later
While I wait for his reply Quinn's text chimes. Always, perfect timing.
Quinn: Well
Quinn: Did you fuck him or not?
She's going to judge me whether I answer yes or no, so I type out a quick reply.
Me: Of course not!!!
Me: He's a teacher
Me: At OUR school
Quinn: Your point?
At her reply, I shake my head and tap out a quick response.
Me: Driving
Me: Talk later
She's something else, but I'm not sure what I'd do without her. Friends since childhood, she and I have been inseparable, right up until recently. Now our time together is becoming less frequent. It's something I've meant to ask her, but I've got a lot of things on my mind, and there's no way I can take on the thought of losing my best friend. I push the notion from my head and slide into the driver's seat of my Audi TTS, shifting it in drive.
The view on the opposite side of my windshield is what makes up the town of Silvercrest. To an outsider, it's a peaceful, quiet place with rolling hills, aged architecture, and perfectly manicured lawns, but beneath the surface are secrets as old as the founding families, secrets known only to The Society.
There are times I wish I didn't know anything about what's happened here. With so many lies, cover-ups, and even murders, no one knows the truth anymore. Just once I'd like to experience what normal feels like.
The sound of a horn behind me pulls me from my daydream, and I realize the light I'm sitting at has turned green. Luxury cars pass me like I'm standing still as I pull slowly out into the intersection and begin my drive home.
With the stoplights, timed perfectly, everyone is trying to get where they're going, but getting nowhere fast. It's how I feel at this very moment. I'm not a patient person. The traffic inches forward far enough for me to swerve onto the shoulder and catch the next exit. I take the backroad home giving me some time to think about what Mr. Harrington had said.
"Tutoring," I speak the word aloud, cracking through the silence in my car. If anyone in class finds out, especially Catarina, I'll ever hear the end. She's always finding reasons to show everyone how much better she is than any of us.
But if I don't graduate, I'm screwed because of a stipulation in my grandfather's will.
A high school diploma and a college degree is a requirement of my trust fund. It's the main reason my parents could care less if I do well in school. Sure, they tried to buy a better grade from Mr. Harrington, but how hard did they press him? My guess is it was one phone call, and they probably didn't even talk with him. Which means they retain control over my multimillion-dollar account.
In Silvercrest, associated with the oldest of old money, is the Aldridge name. Our family has a lineage of wealth tracing back to books from the 1800s, money earned through years of buying land at pennies on the dollar, and selling it to railroads, businesses, and even whole towns. As a single child, my father, Harold Mattias Aldridge IV, inherited it all, including the home in which we now live.
But his money is not what's being held hostage by the lack of academic achievements in my hand. No, my trust fund is money from my grandfather on my mother's side. Red River Simmons's money. A small piece of wealth beyond my wildest dreams.
Out of the nine kids he and my grandmother raised, my mother and I were his favorites, and he decided we would be the sole proprietors of everything he built over the past sixty-four years.
As can be expected, this didn't play out well with the rest of the family, and they've disowned us. On occasion, hoping to get a piece of what doesn't belong to them, one will come out of the woodwork, but discovering their intentions sends them straight back home.
It's the very reason I need to plow through this English Lit class and get a high enough grade to graduate because no one is taking what is mine.
Ideas roll around in my head about how we can meet without anyone from class knowing. My parents are gone, maybe we could just do it at the house. I shake the thought from my head as quickly as it comes. Even though our home is secluded, we still have neighbors and bored fucking housewives that don't have anything better to do than gossip.
No, I'll have to think of something else.
When I reach the iron gates that separate our property from the rest of the world, I realize my thoughts have been on everything but the mindless drive I'd hoped to take. It seems if I want any peace of mind, it'll take a session or two with Gunther. Who needs a therapist when you have a masseuse?
I let out a long sigh at the thought of setting up some time with him, and my body instantly relaxes, practically melting in my seat. But the feeling is short-lived because about the time I pass through the twelve-foot iron my phone dings.
Lance: Danny's at seven?
He's persistent, that's for sure, and I'd think by now he'd know better than even to suggest we meet at Danny's. Of all his friends, Danny is the most handsy and aggressive drunk I've ever been around. There have been times he's even left bruises, but when I mention it to Lance, he writes it off as harmless flirting.
Nothing about it is harmless or flirting. And that means I'm staying away from the situation altogether.
Me: You go
Me: I have cramps
It's a lie,
