Could this all blow up in my face? Almost certainly, but I have to try.
Another student shoulders past me, and as another one walks by, I clear my throat.
“Excuse me,” I ask, but the girl doesn’t stop for me. Her airpods are stuffed in her ears, and she’s watching something on her phone, so she has no clue I’m even here.
Funny, if I was at Southern Collegiate, people would be actively trying to help me. Here, no one wants anything from me. No one mentions my last name before my first. There are no lingering stares from girls, trying to get my attention. For all intents and purposes, I’m invisible, and although that’s making it hard to find the admissions office—it’s so fucking liberating.
I might be going broke with no friends, but I’d prefer that to the constant pressure of trying to live up to someone I’m not, and I know I’ll never be.
I check the map again, following the footpath when my mother’s face fills the screen.
She’s calling.
It’s her fifth attempt this week, and I consider letting it go to voicemail, but I can’t. The guilt of ignoring her comes in faster when she’s looking right at me.
I stuff an earbud into my ear, and accept the call, keeping the phone in front of me so I can use the map.
“Hello?”
“Jamie?” Her voice isn’t relieved. No. It’s tight and annoyed. “Where are you? Your father's been trying to reach you for the last two weeks. You’ve turned your locator app off, and you haven’t spent a thing on your credit card.”
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Using any bank account with my father’s name would be the fastest way for him to track me down.
“Are you in France? We thought you might’ve skipped town and gone on vacation with Thatcher, but he’s still at school and claims to have no idea where you are.”
Thanks, Asher.I always knew I could count on you.
It’s obvious from her tone she doesn’t believe Asher. Can’t blame her. The kid’s screwed up enough times that even when he’s telling the truth, it sounds like bullshit.
I stop near a massive oak tree, and smile when I see the ‘Student Services’ sign above the building in front. Exactly where I need to be.
See, who the fuck needs help when you can find shit yourself?
Leaning against the oak tree, I think about what I should say to my mom. I’ve already put the transfer through. I’ve paid the tuition for the next two years—something they clearly haven’t seen yet—and for all intents and purposes, I’ve transferred.
There’s nothing they can do to stop it now, so I decide to tell her the truth.
“I’m at St. Michael’s. Been here for the past two weeks.”
“St. Michael’s? What the hell are you doing there? Trying to get back with Hunniford?”
Honey?
Wow. Even after all of this, they’re still trying to force the point with me and my ex.
“No,” I roll out lazily. “That’s not why I’m here.” I say it as almost a taunt.
Does she know Tiff is here?
I’m pretty sure my father knows because of the lawsuit he’s been using against her to get what he wants, but did he tell my mother?
“Jamie. I don’t have time for this. What are you doing?”
Sounds like he hasn’t, and I don’t want to take that away from him.
“Just hanging out.” It’s not a lie since that’s literally all I’ve been doing.
There’s a beat of silence. “This has gone on long enough, don't you think? Your father is willing to forget this… rebellion if you come home now. Your classes at Southern Collegiate start in a week. If you want, we can kick Hunniford out of the internship. It was your space—”