At this, I fail miserably.
I can’t help it. This is the first time in a decade we haven’t carpooled to school. In our younger years, Flora would drop us off together. Even after I got my license last summer, I never considered asking my parents for a car of my own. Why would I, when I had Archer to take us everywhere in his truck?
How naive of me to think there’d never come a day when his passenger seat is the last place on earth I want to be.
The Exeter parking lot is already filling up when I arrive. I pass row after row of shiny new cars — one black-on-black Ford F-150 conspicuously missing from their ranks — and finally locate a free spot in the very back, by the track that loops around the baseball field. In the distance, the first bell rings, a ten minute warning till the start of class.
I’ve barely shut my door when a massive yellow Jeep Wrangler screeches to a stop in the space beside mine. Ryan Snyder ambles out of the driver’s seat, the grin on his face somewhat undermined by the nasty shiner around his eye.
“Sup, Valentine.”
“Ryan!” I gasp. “Your eye!”
“Eh. Looks worse than it is.” He grins wider. “You still think I’m handsome, don’t you?”
A blush spreads across my cheeks. “Um. We should probably head inside. The bell’s about to ring... “
He chuckles as he walks to my side. Before I can protest, he promptly removes the stack of textbooks from my arms.
“Oh! You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” His blue eyes are practically sparkling in the morning light. He glances down at the books. “What do we have here? AP Biology, AP Chemistry, AP Physics… Someone’s an overachiever.”
“More like the daughter of overachievers.”
“Parents have high expectations of excellence, huh? I can relate. I’m a triple-legacy at Yale. Never had much of a choice about my college plans. I think my first onesie had Handsome Dan on the front.”
I steal a peek at him as we cross the parking lot. Ryan Snyder may look like a J. Crew model in that dark green blazer, but he’s clearly got brains lurking beneath his chiseled beauty. You don’t get into Yale on familial connections alone — even if you are a third-generation shoe-in.
“I’m sure your parents are proud of you.”
“I guess.” He shrugs. “I wanted to go to Dartmouth but I’m not the one paying, so...” He trails off. “Anyway. I don’t think I had a chance to ask you the other night… where are you headed in the fall?”
“Brown.”
“Ah. A fellow Ivy Leaguer. Hence the impressive books. You planning to study science?”
“If my parents have their way? Yes. They’ve got it all planned out. Undergraduate degree in Biology with a focus on Nutritional Science. Masters in Public Health, followed by an internship at their nonprofit. Eventually, taking over the reins and running the company.”
“And you? What’s your grand plan?”
I try to focus on his question, rather than the other students making their way to the front door. Several of them are blatantly staring at us. By first period, the news will have swept through every classroom.
Ryan Snyder was carrying Josephine Valentine’s books this morning! And he had a black eye, to boot!
“Earth to Valentine. Am I boring you?”
“No! Sorry,” I murmur guiltily. “I want to study fashion.”
“Let me guess — you’re hoping for a stint onProject Runway? Future designer to the stars? Kardashian fashion consultant?”
“Not exactly.” I roll my eyes. “The design side is interesting, but I want to learn about the whole industry. From sketching new styles to manufacturing lines to stocking the shelves.”
“That’s cool.”
“It’s notcool, actually.” My brows pull together. “Do you know how many harmful dyes and chemicals are pumped into our rivers every year, just to make the uniforms we’re wearing right now? Do you know how many people live below the poverty line, working in sweatshops to sew them together?”
“I’m guessing a lot.”