We say goodbye, and then I end the call. Despite thinking I would be okay with this, there’s a small empty feeling in my chest. Not big enough I regret what I did, but also not small enough it’s easily ignored. I’m going to miss her.
I quickly type out a text to Gordy and Nate: It’s done. Lora and I are through. Thanks for the heads-up.
Nate replies first. Sorry, man.
Then a message comes in from Gordy: Is she going to admit to the accident?
No. I didn’t ask her to do that.
Why not?! Nate’s reply is first, but Gordy sends a similar one only seconds later.
I’m not going to ruin her life, I type. I can’t do that to her.
Gordy writes: I can’t believe you’re staying there for her, while Nate writes: You’re too nice. I’ve always said that.
I pocket my phone without texting them back and take a deep breath. No more Lora. One less tie to home. Slowly but surely, Wallingford may remove all outside influences on me. I’m sure that’s more of their plan.
“Good afternoon,” a familiar voice says.
I look up to see Paige walking down the empty hall toward me. I quickly stand at attention and reply, “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander.”
“What are you doing?” she asks as she approaches me.
“Breaking up with Lora.”
“Oh.” Her smile fades, and that cute line appears at the top of her nose. “Sorry. Want to talk about it?”
“Not really. Why are you late to lunch?” I ask as we walk into the mess hall together.
“I was talking to my dad.”
“How is the Navy SEAL?”
“Fine,” she says with a chuckle. “He’s coming earlier than usual tomorrow. Wants to go to the shooting range. Do you want to join us?”
I shake my head. I have successfully avoided it so far and hope to do the same for the rest of my time here.
As we step up to the buffet line, she asks, “Have you ever been to a range?”
“Nope,” I say as I grab a tray and then hand one to her. I’m not into killing animals and have no plans of going to war, so why would I need to shoot a gun?
“It’s only open a few times each semester. You should come and watch. It’s fun.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say to be nice as I spoon green beans onto my plate. “Oh, hey, that book you lent me?”
“Yeah.”
“You were right. It was good.”
“See? Made you feel like you could climb Mount Everest, right?”
“Uh, no. But maybe run a 5K race or something.”
She knocks her elbow into me. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve already run more than a 5K. Aim higher, buddy.”
“By now you should realize I don’t aim high. I aim completely horizontally. Smack-dab at average. Maybe a little lower.”
“We need to change your mediocre tendencies. You have too much potential to be average.”
I pause in line and turn to face her. She can’t be serious. I expect her to be smirking, but she meets my gaze with hard eyes and her soldier expression. “You’re mistaken,” I say before turning around.
“No, you are.”
It’s only three little words and they aren’t exactly nice words, but they cause my lips to curl upward just a bit. I don’t know why. It’s not like I want to do anything great with my life, but it’s kind of nice to have someone think you can. It’s like she can look past the lazy person I am to see something that maybe once was there.
My parents don’t anymore. My dad’s been too busy trying to buy my happiness after he cheated on my mom, and my mom thinks I still need space to mope around and be pissed at the world.
And it’s not like Gordy and Nate are exactly go-getters. They’re my best friends, and I can’t imagine not having them around the past five years, but to them “making something out of your life” would be reaching a Fortnite global leaderboard. Granted, I’d be pretty psyched if I did that, too.
I’m sure that’s not what Paige had in mind when she said I have potential, though. I’m sure she was thinking some ridiculous athletic feat or moving up the ranks at Wallingford or breaking some archery record.
I suppose any of those would be nice.
And it’s not like I have anything better to do with my personal time. Plus, dedication to something might help convince the prosecutor the plea bargain is a good idea. The whole Wallingford-transformed-me-from-a-lazy-troublemaker-to-an-eager-overachiever idea.
God, I’m going to end up just like Jernigan.
And my dad.
How in the hell did this happen? I groan and shake my head. Wallingford has a way of sneaking its way into your life whether you like it or not.
CHAPTER 17
LOGAN
That night, after study hall, I change into my stylish Wallingford sweats, put in my earbuds, and head toward the overhead lights of the football field glowing in the dark. It’s a balmy forty degrees. Perfect running weather.
Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks so. There are three other cadets out on the track. Two are jogging next to each other while the third is doing sprints along a straightaway.
I touch my toes a couple of times and then start off at a slow jog.
This is a first for me: voluntarily running during personal time for no reason. Usually during this time, I’ll either practice the guitar or lie in bed and listen to music. Every now and again Noah and I will hang out, but he usually still needs to finish homework.
I don’t really have a plan or a goal for this, other than to run until I’m too tired to continue. I have no idea if that will be ten laps or fifty laps.
A faster song starts, and I turn it up. It’s got a strong beat, and before long, my legs are pounding the track in time with the music. It’s nice to have music. It’s not allowed during athletic time, which leaves my mind to obsess over how many laps I have left. Now I focus on the songs instead.
After I complete five laps, the sprinting cadet leaves and the other two move from the track to run up and down the stairs of the bleachers. At some point, they also leave, though I don’t notice when. The cool air, which initially burned my lungs and stung my face, now feels refreshing against my flushed skin. I take in long, deep breaths as I switch to a new album, and then eventually another.
When two of the four overhead lights blink off, I know it’s time to head back to my room so I don’t miss lights-out.
As I’m jogging along the empty path, almost to my dorm, two girls suddenly emerge from around a corner, and I nearly trample them.
“Sorry,” I say, grabbing an arm of each of them to keep them steady. “Oh, good evening. Lieutenant Commander Durant, Culver,” I say as soon as I recognize Paige and Leah. I stand at attention, and they return my greeting.
Paige looks me up and down, then asks, “Were you running?”
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.
“Voluntarily?”
I nod.
She grins and asks, “How far?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t keep track.”
“How long were you out there?”
“Um … maybe a little over an hour.”