And if he knew I was the predator, he’d kill me. That right there should be enough to end my depravity.
The bathroom door is closed. A light shines through the crack near the floor.
I veer into the guest room. Close and lock the door behind me.
I’m not locking her out. I’m locking myself in.
CHAPTER 24
Nell
I sense a change in the atmosphere, like an animal feeling the deep, invisible vibrations of an earthquake right before it rises to the surface. Last night, Darius hadn’t been taking pictures of me for no reason. He’d waited for my assent. He’d deliberately used his camera, the one that caused him such conflict and yet is still an extension of his body. He’d been touching me.
I have no need to protect myself from him—nor do I want to—but I do have to be careful. If Ms. Meadows suspected something was going on, then it might only be a matter of time before someone else does too.
Someone like my father.
Sunday morning is gray and rainy. Darius isn’t in the kitchen when I walk in at close to ten. My father is at the table, leafing through the previous day’s mail.
As I pour a bowl of cereal, he tells me I “did the right thing” in bringing Clover home, but makes no mention of the three boys and their intentions. Apparently, Darius didn’t tell him that part. I don’t either.
“Unfortunately, it sounds like the party was getting out of hand.” My father looks at me over the tops of his reading glasses. “But I’m pleased to learn that you’ve made some friends. Darius says Clover’s mother owns a downtown business.”
“Comic Castle. She knows a lot about art and graphic novels.”
My father nods and studies a typewritten letter.
“Speaking of which…” I sit down and eat a bite of cornflakes. “Fern—Clover’s mother—offered me a part-time job there. I think it’d be good for me to work and earn some extra money.”
He mumbles something unintelligible, still looking over the letter.
“Dad? Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” He waves the paper, which is printed with the Evergreen College letterhead. “I’m in favor of you getting a job at some point, but not right now. You need to focus on your studies, and your interview at Evergreen. This is a reminder about your appointment next week.”
I stir the cornflakes. “But if I get a job now, I can start saving money. I was also thinking that it would be a good idea for me to get my own place after graduation. Maybe a studio apartment closer to campus.”
He frowns slightly. “Campus is less than twenty minutes away.”
“I know, but it would be convenient.” I manage to keep my voice calm and authoritative despite my sudden anxiety. I never counter my father’s wishes.
“We’ve discussed this already. Why waste money on rent when you can live here?”
“It would be good for me to work and live on my own.”
“If you’re working, you should save what you earn.” He folds the letter. “I doubt you’d make enough in a part-time job to pay for rent anyway. I understand your desire to be independent, but let’s not jump the gun, all right? We can look into summer job opportunities on campus next year. Right now, I want you to focus on your schoolwork and prepping for your interview. You have an excellent chance at getting into Evergreen, but it’s not a done deal yet.”
I mash my cornflakes in the bowl. My father also has a Plan B and a Plan C in place. If I don’t get accepted into Evergreen, we’ll appeal the decision, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll attend the community college for a year before transferring to Evergreen. No stone has been left unturned on my path to my father’s college.
Though I hadn’t expected a different response from him, I feel like my heart is shrinking, shriveling up like a dried apricot. If I have to live this exact life for the next four years, what will I do with all these feelings splintering and bursting inside me? Where will they go?
And in June, Darius will be gone. This house, my father, me—everything will revert to the way it was before.
The thought is quicksand. It’s like I’m submerged partway, able to see the bright blue sky and green trees above me, but having no idea how to reach them.
I take my bowl to the sink. Outside the window, a breeze ruffles the tree leaves.
“Dad.” I take a breath and turn to face him. “I’d really like to apply to a few other colleges.”
He lets out a sigh of exasperation. “Nell, there’s no point. The application fees would be a complete waste of money.”
“I can request waivers.”
“It’s November. Deadlines have passed.”
“Not for all colleges. A bunch of them have deadlines in January and February.”
“You can’t apply to other colleges when you’ve already applied to Evergreen based on single choice and early option,” he reminds me. “Your admission is contingent upon the fact that Evergreen is the only college you want to attend.”
My hands curl into fists. “What if it’s not the only college I want to attend?”
He frowns. “Have you been talking to your art teacher again? Did she tell you to say all this?”
“Of course not. I have my own mind, and this is my decision. I want to have other choices besides Evergreen.”
“You won’t get into Evergreen if you apply elsewhere.”
“Then I won’t get into Evergreen.”
“Nell.” My father rubs the space between his eyebrows. “I know at some point I have to let you spread your wings. I understand you need to. And I want you to have a fulfilling life, but you can’t sabotage the plans we’ve made, especially at this stage in the game.”
I bite my lip. Tension curls in my chest. The only time in my life when I have fought against my father was the day he told me he was sending me to an institution for “treatment and evaluation.”
That day, I’d done more than fight—I’d screamed, cried, raged. But my outburst had changed nothing, and ever since then, I’ve been utterly obedient and docile. I’ve rarely argued with him or even raised my voice. I will never again give him a reason to lock me away.
“I’m eighteen,” I finally say. “I should have some freedom as a legal adult.”
“You may be eighteen, but you’re still in high school,” he points out. “You have no income or resources of your own. I pay for your clothes and food. You live in the house I own and enjoy use of the car I bought. You’re on my health insurance plan and taxes. I’m going to finance your college education.”
He lifts his hands, as if there’s no argument to his narration—which there isn’t.
“So yes, you’re an adult in the legal sense,” he continues, “but in all practical areas of life, you’re dependent on me. So I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask you to approach your future pragmatically.” He turns back to the letters. “Is there anything else?”
I dig my fingernails into my palms. “No.”
“Good.”
No, it’s not. But I can’t refute a single word of what he just said.