Which is probably why it sounds so loud when someone says, “Ah. Andi,” in the hallway as I’m walking toward the school’s front lobby.
“Hello,” I say as Matt Bell, Gideon’s younger brother, walks up to me. He’s clean-shaven and has brown eyes, but other than that, it’s a little unnerving how much he looks like Gideon.
“I never did say welcome back,” he tells me. Out of polite habit, I wait for him to catch up to me. “Must be a big change from… Washington?”
“New York.”
“Ah, yes. Well. You’ll find we prefer things at a somewhat slower pace, here.”
I grab the strap of my messenger bag and give him my brightest, fuck-off-est smile.
“I remember,” I tell him.
“More old-fashioned,” he goes on, like I’m not talking. I’ve never liked him. “A very family-oriented place, Sprucevale. Tradition is important to us.”
To my credit, I don’t ask him if being a dickhead is traditional.
“Hmm,” I say, mostly to fill the gap.
“Just something to keep in mind,” he says, and thank God we’re almost to the lobby. “Have you talked to Gideon lately?”
I finally glance over at Matt, eyes narrowing. He’s got his hands in his pockets and his shoulders thrown back, and he looks like Gideon but there’s none of the easy assurance in his stance, none of Gideon’s bone-deep gravity.
“Is that a trick question?” I finally ask, exasperated with this man. “Yes. I texted him ten minutes ago. He’s picking me up.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s great.”
Matt has the nerve to look surprised, dark eyebrows going up. “Really? With everything that’s happened?”
“Yes, really.” A sideways, skeptical look, and the fuse of my patience is burning low, so I put on my most chipper smile. “He’s spectacular. Incredible. Thriving. Wonderful. Do you need more adjectives, or…?”
“We worry about him,” Matt says, and I can hear the royalness in the we. Ugh. “He was always easily so swayed. Particularly by you.”
We’re almost to the lobby, white walls with green-and-white tiles on the floor, an uncomfortable bench, two ficus trees that may or may not be fake. I roll my eyes because if I don’t, I might start considering violence.
“If you’re also going to call me a harlot, do it now,” I say. “We’re nearly to the exit. Or, fuck, what was the other one? Was it strumpet? Tart?”
I know I shouldn’t keep going, that being an asshole to Gideon’s brother won’t help shit, but it’s been a long school board meeting and a long month since we left the cabin and a long twenty years before that. Matt’s glaring at me, his face going red.
“Floozy!” I proclaim, snapping my fingers and grinning at him. “That’s it. I like that one, because it makes me sound like a fun slut, not one of those boring, dour sluts—”
Dour sluts is barely out of my mouth when I turn the corner to find William Bell, Gideon’s father, standing in the lobby. He’s got his hands in his pockets and disapproval on his face. I slam to a stop and can feel my face go beet red. I feel like I’m nine years old and just got caught swearing, and I hate it.
“Andrea,” he says, and smiles, and if I were a cat my fur would be standing on end. I gather my nerve and stare at him and if it takes me a minute to answer him, so what?
“William,” I say, voice steady. I’ve never called him by his first name before.
There’s a moment where I’m certain he’s going to correct me—that he, an adult, is going to tell me, another adult, to call him Mister. When we were children, Gideon was afraid of him; afraid of what he’d do if Gideon displeased him and afraid to flinch at the thought. That meant I was afraid, too, but not like Gideon had to be. If William Bell told me I ought to call him Mister, I’d still do it and be furious the whole time.
“It’s been such a blessing to see you at these meetings.”
“Likewise,” I echo, my mouth on autopilot, the sense memory of in trouble ringing through me.
“Ever since I saw you at the last one, I’ve been praying for you,” he goes on, smiling and friendly and folksy. “That the Lord would see fit to change your heart—”
“Don’t,” I say, and we’re both surprised.
“Sorry?”
Breathe in, breathe out. Be civil to him, for Gideon’s sake. “Don’t pray for me. Please.”
“We all need someone to pray for us,” he says, but the smile is fading, the accent hardening. William Bell never had much of a mask.
“All the same, I’d prefer you not do it for me,” I say, perfectly polite. My hand is sweating where I’m gripping the strap of my messenger bag.
“Still the same stubborn, wicked girl,” William says, shaking his head. Something inside me flashes white-hot. “Still a lost lamb, turned away from the Lord—”
“Whatever you’re asking for, I don’t want it,” I snap, and my heart is hammering, my palms sweaty. “Whoever listens to your—" Bullshit. “—prayers, I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“Forgive her, Lord,” he murmurs to—himself? “She doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes, she does,” I say, and walk for the doors, calling back over my shoulder. “Good to see you!”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Leaving the building after a school board meeting?”
“You’re only with Gideon to exact revenge on our family,” he says, and I swear everything in the cosmos goes still for one single, silent moment. I turn, slowly.
“That’s all you think of him?” I say, my voice rising. “That I don’t—that he’s not—”
“Dad,” Matt says. He is ignored.
“You think the only reason I’d date Gideon is to get to you,” I go on, and I think I’m shouting now. “You think I’d do that? To Gideon? You think Gideon wouldn’t know? You don’t think he could do a million times better?”
“I know you came back to tear our family apart,” William sneers, and it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. “You, Andrea, are a test of our faith, but Gideon will see you for what you are and return to us.”
That one drips down my spine like tar, finding that secret place where my fears live. My hands are in fists.
“I’m with Gideon because I want to be with Gideon,” I say, and I’m quiet now but my voice is shaking. “That’s it. That’s all. I don’t give a fuck whether your family gets torn apart or not.”
It’s not true, but the lie feels great.
“See?” Matt says softly, and something registers in my brain.
“What do you mean return to us?” I ask.
“I mean that once he is rid of your influence, we will be waiting with open arms—”
“Say it normal!” I shout. Matt clears his throat.
“Gideon is cut off until he apologizes to our parents,” Matt says, and he looks—smug? Pleased, in a way that can’t be Christlike. Like he’s won something at last. I feel like my heart might punch its way out of my chest.