“No, stay. Though I’m sure what I have to say will blister your virgin ears, you deserve to hear it. To know what this man does.” Her smile is brittle, her eyes shiny, as if she might cry at any second. “Because for once in his damn life, he’s going down. How many years have you worked at Lancaster? And how many girls have you fucked? I’m sure the list is endless.”
I flinch at her using that word, my gaze sliding to Mr. Figueroa’s, but he’s not even paying attention to me.
He’s too focused on Maggie, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, though he’s trying to keep a calm exterior. “Watch your mouth, Maggie.”
“Oh yeah, I need to protect the untried ears of the biggest virgin on campus, right, Figgy? I’m sure you’re just dying to get in her pants. There’s probably a lock on that vagina, but with your persuasive ways, she’ll end up handing you the key. No problem.” Maggie marches farther into the room, until she’s standing directly in front of Fig, and I can tell he wants to touch her. Grab her.
Hurt her even?
I’m not sure.
And I don’t know why I have to be a witness to this any longer.
“I-I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk privately.” I head for the door, Maggie no longer paying attention to me.
Fig isn’t watching me either as I exit the room. They’re too wrapped up in each other.
Like lovers.
SIX
WREN
I make my way back to my private room, grateful for the reprieve. Though I don’t have long to bask in the silence because my phone starts ringing, startling me.
Dad flashes across the screen and I realize with a sinking feeling that I never did call him after he sent that text.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy. The day got away from me,” is how I answer.
His chuckle is rich and warm, making me smile despite how agitated I still am over that confrontation between Fig and Maggie. And me, I guess. I’ve never been involved in something like that before in my life, and it was disconcerting. “I’ve heard from the head of the Art History Department at Columbia.”
My heart flies up and sinks, all at the same time. “Oh.”
“Don’t you want to know what he had to say?”
I already know. He’s dying to have me attend. Thanks to my father calling in a favor. “What did he say?” I keep my voice light and bubbly, exactly how he wants me. His sweet and happy daughter, who would do anything for her daddy. He feels the exact same way.
When it suits him.
“They want you, darling. You’re in,” he says, bursting with pride.
“Oh. That’s so great,” I say, my voice weak. I settle into the chair at my desk, staring out the nearby window that overlooks the campus. There are a few students milling about, though I can’t make out who’s who. They all look the same, since they’re still mostly in uniform.
“You don’t sound happy, Pumpkin.” I can hear the disappointment in his voice. “I thought Columbia is where you wanted to go the most.”
I never said that. I just always agreed with him when he went on and on about how great the college is and that they have a solid art program. Not that I want to be an artist—more like I want to study art. Someday, I would love to work in a gallery or museum. Maybe even have my own art gallery, where I could discover up and coming artists and support them.
That’s my dream, and my parents know it. They also encourage it, though I don’t think they believe I could do anything on my own. I’m sure they’re just indulging me. Daddy’s motives are not for me, but for himself.
Columbia University is too close. New York City means no escape because that’s where my family lives. Where I grew up.
I want something different. Far away.
It’ll never happen if my father has anything to say about it.
“I’m thrilled. Really.” I infuse my voice with excitement, hoping he can detect it. “Thank you so much for talking to him. I can’t wait to see where else I get in.”
“Does any other college matter? I thought Columbia was end game.”
I’m not about to list the colleges where I applied, the ones I really want to go to. He’ll call them up and get me in, or he’ll flat out tell me I can’t go to some of the locations. I can’t risk it.
“It’s smart to have options, Daddy.”
“You’re right. Options are always good to have. A backup plan.” I can envision him nodding his agreement.
“Can I talk to Mom?”
“Oh, I’m not with her. I’m currently in Boston, on business. I’ll head home Friday. You should call her. She probably misses you.”
“I was just with you guys this weekend.” I arrived on campus yesterday afternoon, after spending all of Thanksgiving break with my parents.
“We always miss you, darling. Especially your mother. You know how needy she gets.” I do. And she doesn’t necessarily need me—she needs him. Not that he notices. “How was school?”
I give him a brief rundown, careful not to mention anything about Crew or Fig and Maggie. This day has been unlike any other day I’ve had so far at Lancaster Prep.
And I’ve had a lot of days here. I didn’t expect my senior year to take such a dramatic turn, and so quickly. It’s all drama I’m not necessarily involved in too, which is odd.
I don’t usually find myself in the middle of drama.
We talk for a few minutes more before I hear a soft feminine voice say, “Harvey, let’s go.”
“I’ll talk to you later, darling. Just wanted to give you the good news. Make sure you tell all of your friends. Love you.” He ends the call before I can say goodbye.
I set my phone on my desk, staring at it. Who told my father it was time to go? A business associate? His assistant? I know he has a new one, though I don’t remember her name.
Or was it another woman?
He’s been known to cheat. Men as powerful as my father always seem to, which is disappointing. Maybe that’s why loyalty is so important to me. Maybe that’s why I’m afraid to get involved with any boy.
The boys never seem to stick around. And most of them can’t be faithful, like it’s in their DNA or something. They become so easily bored, so quickly. It’s as if once a girl gives it up to them, they’re ready to move on.
Look at Figueroa and Maggie. It’s obvious they’ve been involved for a while, which is almost too much for me to comprehend. He’s taking such a risk, getting involved with a student. The rumors have been rampant about him for years—even before I started attending Lancaster, but it’s never been officially confirmed.
That little confrontation I observed was definite confirmation. Maggie was furious. I wonder if she truly thought Fig was trying to make a move on me? I don’t think he was. I just think he was being kind. He felt bad for me because he caught me crying in the hall, and I’ve heard plenty of times that men don’t like tears. My father never has.
Men. I don’t understand them.
Suddenly craving a snack, I pull open a desk drawer and pull out a Blow Pop, tearing off the wrapper and tossing it in the small wastebasket before I pop it into my mouth. I suck on the sweet cherry candy, the burst of sugar coating my mouth.