Blind Ambition | ✓

39 | Nantucket is Gone

I'd been forced to push my Clemson visit to the end of April due to - as I'd worded it in my email - "unforeseen circumstances," but the deadline for commitment was April 1st, and I'd used the very last of my good sense to handle it accordingly and still sign my official Letter of Intent before the deadline.

Sending it through an email while I sat in my bed alone was about as unceremonious as you could get. Not that I ever thought I'd be one of those guys who had specials done of them on ESPN, sitting in the school gymnasium with an array of hats in front of me, and the whole crowd would erupt after I'd picked up the Clemson one. But I also never thought I'd be alone in my dark bedroom.

My father gave two sharp knocks on my door, but walked in moments after I'd met him with silence. Privacy was a luxury I was no longer afforded in my house.

"Are you packed?" he asked. "I'd like to leave before 10 tomorrow."

I gestured to my black Nike bag, hanging by its strap from my desk chair.

My father let out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair. I hated how much of myself I saw in him. "I'm not doing this to punish you, you know. You've always been such a good kid, I just...I don't know what to do with you."

"You could just leave me alone," I grumbled, rubbing stars out of my eyes.

"That's not what you need."

"How would you know what I need?" I snapped as I shot upright in bed. "You just think you know everything don't you?"

"Well I know more than you do," he replied, as calm as ever as he folded his arms over his chest. "Be ready by 10 tomorrow. I mean it."

I rolled over in my bed as he shut the door, still staring at my open text messages from Kaia. While we still kept our distance in school, she'd made it obvious I'd worried the crap out of her Sunday night after I'd left her house, and despite ensuring me everything was fine, I wasn't convinced she bought my excuse that I just hadn't been feeling well.

As if I wasn't on high alert with everyone in my daily life, I was now about to be forced into proximity with the one person who would see through me like I was made of glass and not hesitate to call out my bullshit - Chandler England.

When my father said he was getting me out of here, it hadn't truly hit me until we actually were en route Friday to the England family's old Nantucket house that I'd spent too many summers of my childhood at.

I had half a mind to text Chandler beforehand, but the optimistic part of me hoped that if I didn't acknowledge it, it would go away. I also doubted Chandler would easily forget the asshole move I made during the Diamond Duel last weekend, and her angst wasn't something that would so easily just go away if I ignored it either.

We boarded the ferry at Hyannis in Massachusetts after a silent three hour car ride, and the steady, gentle mist of rain didn't keep me from standing outside, pressed up against the railing of the ferry as it sloshed along the bay. Gulls cawed and circled overhead, some plunging down into the water to snag an unsuspecting fish for lunch. I didn't normally get seasick, but if it wasn't for the steady breeze that cooled the sickly heat pooling at my sweatshirt collar, I might have been.

Eventually, my father emerged from the indoor seating area to stand by the ramp exit, as if we desperately needed to beat the nonexistent crowd to be the first people off the ferry. I silently followed him and slipped my hat onto my rain soaked hair, accepting the mess for what it was.

It wasn't hard to spot Chandler England waiting at the base of the ramp. She looked like she belonged, and despite the fact that she fit the ambiance with her designer raincoat and boots, she was still Chandler, and she was easy to identify. It was just in the way she stood, casually vacant and clearly so done with my shit before I'd even set foot on the island. I did not look like I belonged.