Brookside Academy

7 - Home Sweet Brookside

I wake up on Thursday morning to a flash of auburn hair and Ryan's voice running a mile a minute.

"Hello?" I hear myself say, but it doesn't quite sound like my voice. God, the morning.

"Emerson! Emerson!" she hits me with a pillow, "get your ass up! Will's dad said he has business to attend to and is literally on his way to this house as we speak."

My fatigue seems to vanish at her words.

"Here? Why on Earth is he coming to this house? No one uses this house!" I say this in Ryan's general direction as I start repacking my suitcase and pulling my school uniform off the rack. Since we're heading back to Brookside, I figure it's easier than getting scolded by terrifying staff members.

"I don't know! Will said something about suspicious charges on the family account. Whatever the reason, Mr. Huntington doesn't want us here by the time he gets back." Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair by the time she finishes spitting out words.

"We're literally in the guest house! We haven't done anything wrong!" I exclaim, carefully setting the Tiffany blue box in the front of my suitcase, the necklace it had been holding dangling from my neck.

"Emerson, do I look like Robert Huntington to you? No? Then stop asking questions and pack your shit up so we can leave."

"Feisty this morning are we, Ry?"

She rolls her eyes and blows a kiss as she leaves the room, beckoning for me and my now fully packed bag to follow. We wander through the house and back out to the main driveway, where we first arrived here only three days ago.

The boys are already leaning against the navy-painted car, the golden Brookside crest shining on their uniform jackets. Ben has a paper cup in his hand, no doubt filled with black coffee, as he stares up at the sky. Will is holding his phone sideways, playing some sort of game.

Ryan and I approach the duo and throw our bags in the trunk on the way. Upon noticing us, Will clicks his keys and swings himself into the driver's seat, gesturing for Bennett to follow. Ryan comes into the back row with me, a small victory that I won't be seated next to Ben for another three hours.

•••

The car ride is going well enough. Half an hour left, and Ryan is dead asleep next to me. Bennett has his AirPods in, probably listening to some pretentious podcast by one of his friends in the business world. William is driving, his laser focus on the road almost creepy. I'm crafting the perfect moodboard on Pinterest. As we cruise through suburban Massachusetts, I get a text from my mother.

Mom: I just called the headmaster. I switched you into first period English Literature. Absurd that you only requested the Honors level when you know Brookside has the resources for higher learning. There is absolutely no way you will get into Yale if you're not taking the right classes. You're welcome.

Me: Great, thanks. Love you.

*Message read by "Mom"*

Well then. That one stings, just like the tears forming in the corners of my eyes. I quickly wipe them away and reopen Pinterest. When I look up from my screen, now filled with gorgeous outfits I can only wear off campus, I meet striking green eyes. Damn, I must wear my heart on my sleeve if Bennett Sterling can sense something is wrong. Bennett's expression is hard to read as he twists back around in his seat, before running his hand through his already messy black hair.

He clicks open his AirPods case, the unassuming leather embossed with a faint "YSL" in the corner. He clicks it shut again. And opens it again. This dance continues for the next minute and a half until I interrupt him.