I needed a breather, so I left Molly and Henry on the dance floor. Henry asked me if I needed company, but I didn't want Molly to be alone, so I declined his offer. Plus, I could use some alone time.
The doors to the inside of the main house are locked, but there's a little cottage off to the side of the pool. It must be a guesthouse or something, so I make my way over to it. Surely enough, the doors are unlocked when I go to slide them open. There's only one floor, but it's like a mini-home. There's a tiny kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and a small living room area. I walk myself over to the couch and dial my dad.
"Anastasia, hi, sweetheart," he answers. "How's the party?"
"Hey, dad. Fun. My feet are killing from these heels, though, so I think I'm going to call it a night soon."
"Want me to come get you?"
I hold the phone away from my face to check the time that's on the homescreen. "No, that's okay. It's late. I'll call an Uber."
"Okay. No going home with anyone who's been drinking. And stay with Molly."
"I know, I know," I tell him. "I'll text you when I leave."
"Sounds good. Bye, honey."
I slip the phone into my bag and close my eyes. They could use a mini nap. But the sound of the door sliding open startles me, and I'm caught off-guard when Jack enters the room.
He looks just as surprised to see me as I do him, so he hesitates before fully walking in.
"What are you doing?" he finally speaks up, and rudely. "No one's allowed to be in here."
"You're in here," I state.
"The rules that apply to you don't apply to me."
A condescending chuckle escapes my mouth, and I don't even try to stop it. This guy is so ignorant that it's almost humorous. "You're so brainwashed, it's insane."
"Excuse me?" he asks, his eyes wincing as he dips his hands into his pockets.
"You think that just because you are who you are, you're entitled to things that I'm not."
"It's called having a reputation. Look it up."
"I take it that yours is the asshole of this town."
He glides towards me in this confident manner, and as tempted as I am to tear my eyes away from his intimidating demeanor, I won't give him that satisfaction.
"You really don't know how things work around here, do you?"
I stand up, keeping my gaze locked on his. "Didn't realize there was a system."
"Oh, there's a system alright," he nods assuredly. "Let me tell you how it works. You're here," he drops his hand down to his thigh, "and I'm here," he brings his other hand to the top of his head. "There's a world that divides us."
"Oh, I see," I laugh. "You think that you're better than me because of your last name."
"Well, I don't see your family donating millions of dollars a year to Sinclair. Isn't your dad the chef at our school? Who do you think funds his salary?"
I feel myself heavily breathing. I didn't know that it was possible to hate someone you don't even know, but it's safe to say that Jack Carrington is making the impossible possible. I don't respond, but feel my features tighten, which is very telling to the emotions that I'm feeling right now.
"I take it humility isn't your strong suit," I remark.
"Let's just say that I have more important suits to wear."
He makes his way over to the couch and removes a stainless steel flask from his pocket.
"Like being a drunkard?" I ask, catching him mid-sip. He slowly levels the flask down so that our eyes connect, and then swallows whatever type of alcohol is in there.
He reaches the flask out to me and wags it in the air. "Want a sip?"
"I don't drink."
"Right. Right. Because that would ruin your good girl facade."
"You know nothing about me."
"We can change that." He puts the flask back in his pocket and inches his body forward. He clasps his hands together, letting them dangle in front of his knees, and gives me a single nod. "Tell me something."
I study him intently, trying to decipher his intentions. And then I finally say, "No."
"No? Why not?"
"How can I believe someone that I don't even know?" I ask, using the same words that he had used on me when we first met.
"I don't know. Trust," he answers, stealing mine.
"Well, how can I trust someone that I don't even know?"
He chuckles at this little game that we're playing; that we've already played. "Guess you can't."
I bob my head. "Guess I can't."
We're staring at each other with this intensity that no one else but us would probably be able to understand. This connection between us...it's rare, inexplicable, and very much frustrating. I find him annoying, yet alluring, and if I'm reading his expression right at this moment, I intrigue him, too.
But our moment is disturbed when my phone vibrates, causing him to shake his head out of his daze as I gulp and go to look at it.
Molly: Ready to head out? Meet in front?
***
Monday morning hits and I'm making my way around Sinclair Prep like I've been a student here for years. I made sure to memorize the school's map over the weekend.
In English Composition, Professor Withers lets us know that she'll be giving a pop quiz on Friday, which, I guess, takes away from the fact that it's going to be a surprise. Anyway, I'm not complaining. I love the heads-up. Gives me more time to prepare.
I stop by the school's cafeteria and help myself to a to-go cup of coffee before my first of many shifts at the library. Even when I don't want to think about Jack Carrington, the plaque by the library lets me know that he's pretty much unavoidable. And I haven't forgotten about our little conversation on Saturday night. This kid thinks I'm below him because I don't come from the kind of life that he does. Seriously, grow up.
The second that I step foot inside the library, Ms. Harris has a bunch of action items for me to get started on. The first one being sorting and shelving the massive pile of returned books. My workday is only 2 hours, so I make sure to use my time wisely, that way my responsibilities don't end up staggering on top of one another. I'm able to complete my first assignment in 30 minutes, and then Ms. Harris spends the next hour teaching me how to issue library cards.
30 minutes before closing time, the door to the library opens. I didn't know Sinclair Prep kids actually stay past school hours. Willingly.
I turn my attention to the entrance, and can't believe my luck. AKA, zero. What's he doing here?
"Oh. Jack. It's you," Ms. Harris says when she sees him walk in. I take back what I said about Sinclair Prep kids staying past school hours willingly. Jack probably got detention for doing something against the school's rules, which is why he's still here.
He holds a copy of The Sun Also Rises in the air and then says, "Returning this."
"You finished it already?"
"Mhm," he nods.
"Wow. That was quick."
"I'm a fast reader."
"Narcissist," I mutter under my breath, which gets him to glance my way.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"Nothing!" I sing-song, and he gives me a blatant eye roll as he looks at Ms. Harris.
"Tracy, I'll take another book rec if you have one."
Just as she's about to answer him, the phone on her desk rings.
"Give me a second," she says with her index finger in the air. I really hope she means it when she says 'a second'. Having to stand in Jack's presence as he glares at me like he hates me is not exactly my definition of fun.
We stand there in silence with scowled expressions on our faces until Tracy returns. "That was Dean Hemmings," she explains. "He needs my help with something, so I have to leave, but Anastasia here can help you, Jack."
"What?" we both exclaim at the same time.
"Is that going to be a problem?" she asks, her forehead creasing in confusion. I don't want her to think that I'm not fit for the job, so I immediately respond.
"Not for me." I quickly turn my body around to face Jack.
He flares his nostrils and I can tell that it pains him to say, "Not for me, either."
"Great. I shouldn't be long." She goes to pass me and taps me on the shoulder. "Thanks, Anastasia."