Chapter Two (Ellie)

Chapter Two (Ellie)

At ten o'clock sharp, the final interview for the Yale scholarship began in the third-floor conference room.

I didn't go upstairs.

I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and took the bus to a coffee shop in town. At two that afternoon, I had an interview with a Stanford alum.

My college counselor had pushed me into applying. I'd planned to turn it down once I got in, because Carter and I had agreed to go to Yale together.

Not anymore.

When I pushed back my hood, the interviewer was clearly taken aback.

I took a deep breath and put everything I had into her questions.

Maybe it was how calm I was. Maybe it was my answers. Either way, her eyes slowly moved away from my hair, and by the end she was nodding in approval.

"Miss Grant," she said with a smile as she closed her notebook, "I look forward to seeing you on campus in September."

When I walked out of the coffee shop, my palms were slick with sweat and my heart was racing.

California. Three thousand miles away.

He wouldn't be there.

That evening, our two families had dinner together as usual.

Mom and Aunt Diane exchanged a few quiet words and went upstairs together.

Carter sat across from me, absently pushing pasta around his plate. In the end, he couldn't help himself.

"Why didn't you go to your interview today?"

"Didn't feel like it."

He put down his fork and frowned.

"Your grades are good enough to get into Yale regular decision. Why fight Brooke for that spot? Don't be so selfish."

Selfish?

I looked at that handsome face and felt only how absurd it all was.

"My hair's been hacked off like this, and you're still worried I'll take it from her?"

He flinched as if he'd been burned and rushed to explain.

"That's not the same thing. I was just worried she'd really go ask a stranger for his number and something would happen to her."

"She's not like you. She's so pretty. What if some creep went after her?"

She's not like you.

Such a simple sentence, and it hurt so much I couldn't speak.

I nodded numbly. Just then Mom and Aunt Diane came back downstairs. Both of them had red eyes.

I got up to go home with Mom. Carter grabbed my wrist.

"What were they talking about up there?"

He hadn't touched me in a long time. He probably thought I was disgusting.

I pulled my hand away.

"Nothing." I looked into his uneasy eyes. "I guess they're worried about our future."

Carter.

We don't have a future anymore.

The next day, the moment I walked into class, everyone stared at my hair.

"Whoa, Piggy got a new haircut!"

"Pretty trendy. What's that look called, chew toy?"

A bunch of guys cracked up. Carter was sitting with them, and the corners of his mouth turned up too.

When our eyes met, his smile froze.

I looked away, walked to my seat, and took out my books.

In first period, our homeroom teacher announced that the senior class would be electing a new class president for spring semester to run prom and graduation.

I'd been class president every year since elementary school.

With that ridiculous head of hair, I walked to the front of the room and gave my campaign speech without notes. The snickering never stopped. My hands never stopped shaking. But I didn't stumble over a single word.

Our teacher started the applause, and a few girls joined in.

Just as I was letting out a breath, Brooke stood up.

She was wearing a short skirt, her long hair falling over her shoulders, holding a scrap of paper she'd scribbled on. She said a few lines about how she wanted to serve everyone too. Halfway through, she lost her place, blushed, and stuck out her tongue. The guys in the room immediately started cheering.

The votes were cast and counted.

We were tied.

"Carter, where's your ballot?" Our teacher looked to the back row. "No abstaining. Fill one out."

Every head in the room turned.

Carter pressed his lips together and stood up. His jacket hung open as he walked to the front of the room, one step at a time.

I stared at his back, my eyes burning.

I had already given up hope. But a small voice inside me still whispered: what if?

What if he remembered the first time I ran for class president in elementary school? How he pushed me, crying, up to the front of the room. How he spent his own allowance on candy to hand out to our classmates, begging them to vote for me. How when I won, he was even happier than I was and went around telling everyone, "Our Ellie came in first."

What if he remembered I'd told him that being class president made me feel a little less useless?

He handed his folded ballot to the teacher.

She opened it and glanced at it.

"Brooke Whitman, twenty-five votes. Ellie Grant, twenty-four. Brooke is our new class president. Ellie, please hand everything over after class."

I sat in my seat and didn't move for a long time.

Carter went back to his seat. He didn't look at me.

Tears fell onto my textbook in big, heavy drops. The girl next to me panicked and kept patting my back.

The little boy who'd bought candy to win me votes had died a long time ago, somewhere in my memories.

The Carter Hale of today was the hottest guy in school, the captain of the basketball team, the boyfriend of the prettiest girl in school.

He just wasn't my Carter anymore.