Private School Kings

Being Queen

"Murph, look at me." Charlie's voice is low but firm, "Look at me?" This time, there's a pleading lilt to it, because of that and because he's my brother, I listen. My eyes meet his. He looks so thin now, so tired. It's choking me, seeing him like that, but I try not to let it show.

"You said this wasn't going to happen." I tell him this even though he already knows it. "You promised me."

"I know." He says. On his face, lit by the flashing blues and reds, is a resigned sort of sadness. It doesn't look right. Not on my brother, who's always had some fight in him, not on Charlie. "I'm sorry."

"What do we do?" I want him to solve it like he always does, even though I know he can't. Not this time.

"I'm gonna go outside to the police. I'm gonna surrender willingly and they'll put me under arrest." He stops for a moment, his breathing ragged, but when I don't say anything he keeps going. "Then they'll take me to the station," he sighs, "and they'll ask me things about some guys I can't say anything about. So I won't say anything," I want him to stop, but I don't tell him to "and then I'm probably gonna go to jail." The way he says it it sounds so matter of fact, but his jaw is clenched and tight, and his hands are balled like he doesn't want me to see them shaking. I still do.

"For how long?" I ask.

"I don't know." He says.

"What's going to happen to me?"

He bites his lip. "I," only now do his words choke the way they should. "I don't know."

I want so badly to be angry, to hate him for doing this to us, but I can't. So, I tell him the truth. "I love you."

"I love you too." He says, and with that he's gone. The door swings loudly on its hinges behind him. His coat is still on the hook next to mine and mom's is there too. It's one pf he only things she left behind when she went, and I wonder now for the first time if she's  beencold without it. They all hang there together --the coats-- side by side, but I'm the only one left to wear one.

There's a question that won't stop hammering against my skull. I ask it again, out loud, even though now there's no one to answer. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Monroe, look at this." Tim whispered in my ear. We were on the balcony. He'd whisked me there after our dance had finished. I was hot, and sweaty, and the heat of him and his wild breathing and red cheeks was almost unbearable. "It's all ours now." From our spot we could see the entire ballroom, the Lords and Ladies beneath it, the Freshman guarding the door. From this angle the shadows had been stripped away, and with them the mystique. I felt almost like I was back at one of my middle school dances, only now, the twirling children were decked out in finery paid for by their father's offshore accounts.

I didn't answer Tim, but I wasn't sure he would even notice if I did. Not hopped up the way he was. "There's a room, down the hall. It's all set up for us."

I blinked, surprised. "Down the hall?"

"The king and his girl always spend their first night there." His hungry gaze scanned me up and down, and the subtext was overwhelmingly clear. "It's tradition." I expected this. I knew that after he chose me -- if he chose me -- Tim would feel entitled to some things, but knowing and seeing are two different things.

I felt bile rise in my throat. "Oh."

I hadn't thought it possible, but his manic grin widened even more.

"Are you..." I swallowed, trying to sound eager. "Are you ready to go, then?"