The Opposition

Chapter 41: Sadie

I have been a student at Fairridge Preparatory for almost three years. Alongside my friends. Against my enemies. I have worked my ass off to win. To have my name associated with victory. Sadie Jones is not a quitter. Sadie Jones is determined. And, now, Sadie Jones's picture is plastered on news websites, alongside Carter Conners's, to display our JW Debate victory. Their photo of choice was Carter and I standing with all of our awards, when he whispered those dirty words for only me to hear. How would you feel if I fucked you with this gold metal around my neck? They caught him looking at the crowd with a neutral expression while I stared at him with wide eyes. If you didn't know what he said to me, you would think that I'm looking at him with surprise that we won. The headline of the article reads: Fairridge Preparatory Juniors Win Prestigious JW Debate Competition. The article makes me smile.

"What are you smiling about?" Carter asks me, luggage surrounding his feet. We're standing inside of the gates that separate Fairridge from the rest of the neighbourhood. The school is right in front of me, in all of its glory. Cemented sidewalks, grey buildings, trees filling any open lawn space. We're standing in front of a circle of plain land, surrounded by buildings. On warmer days, the lawn will be littered with students sitting on monogrammed blankets. Game days will take place in this space, filled with blow up bounce houses and food trucks. There's no one outside now, since it's too late and everyone should be in their dorms now. The guards at the gate let us in, telling us to head straight to our dorms. Cadwell House for me. Clarence House for Carter.

I show Carter the article on my phone. His lips lift into a grin to match my own. "They chose a good picture." The mischief sparkling in his eyes tells me that he remembers exactly what he said when that picture was taken.

"It's not bad," I say, and I see his eyebrows rise in surprise that I agreed with him.

I think he's about to say something else, when I hear the crunch of a branch near the circumference of campus, lined with a forest. Through the dim outdoor lights, I see a figure in the distance, surrounded by a faint cloud of smoke. I don't have to guess who that is. There's only one girl who would be out of her dorm this late. Her eyes meet mine, and she gestures me towards her.

Carter notices. "I'll take your bags." Security gave us a cart to wheel our bags around campus.

"You don't have a key to get into Cadwell," I remind him. If you don't live in the dorm, your key card won't work.

"I'll leave your bags outside of the building, you can take them inside," he says.

"Okay."

He kisses me on the cheek, soft lips meeting soft skin. "See you in class, Jones." He means math class. Most of our classes have remained the same, except for the fact that I took on another art. Ana isn't taking a full year of Latin, so she'll have Film and Video with me. And Angie opted for the half-year Physical Education program, since she hates running and playing basketball.

When Carter leaves, I make my way towards Lena, smoking at night on the edge of campus. She's not even trying to be inconspicuous. She's standing directly under a lit lamppost. The closer I get, the more I can make out her features. Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun, with the front strands brushing her face. She's dressed in a silky PJ set. Her face is absent of her talented makeup skills, so you can see a light dusting of freckles on her nose and faint acne scars on her cheeks, as if they're rosy freckles. Smoke escapes her parted pouty lips, a cigarette resting between two fingers in her left hand.

When I approach her, my lips quirk up into a smirk. "Not afraid to get caught, Lena?"

She takes another drag of her cigarette. Lena is the partier of campus. If you're having a party and supplying alcohol or weed, she'll be there. You'd think she'd be like Landon–an athlete who's overly cautious about what they put in their body–but Lena's talents haven't been deterred by her debauchery. She's still the best volleyball player Fairridge has ever seen. I'd know, I've played alongside her.