Читать книгу Diamonds Are Forever - Michelle Madow, Michelle Madow - Страница 10

chapter 3:

After getting back from Savannah’s celebration dinner, Peyton lay down on her bed and glared at the calendar pinned on her wall. There were less than twenty-four hours until the end of winter break. Sure, the Goodman School wasn’t as torturous as Fairfield High, but she still didn’t like sitting in classes all day or want to be there. Especially after all the fun she’d had in Italy.

She clicked on Dante Lazzaro’s Facebook page for the hundredth time since returning home and scrolled through the pictures they’d taken together. Dante was the son of the owners of the resort they’d stayed in while in Tuscany. He was gorgeous and only a year older than her, and they’d hit it off immediately. But he was only a vacation fling. She’d been with him mainly to help her get over Jackson—her bodyguard, whom she’d fallen for over the past few months, and had stupidly managed to get fired because she kept pushing him to give in to his feelings for her.

It had all gone to hell on Thanksgiving Day, when she’d found out about her mom keeping the secret about Courtney’s twin sister, Britney. Peyton had gone to Jackson to talk. Once he saw how red her eyes were from crying, he’d taken her to a dive hotel on the Strip, where no one should have known who she was, so they could talk privately. They’d ended up admitting their feelings for each other, and some tourists had taken pictures of them having a clearly romantic conversation while drinking beers.

Adrian had seen the pictures, fired Jackson, and told them they couldn’t see each other anymore. Jackson had gone back to his home in Nebraska. The last Peyton had heard from him was that he “needed space so he could get his life back on track.” She hadn’t wanted to be clingy and force him to talk to her, but it had been almost a month, and she missed him so much that it left a hole aching in her chest.

Not knowing what else to do, she’d tried getting over him by spending time with Dante in Italy. But Dante didn’t look at her the way Jackson did—like he could see through her protective shield and straight to her core. Dante was supposed to help her get over Jackson, but he’d made her miss Jackson even more.

She shouldn’t do it—she would only be torturing herself—but she typed Jackson’s name into Facebook and clicked on his profile. She’d added him about two weeks ago, and his page still taunted her with the box that said Friend Request Sent. She slouched over her computer, staring hopelessly at the screen. His page had such intense privacy settings that all she could see was his profile picture of him and his family hanging out at a lake.

Maybe she should send him a message. She bit her lip, hovering her mouse over the message button. She just wanted to make sure she hadn’t completely wrecked his future. If she had, and if he never wanted to speak to her again, she would rather he tell her. It would be better than this awful silence.

Then someone knocked on her door, and she clicked off his Facebook page.

“Peyton?” Courtney opened the door a crack. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Peyton shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed. “What’s up?”

Courtney walked inside, clutching a red pocket folder to her chest, and sat down on the bed. She chewed her bottom lip, a telltale sign that she was nervous.

“What’s in the folder?” Peyton prompted.

“A college application for UNLV.” Courtney gingerly placed the folder down, unable to meet Peyton’s eyes.

Peyton heaved a giant sigh and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m not going to college,” she said. “Shoving forms in my face and asking me to fill them out won’t change my mind.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Courtney said. “I filled it out for you. It’s all saved online—I made you an account—­but I printed it so you can see what I did.”

“You did what?”

“I filled out a college application for you,” she repeated. “For UNLV. I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself, and your SAT scores from when Adrian and Rebecca forced you to take the test were good.”

“My SAT scores were average,” Peyton said.

“Slightly above average,” Courtney corrected her. “And UNLV is a good school, but it isn’t Harvard or anything, so above average is fine, especially since you don’t need a scholarship. And your grades have improved at Goodman. With a good essay, they might accept you.”

“I knew there had to be a catch.” Peyton laughed, stretched her legs out, and leaned back into her pillows. “I’m not writing a college essay today. Or ever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Courtney said. “Like I said, I completed the application for you.”

“You wrote my essay?” Peyton smirked. “Isn’t that breaking some kind of rule?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Courtney took a deep breath and glanced at the door, as if afraid someone would overhear. “But yes. I wrote your essay. And it’s pretty good.” She pushed the folder closer to Peyton. “At least take a look. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Unable to resist, Peyton picked up the folder and opened it. One side held the boring form with all her information filled out, and the other held an essay. She took it out and skimmed through it.

It was about how switching to Goodman, where she received individualized attention from teachers who cared, opened her eyes to the “joys of learning.” This was proven by evidence of how her grades had improved in the past semester. The majority of the essay consisted of trying to convince the applications committee to look past her below-average grades from Fairfield High and see potential in what she could do in the future. Courtney had even written that Peyton wanted to be an education major so she could positively influence students the same way her teachers at Goodman had influenced her, going as far as listing three courses offered at UNLV and saying that Peyton couldn’t wait to take them.

If Peyton had been an admissions person, she would have believed it.

“It’s good, right?” Courtney asked.

“I guess.” Peyton placed the essay back inside the folder. “Except that I don’t want to go to college, and I definitely don’t want to be an education major. I can’t wait to get out of school. Why would I major in something that would keep me in a school for the rest of my life?” She shuddered. “That sounds awful.”

“You’re not declaring your major in your admissions essay,” Courtney said. “This is just to convince them to let you in. Once you’re in, you can choose not to declare your major, and take your general requirements until you figure out what you like best.”

“But I don’t want to go to college...” Why couldn’t Courtney get this through her head?

“Applying doesn’t mean you have to go,” she said quickly. “I’ve done all the work for you. Just give me permission to click Send, and we’ll see what happens.” Peyton opened her mouth to protest, but Courtney continued. “If anything, do it for me,” she said. “This is practice for my own college applications. If I can get you in, I should be able to get myself in somewhere, right?”

“So let me get this straight,” Peyton said. “This is a game for you to see if you can get me into college? And if I get in, you won’t care when I don’t go?”

“Exactly.” Courtney nodded. “So you’ll do it?”

“You’ll send it even if I say no, so fine, I’ll do it,” Peyton said. “As long as you promise not to bug me about going if I get in.”

“Deal.” Courtney bounced on the bed. “There’s only one small thing you have to do, and then it’ll be ready to send.”

Peyton braced herself. Of course there had to be a catch. “What’s that?”

“You need to get a teacher to write you a recommendation.”

Peyton paused, waiting for Courtney to say she was kidding. But her sister’s serious expression didn’t change. “What teacher is going to recommend me for college?” she asked. “The other students at school care about college applications. I don’t. My teachers know that.”

“What about Ms. Mandina?” Courtney said. “Your astronomy teacher—the one who helped you study for that test you did well on. She sees your potential. All you have to do is approach her after class and ask her if she would mind writing you a recommendation.”

“And get her excited because she thinks I suddenly want to go to college?” Peyton crossed her arms. “I don’t think so. What if she wants to have some long talk with me about how happy she is that I’m changing my mind? She’ll know I don’t mean it.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Courtney said.

“That my sister filled out my application for me, wrote my essay, and is using this as a practice run for her own applications next year?”

“Definitely don’t tell her that.” Courtney shook her head. “But let her know that you’re giving yourself an option, and you’ll see what happens when you hear back from the school. It’s not a lie. You can even talk to her after class when you know she has another class coming in next, so you won’t be stuck talking to her for too long. Please?”

Courtney widened her eyes, as if begging Peyton to give in. Peyton wanted to say no, but Courtney had gone through such a hard time after learning about Britney. If filling out a college application was keeping her mind off the twin sister she’d never gotten to know, then so be it.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Peyton said. “But remember—this is just so you can see how you did on my application. Even if I get in, I’m not going.”

“Great!” Courtney beamed and clapped her hands. “Once you get the recommendation, forward it to me and I’ll upload it to your account.”

“Will do,” Peyton said, unable to muster up much enthusiasm.

“Great,” Courtney said. “But anyway, Rebecca’s coming over in five minutes to talk about bridesmaid dresses. You ready?”

“Tell me again why I agreed to do this?”

“Because Rebecca begged us to be bridesmaids on New Year’s Eve during that ridiculously long six-course meal before the fireworks, and she wouldn’t give up until we said yes? And because maybe you’re realizing that she’s not as awful as you originally thought?”

“I never thought she was awful,” Peyton said. “Just annoying. She tells us how to dress, how to act, and wants to pick out our outfits for events...” She scrunched her nose. “I know she’ll technically be our stepmother, but that doesn’t mean she needs to act all motherly towards us. She knows our mom never did that, so why would we want her to?”

“How would you prefer her to act?” Courtney asked.

“I don’t know.” Peyton shrugged. “Normal?”

“Well, that was descriptive.” Sarcasm leaked through Courtney’s tone. “She’s trying to reach out to us. And she’s excited for the wedding.”

“Excited?” Peyton raised an eyebrow. “More like obsessed. If I had to hear, ‘That’s so cute, we need to have something like it at the wedding!’ one more time when we were in Italy, I might have lost it.”

“She’s about to have a princess fairy-tale wedding come true,” Courtney said. “It’s every woman’s dream. You can’t blame her for talking about it.”

“It’s her dream,” Peyton corrected. “After being forced to hear about all this wedding stuff, I decided that if I get married, I’m going to elope.”

The doorbell rang, and Peyton groaned, not wanting to get up. Then Rebecca’s voice echoed through the hall—she must have used her key to let herself in. “Girls? Are you in here?” she asked. “You remembered the appointment about the dresses, right?”

“Come on,” Courtney said, pulling Peyton off the bed. “Weddings are romantic. It won’t kill you to pretend to be interested.”

Peyton wasn’t sure about that, especially since her romantic life had dwindled to staring at a computer screen, wishing Jackson would accept her Facebook friend request.

It was probably a good thing that Courtney had walked in before she’d sent him that message.

In the living room, Rebecca was already showing Savannah a binder of color swatches, and her wedding planner was holding gold fabric up to Savannah’s face.

“You’re not making us wear gold, are you?” Peyton asked. “I hate gold.”

“It’s one of the colors I’m considering,” Rebecca said. “If there’s another you’d prefer, just let me know.”

“How about black?” Peyton doubted Rebecca would go for it, but it was worth trying. “It goes with everything.”

Savannah laughed and shared a smile with Rebecca, as if there was some inside joke Peyton didn’t know about.

This was going to be a long, torturous afternoon. Scratch that. It would probably get worse every day until the wedding was finally over.

It was going to be a long, torturous next few months.