Page 1 of The Arrangement

Prologue

The building loomed ahead of me like a monolith of wealth and power; the wrought iron gate surrounding the large private school campus might have been for privacy, but it also sent a message. There was us, andyou. Until this point in my life, I had never been a part of the ‘us’ in any shape or form. My grandmother Mary had whisked me away from my drug-dealing father’s shitty apartment in New York to the east coast, where she lived with my grandfather Howard in an old brownstone that had been turned into a six-unit complex years before. The plaid skirt itched my legs and I tried desperately to sit still as we waited in the headmaster's office, my grandmother trying to steady my hand where I picked at the cuticle of my thumbnail.

From what I had gathered while eavesdropping on the late-night talks my grandparents had, the scholarship application had been rigorous. Still, they refused to send me to the local high school in the district due to some personal vendetta against its principal. I already felt out of place; I was taller than most girls my age and my gangly legs and arms seemed more of a hindrance than anything else.

The second-hand store had been full of old uniforms, and my grandmother looked pleased each time I came out of the dressingroom. They didn’t live off of much, but she even sprang for a professional haircut, for which I had been long overdue. I still resisted the urge to twist the long locks of my conditioner-softened hair that she had patiently curled this morning in front of the porcelain sink.

“Ah, Mr. And Mrs. Clark, thank you so much for coming.” A balding man entered, his suit well-fit and smelling like expensive cologne. I don’t think I had ever seen shoes that shiny before today.

I had droned out the small talk of the adults as I looked out the window. There was a lacrosse practice happening on the adjacent field and I watched with interest. I had seen lacrosse in movies and TV shows, but never in real life. It looked brutal.

The tallest player leaped over another, his long lacrosse stick sweeping out to grab a yellow ball as it was pitched across the field.

“And she loves to write and read, isn’t that right Georgia?” I turned my attention back to my grandmother and smiled, nodding at the headmaster.

“Well, that's wonderful. We have an amazing creative writing program and our English department is unmatched.” The older man looked at me kindly. “Do you have a favorite book?”

I remembered the worn, cream-colored copy of Emily Bronte I had brought from New York, one I had found in my mother’s extensive collection left behind after she had died.

“Wuthering Heights,” I replied softly, and I saw my grandmother's sad smile at my response.

“Ah, gothic literature is dramatic, isn’t it!” I just nodded while my grandparents signed papers and handed over my test scores from my school in Long Island.

Before I knew it, I was fitted with an ID badge and a small metal pin that held the school crest; Perrington Prep, the most prestigious high school this side of New England and I was there on scholarship.

It was then that I decided I had to be the best; the hours my grandparents spent pouring over the paperwork, buying me clothes and books and shoes so that I would fit in as much as possible couldn’t go unrewarded. So I set to work.

I breezed through ninth, tenth, and eleventh grade. It was in mysenior year that I was pulled from class to the guidance counselor’s office. The thick chairs smelled like leather softener, and the counselor's earl grey tea sat untouched on her desk as she looked over paperwork.

I turned quickly as the door opened, my brow furrowed in confusion as Sebastian Quinn strode in. His white button-up barely contained his broad chest and muscular arms, one of which was fitted into a sling.

“So, Sebastian and Georgia, you are both neck and neck academically for valedictorian!” Ms. Everwood exclaimed excitedly, turning around the papers she had been looking over to show our mirrored GPAs and mid-year tests.

I cautioned a look at the tall lacrosse player; most people would joke about how dumb jocks are, but Sebastian? He was smart, funny, and athletic. Well, until a rival player kicked his legs out from under him at the last game and caused him to fall hard on his side. I nearly winced as I remembered the loud pop that echoed across the field. His grandfather had been furious—not at the other player, but at Sebastian for not watching his flank.

“I thought there could be two valedictorians?” I asked, taking the pamphlet Ms. Everwood extended to both of us. She nodded, her grey hair pulled back into such a tight bun it was a wonder she had no facial expression at all.

“Usually yes, but we here at Perrington Prep believe a little friendly competition drives greatness. So,” the older woman grinned, wrapping her hands around her tea mug. “May the best test scores win!”

Quinn had barely looked at me as he brushed past, all but exploding from the seat after we had been excused. Later, I would see him in the halls of the library, a looming fortress of books upon books that could only be acquired by vast amounts of donor funds; at the same time it was my favorite space. I would sneak in snacks, the librarian also giving me a kind smile when I snuck in during lunch. Though I wasn’t the only student there on a hardship scholarship, I was one of the only ones who had kept her head stuck in books so I couldearn my place here. Even though I was in class just like every other student here, I felt like an outsider. Like an imposter amongst the haze of name-brand purses and cars worth more than my grandmother’s retirement in which seventeen-year-olds did donuts in the parking lot.

Sometimes I would see his ridiculously handsome dark face between the shelves, his gold eyes assessing me as if trying to figure me out. It was unnerving and made me even more self aware than before.

During break we were given a list of books for extra credit assignments, and I was relieved to see Wuthering Heights was on the list. Had I read it until I could memorize the passages by heart? Absolutely. Did the cover I had taken from my mother’s shelf literally need tape to fix the broken spine? Also yes. So I headed to the library, seeking out their better-preserved copy to save my old one.

Though the campus was modern, it still relied on the little paper cards tucked inside every book to show who had checked it out before you and for how long. I was surprised when I opened the copy to see the neat, delicate scroll of Sebastian Quinn’s…twice actually.

I wasn’t sure why, but it twisted something in my stomach to think of his strong hands turning the same pages I cradled lovingly.

I brushed it from my head just as quickly as it had arrived, remembering how the headmaster caught him making out with his equally gorgeous girlfriend in one of the empty classrooms. I kept my head down, made the grades and made myself promise to prove myself to everyone—to show my grandparents I was worth the money, sweat and tears they had poured into my education and rearing.

That last part of the semester ended in a haze of me giving the valedictorian speech, the metal of the title heavy against my sternum as I spoke.

Seeing my grandparent's proud faces in the crowd made all the sleepless nights and anxiety-induced stomach aches worth it.

As I scanned the crowd, I couldn’t help but rest on Sebastian Quinn, his conventionally attractive face frozen in a stiff mask of indifference.

In the end, caps were thrown and students hugged and cried.Walking down the stage after it all, I stopped in front of the taller boy with storm-cloud eyes and held out my hand.

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