Page 51 of Not Made to Last

I suck in a breath, hold it, and take stock of the girl in the mirror. The shirt I’m wearing is plain, blindingly white, crisp tothe touch, and tucked into a black, plaid, pleated skirt. Throw in the school-issued knee-high socks and blazer with bright orange trim, and… what do I think?

I think I could grace the thumbnail of the top three searches on Pornhub.

Obviously, I don’t state that opinion out loud. Instead, I shrug. From tomorrow onwards, I’ll be stuck in the uniform five days a week, so how I feel about it is irrelevant. “It is what it is.”

Dom sits up from his half-lying position. “As long as you don’t come home one day with black and orange pom-poms, screamingWildcats! Wildcats! Wildcats!then we’re good,” he mumbles, and I sigh as I continue to stare at my reflection. He adds, eyes narrowing, “It could always be worse, I suppose.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “What could be worse?”

He stands to move in front of me now, a relaxed smile gracing his lips as a lock of curls falls over his eyebrow. “You could end updatinga Wildcat.” He shivers at the thought, and I don’t think it’s voluntary. Neither is my reaction to his words. Heat rushes to my neck as thoughts and images of a boy with slate-gray eyes, a killer smirk, and expert hands come to mind. “Would it really be so bad?” I murmur, pretending to focus on removing the blazer.

Dom stills, his spine straightening as he looks down his nose at me. “You’re kidding, right?”

With a shrug, I lie, saying, “I guess I don’t understand the whole school rivalry thing, that’s all.”

“Ohana,” he scoffs, crowding me while I attempt to fold the blazer. “You may wear that uniform, but your blood is Phantom.”

“Phaaantoms!” Max cheers, and Dom chuckles. Max has as much interest in sports as Dom has in genetic engineering, but they’ll support each other to the end of the earth becausebrotherhood.

I remove the tie from around my neck while Dom sits on the edge of my bed. “Tell me again why you have to go to St. Luke’s?”

“Because that’s where the scholarship is.”

“And they can’t, like, give you the cash, and you go to Philips instead?”

“That’s not how it works,” I sigh out and leave it at that.

Sometimes, it gets hard to keep track of all the things I keep hidden from him.

25

Olivia

The student parking lot at St. Luke’s Academy is only dotted with cars when I enter it for the first time. I left the house super early this morning, wanting to be prepared, because—as Dom teased—I’m a giant fucking nerd.

I put the Camry in park, undo my belt, then take a moment to breathe while staring up at the school. The best way to describe the building I’m about to enter is…a beautiful monstrosity. It’s two stories high with a red brick facade crawling with ivy. There are a ton of windows, all spaced out symmetrically, and the yard is so immaculate it wouldn’t surprise me if the maintenance team trims the grass and brush with tiny scissors. And, like any real reputable private school with a history as rich as St. Luke’s, there’s a bell tower.

A single laugh filters out of me, built from nothing but nerves, because I’ve never felt so out of place in my life. Sure, my high school back in Wilmington was exclusive, but it was nothing like this.

I grab my phone from my bag and quickly find the voice recording app. A smile tugs at my lips as I remember how Rhys and his sister communicate this way—and I wonder if it started before or after “Mercedes” told him about it.

I’d lied when I’d mentioned it, said that I pretended to speak to my non-existent dad hoping, one day, I might meet him and I’d have all these recordings of my life to show him.

In reality, I was talking to my dead grandparents.

“Well, I’m still here,” I say into my phone. “We made it through another summer, and I can’t believe it’s the first day of school again. Max and Dom are still at Philips, and Max is in first grade. He’s thriving, as we all knew he would. Dominic’s a senior now. He’s six-five right now, and I don’t think he plans on stopping anytime soon. I’m not sure if I mentioned it earlier, but he ended junior year fifth in his class. He’ll most definitely be captain of his basketball team this season, so we’ll see how well he can maintain it. I’m sure he’ll do great, and if not, we all know he’ll be the hardest on himself about it. His coach is still amazing, and he assures us that his spot at Indiana State is a sure thing just as long as he stays out of trouble…

“As for me, I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of St. Luke’s Academy, going into my senior year three years later than we’d planned, and since I’ll be nineteen in a few weeks, I’m most likely the oldest student here—which, I know means nothing in the grand scheme of things, but… I don’t know… I can’t stop thinking about it, I guess.

“Also, I have to wear this uniform that I hate, and I’m sure I look as ridiculous as I feel, and how I feel is…afraid. Not that I’ll ever let it show. Truth is, I don’t really know what I’m so fearful of. It’s not as if I won’t be able to stand on my own here. I know I’ll be fine. At least academically. But everything else… the people, the socializing… I can guarantee I have zero in common with a single soul at this school, and… and sometimes, I haveto wonder if any of this is worth it. Like, what difference will it make if I graduate from high school or not? A part of me feels like my entire life is already planned out… but then I remember what happened to you guys and what happened to us, and it reminds me that, in the end, plans don’t mean shit.

“Anyway… I love you both, and I miss you. So much. And I hope I’m doing okay, and that I’m making you proud… because swear, most days, I feel like I’m failing…”

I choke on an exhale and close my eyes, try to keep the tears at bay. Then I count to ten in my head, like my grandma taught me to, and when I open my eyes again, the world remains as unclear as it was ten seconds ago.

I stop the recording and attach it to an email, then send it to an address that no one’s checked since my grandparents died. And, with one final breath, I ignore the shakiness of my hands as I open my door, slip on my mask, and take my first step toward another false persona.

26

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