Page 117 of High Season
“Hannah,” she said. “Go home.”
“Why? I’ve got a right to be here.”
“He’s with Cordelia, Hannah.”
“Cordelia isn’t coming. He told her not to come. He told her it’s over—”
Tamara laughed. There was a strange, crazed brightness behind her eyes.
“He doesn’twantyou, Hannah,” Tamara said. “You need to realize that. Blake doesn’t want someone like you.”
There it was. No one had ever actually said the words to Hannah before. Not Evelyn, or Harrison. Not the families of the kids Hannah tutored, or the groups that her parents took on private dive expeditions. Not her classmates at the school where Hannah fought tooth and nail for her scholarship, or Barnaby, or Blake. The silent, seething undercurrent to her entire life.
Someone like you. Someone not good enough.
Someone not like us.
That simmer of anger, just beneath the surface, sparked.
Reflexively she reached out, pushing hard against Tamara’s shoulders.
Tamara staggered back. There was a look of shock on her face as her ankle twisted beneath her. Her leg bent at an awkward angle, then gave way as she toppled to the ground.
“Shit, Tamara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Tamara’s face was contorted, screwed up with pain. Her hand went straight to her ankle, tugging off her heels.
“What the hell?” she said.
Hannah moved to help her up, but Tamara jerked away from her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “What is wrong with you?”
Hannah was scrabbling for something she could say, something she could do to take it back. Her cheeks flushed hot with shame.
“Hannah?”
Both their heads lifted. Up toward the steps, where Blake stood watching them. Hannah felt something inside her sink.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Blake—” Hannah started.
“Your fuckinggirlfriendpushed me,” Tamara cut across.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Hannah.”
His voice was level. Calm.
“Come on,” he said to her. “Let’s go inside.”
“Blake, what the hell?”
“Come on,” he said again. He wasn’t looking at his sister. He was only looking at Hannah.
Mutely, she held out her hand toward his.
