Page 13 of To Love or to Lose
I’m keenly aware that Genevieve is wicked smart, and I imagine it’s not often she’s lost for words.
It hits me a bit harder, knowing how much this matters to her, and my nerves are only amplified as a voice in my head asks,“are you stealing this from her?”
“Normally, I would appreciate the sentiment, but under these circumstances, I don’t give afuckwhat your reasons are.Youare why I’m being forced to share what should bemyspeech.Youare stealing what should be mine, and I couldn’t care less what your involvement in the matter is because you being here has done more than enough.” She turns away from me, beginning the trek up the stairs.
“Genevieve, wait.” I reach out to grab her wrist, but she quickly jerks her arm out of my grasp.
“Donottouch me,” she says.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
She stops on the third step.
“‘Sorry,’ as in you’re going to tell Headmaster Whiting you don’t want to give the speech at graduation? Or ‘sorry,’ as in youknow how fucked up all of this is, but are still going to reap the benefits?”
I’m quiet for a moment too long.
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “And to think I was getting called to the office so I could give you a welcome tour.”
“I want to give a speech for the same reasons you do.”
If my dad found out that I gave up the opportunity to be Valedictorian, he would be livid. He’s always pressured me to get good grades, and it’s no different now that I’m in the states.
It’s either I get good grades and prove I have more to offer to the world, or I take over his company.
“Except you haven’t experienced a single day at this school. You have no idea the type of courses that got me to where I am, or what kind of school this is.”
“I was offered the opportunity on the same playing field you were. Maybe you wouldn’t be so hurt if you had spent a little less time assuming the position was yours.” I bite back, and I immediately feel guilty for saying it.
“Assuming?” She asks, her voice laced with venom. “No, Jameson, I wasn’tassuminganything. I fucking earned it, and maybe you did too, but that was a different goddamn school. In fact, your‘playing field’as you so accurately depict it, is in another fucking country! You got this opportunity onmyplaying field handed to you because Headmaster Whiting is using you as hisposter boy.”
I laugh, “That's rich coming from you.”
“Don’t put us on the same level, Jameson. Maybe I’ve been the poster girl for Fairwood Prep, but I’ve been doing it for a hell of a lot longer than you have,” she sneers. “The school wants you to stand on stage and give a speech because they know how great it will make them look. You will be evidence that their valued foreign exchange students have the best opportunity to rise tothe occasion of being at Fairwood, and it also doesn't hurt that you're a boy.”
I hesitate to say anything, still reeling in the fact she's suggesting I got valedictorian because of my gender. Then again, at a school like this, it seems like a viable option.
Before I get the chance to say anything more, she’s advancing up the stairs, distancing herself from me one quick step at a time.
Genevieve Alderidge, oh how she plans to destroy me.
Chapter Four
My mind is foggy and simmering with rage as I take deep breaths. I’ve never had such a challenging time formulating thoughts, and it unnerves me.
Usually, my brain houses a filter that allows me to sort through the thoughts I need to trash, and the ones that need to be pushed to the forefront of my mind.
Today, that filter is nonexistent, and I find myself incapable of focusing on anything our teacher has said for the duration of the hour.
Something about a syllabus, the books we’re required to read, and an assignment due next week—that was all I could register throughout the entire class.
I can’t draw my attention to anything other than the issue at hand, and it feels like my brain is being forcefully condensed into a jar much too small, all because of Jameson Beaumont.
The only thoughts running through my mind revolve around the aggravation I’m feeling because of him. I’m struggling toprohibit my emotions from taking hold of me and running rampant.
I couldn’t be more grateful when the bell rings, signifying the end of first period.
“Are you okay?” Eloise asks as we collect our backpacks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
