“What? What is it?” Creed asks, his half-lidded eyes open wide. They look like saucers in his pale, handsome face. “What the fuck did it say?”

I close my own eyes for a moment to catch my breath, and then sit back up, breathing heavily, my heart pounding. I turn to Creed first, and he lifts his brows up.

“I did it. I’m in. I got in. I’m in.”

His mouth opens in shock as Miranda squeals, and I soon find myself in Creed’s lap. He’s a sloth sure, but when he wants to be, he’s lightning quick. His mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me with slow, lazy perfection until Zayd clears his throat and draws both of us up and out of our stupor.

“So, the twins got in, I got in …” He glances over at the rest of the group.

“I already told you, Milady, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Of course, I’m coming. If you’ll have me, that is.” Windsor shrugs, the weird gold epaulette things he attached to his uniform shimmering as he shrugs. Of course he has to break the severe nature of the fourth-year uniform with gold dangling bits on his shoulders. He wouldn’t be Windsor York if he didn’t.

“I’m playing football for Bornstead, it’s official,” Zack says, but Andrew’s shaking his head.

“I’m gonna miss you assholes, but I’m going to Stanford. Sorry.” He cringes slightly and makes a prayer shape with his hands. “And it’s not because Gary’s going there, so don’t believe the rumor. I always knew we were a temporary thing. Actually, I’ve been casually emailing this guy who goes to Adamson All-Boys Academy … now that might be a thing.”

“You keep talking to these internet weirdos, and one day you’re going to get turned into a lampshade,” Miranda warns him, but I’m so happy I’m crying. There are literal tears streaming down my face, and I can’t stop them.

I stand up suddenly, and everyone goes quiet. I look right at Tristan, but he says nothing. He doesn’t have to. I know he got in. The question is: is he going to go to Bornstead with me … or somewhere else? Somewhere with Lizzie, perhaps?

My mind is holding onto that information about his dad, the possibility of reclaiming his father and a fortune bolstered by his father’s new bride … My eyes stray to Zack briefly, and he meets my gaze dead-on. There’s family issues there, too, that I want to sort through.

But first …

“Popcorn and movie time, my room. We can make sharing that bed work.”

“And tea,” Windsor adds, holding up a finger. “Please don’t forget.”

Everyone stands up and shuffles toward the door, laughing, talking … it feels too good to be true.

I’ve noticed in life that when something feels that way, there’s usually a reason for it.

“You’re not going to Bornstead, are you?” I ask Tristan, but he just stares at me like he’s waiting for something.

“Is that what you’d like, Charity? Would that make you happy?”

“Where did you get that black eye?” I ask, sidestepping his question. It feels too personal to answer anyhow, and I swear, we probably only have like thirty seconds before Miranda comes back in here and yells at me for taking too long. “During fall break, where—”

“I know all about my own black eye; I don’t need you to describe it to me.” He reaches up and touches the side of his face in remembrance. I frown, but I know being a dickhead is his way of practicing self-defense. “And you, better than anyone, know perfectly well who gave it to me.”

“Your dad?” Tristan shrugs and turns away. I step toward him, a question on my lips that I know I shouldn’t ask but can’t help and then …

It’s actually Zayd this time that comes tromping in to bug us.

“Come on, Charity, it’s celebration time,” Zayd scoops me up in his arms and carries me out the door and down the steps.

We head down to my dorm and go inside, tea is served all around, and the movie is started.

It’s nearly ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door, and Zack gets up to answer. Without a word, Tristan steps inside and joins us.

Now the bullying and behind-the-scenes manipulation from Harper, that’s expected.

Seeing the king of the school in my room eating popcorn?

That’s the shock of a lifetime.

To celebrate my acceptance into Bornstead, Dad and I go out for waffles first thing. He has to take a seriously loaded edible before we go because he’s having trouble eating. Or rather, he says he just doesn’t feel much like eating.

I’ve missed him like crazy, and sitting across from him in the Station, I feel this inescapable fear that takes hold of every part of my body and won’t let go. My dreams of getting rich and putting Dad up in a mansion to enjoy his retirement seem like a bunch of bullshit right now, like the na?ve whimsy of a sheltered girl.

Charlie … he’s dying.

It’s almost too much for me to handle, that rush of feeling, but for Dad, I crush it all down and hide it away. Later, it’s going to rear its ugly head and bite me in the ass, I just know it.

“Can we talk?” I ask him later that evening, as he sits on the couch and sips a hot chocolate with whipped cream, red and green sprinkles dotting the top. I’m hanging ornaments, but my hands are shaking. I hide the emotion from Charlie, turning back to the sweet scent of pine and sap-covered branches. All the guys are in town—and I don’t think it’s by accident. No, it’s most definitely by design.

Either they want to be close to me … or else they feel sorry for me. I can’t decide. But honestly, I’m glad they’re in Cruz Bay for winter break. Knowing that I have people out there in case I need support, that’s priceless. Text messages are nice, video chatting is better, but there’s nothing like holding the hand of someone you love.

That’s irreplaceable.

Tears sting my eyes, but I continue hanging ornaments, pulling one after the other from the box. There’s a glazed ceramic circle with a picture of me as a baby, cradled in Dad’s arms. He looks like a different person there, his skin smooth, cheeks full, mouth turned up in a genuine sort of smile. I almost lose it when I see that ornament.

“Of course, Marnye-bear, what about?”

I glance over my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s even worth it to bring this up. The thing is, I have to know. And I imagine that Charlie Reed is the only person who might be willing to tell me the truth.

“Isabella, is she …” Dad pauses, his mug of hot cocoa halfway to his lips. “Is she your daughter?”

There’s a long stretch of tense silence, so much so that I wonder if he’s even going to answer me.

“Why would you think that, honey?”

I hang the special ornament near the top of the tree before I turn around, dressed in fuzzy flannel pajamas that I’m sure the guys would lose their shit over. If they liked the duck pj’s, well, this reindeer onesie with the giant horns on the hood could seriously rock their boat.

“She looks like you, and me, really. And when I walked in after school let out last year, you were crying. I know you said you were just happy for me to finally meet my sister, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Dad glances away, like he can’t bear to have this conversation.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers, voice tight, so strained that I feel suddenly like an asshole. I never should’ve brought this up, not with him in this condition. He looks back at me, face set in a determined frown. “I didn’t know she was mine, or I would’ve … I wouldn’t have let Jennifer keep us apart.”

“I know that,” I breathe, moving over to sit beside him. I lean in close, and he puts his arm around me. “You love your kids more than anything. Trust me, I’m the consummate expert on the subject.” Charlie laughs, but it ends in a coughing fit that leaves the handkerchief he’s using dotted with flecks of red. Coincidently, it’s the same handkerchief that Tristan gave me on the first day of third year. “Are you okay?” I whisper, but Charlie just shakes his head and waves me away.

“Marnye, I want you to have a relationship with your mother. With your sister, too. That way, when I’m gone—”

“Don’t please,” I snap, sitting up suddenly and rubbing my hands down my face. “Please don’t talk like that.”

“Marnye, there’s a difference between staying positive and burying your head in the sand. You know I love you, honey, and if I could I’d be by your side until I was old and gray. Sometimes though, the universe doesn’t give us what we want.”

“The new baby, Marley, is she yours, too?” I glance over at Charlie, but he just shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Jennifer seems to think she is, but we don’t know for sure. At this point, it doesn’t matter. It’s better for us not to know, really.”