Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

19| Disturbing News

|Photo by Kindel Media from Pexels|

There are five guest bedrooms in the Tinsley's Water Mill estate. Mine is on the east side of the house. I know this because the sun greeted me very early this morning, demonstrating the need for the heavy curtains that flank my window.

After lunch, Chase's little sister agrees to let me comb out her tangles and twist her hair into two braids—as long as I promise to wear my hair the same way. "We're practically twins," I say as we stand side by side, admiring ourselves in the full-length mirror.

Antara cocks her head to the side, momentarily puzzled. Then she smiles, says, "I'll put on jeans, too," and skips out of my room.

I take a step closer to my image and it's impossible not to think of Glenn. When my family moved to the farm, I was ten and always wore my hair this way. I didn't know or care that it annoyed Glenn until I was twelve and he was fourteen. Then I wore braids to get his attention.

He would tug them and tell me I looked like a little girl until I took my hair down, which I always did because I was addicted to his victory smile. At thirteen, I finally worked up the nerve to say, "Remove them yourself if they bother you so much."

That was the day he gave me my first kiss.

I find my phone, call his number and groan. Not that I was expecting him to answer. But in my last message I begged him to at least change his voicemail prompt so I could hear his voice.

He didn't. I leave a sigh of protest after the beep. "Are you even listening to these messages?"

I'm gonna go with yes.

"I'm in the Hamptons and I'm not thrilled about it—my aunt is a pain in the ass. But I don't regret coming to New York. What sucks is not being able to talk to you about everything that's been going on here. So yeah, your silent-treatment plan? Not working. It only making me miss you more."

* * *

The lawn is immaculate, a spongy green carpet that stretches out past the enormous pool—and a pool house that's bigger than our tractor shed back home. Antara takes my hand when we get to a crushed-shell path that leads to the dock, where Chase Tinsley the third, also known as Trey, is messing with the motor of a massive speedboat. This is where Chase number four gets his height and eye color—although the Tin Man's are a steelier shade of blue. The comparison stops there. Trey has model good looks too, in an older-guy sort of way, but he's generic, like the random dad in the photo that comes in a new picture frame.

Chase gives me a curious smile as he reaches out to touch one of his sister's braids. "This is a good look for you, peanut." She shows him her tongue and skips over to the edge of the dock. Chase takes her place beside me, leans close and whispers, "Any chance you packed your Zachary plaid and knee socks?"

I jab my elbow in his ribs and he laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't seem to grasp the concept that the thrill is in the chase. Please do take note of the pun. It's intentional and verifiable."

Gross. "So, I guess Conner's right," I say, making sure my tone demonstrates my disgust. "The only way to get you to leave me alone is to have sex with you."

He huffs a laugh, more astonished than amused, and says, "There is another way."

"Tell me, please."

"Sorry. I can't."

He lunges after Antara. Her shrill scream dissolves into laughter as he lifts her over his head.