Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 15

We've been inseparable ever since, even with the entire country between us, and I still consider myself one of the luckiest people alive to call her my friend. But I don't know that I want to bring down her night with my problems.

"What's going on, Lo?" she asks, as if reading my mind.

I sigh. "Am I going to ruin your night if I get into it?"

Jill takes her mouth away from the phone to say something else in Spanish before returning. "I've just had Guille get me another vodka soda, so I should be able to handle it."

See what I'm saying? She's the best.

So I go for it. I try to keep my voice light as I launch into the story, but I keep tumbling over my words. Jill's reactions are perfect (she's my best friend for a reason). She gasps, laughs, groans, and mutters "oh, fuck him" at all the right moments. When I tell her about Sam hijacking my phone and sending her the messages from last night, she growls "that motherfucker" with so much venom I laugh aloud. Jill curses more than anyone I know, and while it incites ire in her father, it always seems to lighten my mood.

She hasn't heard about Carr yet, so I tell her the details. When I get to what happened in the dorm after—Sam stepping closer, his lips moving toward mine—I pause.

"Did he kiss you?" She asks into my silence.

I let out a long breath, my heart stuttering just thinking about it. "No, but his lip ring..."

"Oh my god," her voice is low, disbelieving.

I wait for her to continue, but when she doesn't I ask, "what?"

"You like him." She's shocked, maybe a little accusing.

"Something's wrong with me," I mutter. "Like, seriously wrong."

She seems to think before responding. "Lo, I love you and I'll support you through almost anything, but everything about Sam Evans screams bad idea. I mean," she pauses, and I can hear her sipping from her drink. "We both heard the story you just told me, right?"

"I know," I groan. Then I voice the thing that's been wearing on me: "I'm afraid I'm becoming my mother."

Jill's quiet on the other end of the phone. I'm so scared she's going to agree I start jogging, hoping to buzz through my extra energy with the movement.

"You're nothing like your mom," Jill says quietly.

My relief comes full and fast, quickly followed by a litany of reasons I actually am. I share them with Jill, counting them off:

1. I feel electric with Sam, more alive than I have in years, and I'm putting that feeling above the obvious reason proximity to Sam (physical or otherwise) is a terrible idea

2. I like fighting with him, that it's not easy or relaxing to be near him. Again, this flair for the dramatic is exactly how my mother and I ended up in a car headed to California with a married man three years ago.

3. Perhaps most obvious? I should hate him because, Jill's right, everything about him screams bad idea. And yet, here I am.

Just like yesterday, Jill counters each of my points, this time with the sound logic of the semi-drunk. And this time she has an additional gem of information to impart.

"Shit. Before I forget, I texted Spencer this morning. Don't get mad, but I told him you might need some extra TLC with the Brandon/Sam fiasco. I didn't realize that he's known Sam since elementary school."

"Great," I snort. "Another ally for the asshole."

"I don't think so," Jill says earnestly. "Spence confirmed that Sam's been a piece of work since he was kicked out of his first boarding school back in Manhattan, but he was adamant that the downward spiral had more to do with outside influences than the type of person Sam is."

"Sounds to me like something a Sam ally would say," I mutter, unwilling to acknowledge the flutter in my chest that maybe Sam isn't the dickhead he's behaving as.

"I'm not saying it right," Jill says. "I'm drunk, don't you know?"

I can tell she's not, but she's headed in that direction. Still, I'm not quite ready to let her go. Our conversation is loosening me in the exact way I'd been hoping, and I have a couple more questions I'd like her input on. "Does Spencer know how Brandon and Sam became friends?"

I've been wondering this since I saw them together in the street outside Admissions. They don't exactly look like two peas in a pod.

"Summer camp, somewhere in upstate New York or something."

I have a flash of memory: ten-year-old Brandon loading into the Otts' old station wagon, nervous as hell for his first summer at the all-boys camp on Lake George. He'd come back talking about his new friend Seven, but I've never heard him mention a Sam.

Jill lowers her voice slightly. "One more thing you should know: Spencer mentioned that Sam was the first person Brandon called after his dad left with..." she trails off.

"Us," I finish for her.

"Yeah."

I nod, slowing to a walk. I'd figured there was something more to Sam's hot-and-cold behavior, and this is it. He hasn't just heard Brandon's stories about me, he's seen the damage firsthand. And if he's anything like me, the brain-to-body strength ratio is all kinds of off. At least I'm not the only one.

"Hey, Lo?" Jill asks.

"Hm?"

"I'm really sorry I'm not there for all this crap. I know it's been a rough start, and it's kinda my fault you're at Remington to begin with."

I shake my head even though she can't see me. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just confused and venting, but I'm fine. Really. Besides, if anyone's at fault for my being at Remington, it's your dad. You're at fault for my being in MacMillan."

Jill barks a laugh on her end of the phone. "I'll let him know you think so."

I laugh too. "Oh god, please don't do that. But do apologize for me. I'm sure he's heard something from Carr, and I don't want him to think I'm purposely screwing up all the nice stuff he did for me this summer."

"I will," Jill agrees.

I'm far enough into the woods—and enough time has passed—that it's starting to get dark. Jill's done her best friend duty listening to me whine; I owe it to her to let her off the hook so she can hang out with this Guille character.

"Thanks for everything, Jill," I tell her, turning and heading back toward the truck.

"Of course, girl! And remember: stay strong. One more night with Sam and then I'm back and you're home free."

"Except for class, the dining hall, our shared dorm, my dreams..."

Jill snorts. "You're in deeper than I thought. Just make it until tomorrow without kissing him. Then I'll be back to smack some sense into you."

"Yeah, yeah. Go dance with your Spanish hottie."

"Just dance?" I can practically see Jill, her eyebrows raised in the teasing way that says she's looking for trouble.

"Nah, do it all."

"That's more like it."

"Thanks again, Jill. Love you."

"I love you too, Lo. Text me in the morning!"

We hang up and I start to jog again, pushing thoughts of Sam from my head as I move faster and faster through the woods. Jill's right; I just need to get through one more night in MacMillan before I get my support system back and put some distance between Sam and myself. Things are going to be just fine. I ignore the niggling thought at the back of my head: famous last words.