Page 2 of All Saints: Pledge

I blink before swinging my head around. Kendall lurks like a creeper, leaning on the wall right beside the door frame. Supremely uncomfortable and sullen, he’s a toddler told to stand with his nose in the corner.

This seems to amuse the older man, and a small smile tugs at his lips. It’s not all nice. “Tell me all the details, as you young people say. Did he behave in school? Is he agentlemanwhile he’s away from me?”

Blinking again, I turn back to the desk. “I’m sorry, Mister…” I’m sure I heard him wrong.

“Saint James. Augustine Saint James.”

“Saint… James…” I say as if I’m slow in the head. As in Kendall Saint James? This is… this is Kendall’sfather? Here. Interviewing me at Oxford. Well, this is shit. I need to do well—if I don’t get this full-ride scholarship, I can’t attend Oxford. Honestly, monetarily, I can’t attend anywhere exceptthe community college a mile from my house. It’s Oxford or bust for me. I cannot afford to alienate this man, but I definitely do not know Kendall well enough to try to play off the relationship. “Well, sir. Kendall and I…weren’t really friends. But yes, I think he was…fine at school.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh really? I thought you two were close at one point.”

I’m not sure what to say to that other thanI think your son is an icy asshole, so I shift topics. “I’m sorry, sir. Is this a conflict of interest for you?”

He chuckles and I don’t like that much better. “Right to the point. I like that. No. Your Dean is just through that room for your formal Oxford interview, I am merely an administrator on the scholarship committee. In fact, your proximity to my son is how we had you on our radar. You can thank him for his recommendation.” I do not understand the look that Augustine shoots over my head. It’s almost maliciousglee. But he replaces it almost immediately with the stuffy formality I expect. “I’ll only be asking you questions for your Alpha Epsilon Gamma scholarship application.” He gives me a smile that I think is supposed to make me feel better but doesn’t. I prefer the one with more teeth because I think it’s his true nature.

“Dad, I—this cannot happen.”

Augustine shoots Kendall a look that I cannot read, but that cuts like a knife. “You know we cannot rescind this offer. We have to observe formality.” There’s something hidden in his words, but I do not have enough context to understand the double meaning. What does he mean, observe formality?

My eyes dart between them. “I—ah—intend to take the scholarship if I get it?” It comes out as a question and I hate myself.

“We would not blame you if you declined. The course work here is extremely rigorous. You could go home and be top of yourclass in any state school,” Augustine says, eyes on mine. I can’t tell if now he’s trying to scare me off? Do take their scholarship this seriously? I mean, a full-ride at Oxford is no laughing matter, so I get it.

“No…thank you?” I want to hit my head. I hate that everything I’ve said so far today has been a question and not a statement.

Kendall looks ready to spit fire. “There has to be?—”

Augustine has had it. “Kendall, you need to go meet your mother. She arrived at the airport, and I said I’d send a car to pick her up. I’ll see you at dinner. I just thought you two might like a surprise reunion. Ms. Eades are you ready to discuss your essay?”

“Oh, um, sure.” I say, lamely. “Nice to see you again, Kendall.”

I expect him to ignore me or at the very least give a curt nod. Instead, he kneels down in front of me and puts both hands on my shoulders, as if we’re old friends. He shoots his father a look before focusing on my face. The axis of the earth tilts under my feet because I have only ever been this near Kendall Saint James once before, and it went badly. His hands are like branding irons, holding too tight to my slender shoulders. The pressure hurts, but his presence issocompelling, I almost relish in the contact. His eyes are snapping fire as they meet mine. My mouth goes dry, my heart thrumming in my ears as he leans down slowly and with intent. The movements of a jaguar who already holds his prey in his hands.

Is he—is he going to kiss me? Right here? In front of his father?

His lips come down next to my ear, his hot breath a whisper. “I don’t want you here. Go. Home.”

I gasp as his lips brush my ear and recoil. Both at the audacity of his words and simply to put space between us, given the shiverthat runs down the back of my legs. It’s a ludicrous reaction. The jet lag must seriously be messing with my reflexes.

I smooth down my skirt, and clear my throat, determined not to show him how much his proximity shakes me. “Thank you for the suggestion, butIhave an interview. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

He shifts his glare from me to his father, and I swear his words aren’t for me. They’re for his father. As he stalks out the door, he tosses over his response over his shoulder.

“No,” he bites out. “You won’t.”

1

“And here is the door to your room,” my guide—a reedy upperclassmen with an Oxford sweatshirt—says, motioning to a wooden door with a metal handle. We’re standing in an alleyway of sorts, a tall stone wall dividing our quad from the next to our left, and the tall building of student housing to our right. Everything is stone, from the walls to the paving under our feet, and I swear I cansmellthe history here. Overhead, an early fall sky shines bright and blue—not as overcast as the last time I was here in Spring for my interview.

He shows me how to use the fob on my keyring to gain entry to my room—it will also work at the dining hall and the libraries—and then leaves me to unpacking. It’s a narrow room, about half the size of a hotel room, but it’smine. Despite Kendall, I’m victorious stepping foot inhere. My new start. My first day in Oxford. The first day of the rest of my life. A life where I’ll become one of the good ones. A political force based in family values, altruism, and hard work. Work begun by watching my grandfather serve our small community faithfully as a town councilman—but I’ve dreamed of that workon a bigger scale. Oxford gives me a springboard and a clear track to doing what my grandfather did, but for the whole of the United States. It’s why I chose Oxford. Yes, it’s far away from my provincial upbringing and agriculturally-based family. And not just because Oxford has always captured my fancy, calling like a siren to my soul. From a practical place, Professor Margaret Dusberry, whose track record of producing US and UN ambassadors is unparalleled, teaches here. I’m in her First Year lecture. I’m finally here.

I can only pray that Kendall’s words to me during our spring break meeting here hold true: may I never have to speak to him ever again. He’d gone back to hating and ignoring me the rest of Senior year. If possible his sneer had increased, his silences stonier. Kendall is one enormous pile of furious attitude with no steam vent and I don’t want to be there when he blows.

Meeting his father gave me some insight intowhy—if my father wasthatman, who lived apart from my family full time on purpose, and spoke to me like that—I might not be a nice person either. But Kendall has a choice to continue to be like that. And I have a choice to avoid him like the plague.

I rip open the plastic of the simple duvet I’d purchased online and had delivered. Moving overseas means my actual luggage is minimal. Some people might use the word “capsule” but compared to my cozy room at home, the word “sparse”or “depressing” seems more applicable. I open my new pillow, spread the new sheets over the bed, and flop down.

The room is comprised of a built in wardrobe by the door, a built in desk across from my bed, a narrow window with a lovely view of the quad, and my bed. That’s it. At least I don’t have to share it with anyone, unlike poor Jaqueline at Arizona state with her loud Texas roommate Bonnie. They started school three days ago, and I’ve received texts of ever-increasingly-ridiculous antics as she navigates living with a huge personality.

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