Page 32 of All Saints: Pledge

He looks like he’s in physical pain and I concur. My whole body burns and thrums, screaming to finish what we started. We study each other one moment longer before he presses his back against the bookshelf and leverages both of us up to standing.

My legs won't hold me at first, but I take a step back to lean on a table. Kendall straightens his clothes, making a pained face as he adjusts his trousers. His arousal is clear for anyone to see. I almost feel bad. Almost. He swings his messenger bag down over his crotch.

With one last look at me, Kendall mutters something and then walks toward the exit.

“What?” I ask him, grabbing for my own things.

“I said,” he growls, “that I'm not going to survive what’s coming.”

I blink, expecting some quippy acerbic remark aimed at wounding me. But I don't understand his statement any more than I understand what just transpired here. He leaves and I finally silence the phone.

It's another moment before I realize it. "Goddamn it," I say to no one in particular as I climb the wooden stairs out of this room.

He took the book with him. Strike two for me. But I can’t help to think about his words as I shove through the door of the library and into the blessedly chilly drizzle. If Kendall doesn’t think he’s going to survive what’s coming, what makes me think I have any hope?

16

Islide in to stand at a bench beside Clara, just in time to say the last line of the Latin prayer at dinner.

“…ut iis sobrie, modeste atque grate utamur, per Jesum Christum Dominum Nostrum, Amen.” My eyes flick to the College Principal. He’s eyeing me back with distaste. If I had arrived a moment later, the College might have turned me away and I would have had to write a hard-copy apology letter for my tardiness. The principal turns away and I let out a breath of relief as we sit.

Clara tucks her sleek blond hair behind her ear. “Where have you been? I tried texting you.” She scans my person, obviously catching my tangled hair and academic robe thrown hastily on over my rumpled pencil skirt. I’ve lost my fascinator somewhere. “Were you mugged or something?”

My eyes skitter down the long wooden table, lit by lamps. I see several of our compatriots along the tables—Irina and David Jinesh chat amiably across from us. The rowing twins are at the other long table in the narrow, but exquisitely tall and ornate hall. It takes a long moment to find Kendall seated toward the head of our table. Alone. Petulant. He looks mussedtoo, his short robe—undergraduate robes are shorter, like vests, compared to the floor length ones of graduate students—potentially inside out. “I, ah, I tripped in the library.”

Clara’s eyes dart between me and Kendall, as if sensing my thoughts. And I decide I need to head this off at the pass. I turn to her abruptly. “If I tell you something, do you swear you won’t pass it along?”

Again, her eyes dart down the table to Kendall, and my stomach swoops. Finally, she nods. “Sure.”

I don’t know what possesses me to trust her. Maybe it’s just that since arriving here at Oxford, she’s the one piece of home, of normal, that I have. She hasn’t been rude or mean. She’s as lost as I am and I’m taking a chance here, but I want to bury the hatchet. I could use a proper friend in this. And it means trusting her with sensitive information, even if I’m doing it to redirect her suspicions that I have, indeed, been making out with her One True Love. Again.

“I was in the library because I found out that my grandfather went here. To Oxford.”

Shock registers in her eyes, and she doesn’t break my gaze, even as we sit back to allow the soup course to be served in front of us. “Wait, your grandfather went here? And you didn’t know?”

I shake my head. “I did not know. In fact, he forbade me from coming. I suspect I’m only here because he passed away while I was in high school, otherwise I think my father would have upheld his wishes.” I look up at the ceiling, wondering how much to divulge. “The money for my college—any college—comes from my grandfather. My parents can’t afford to send me anywhere, much less an Ivy League or a school abroad. Because I got a scholarship here…” I trail off. Had I gotten a scholarship offer because of my grandfather? “It was either Oxford or community college at home. Maybe State school.”

Clara slowly sips her soup, then nods. “That’s a lot to process. My family was against me coming as well. Although I suspect my mom is proud of me for getting in, my dad thinks this is a waste of money. He wanted me to go to his alma mater. And honestly, Oxford is probably wasted on me. I love learning, but I don’t have a passion for one specific area.”

I frown, trying to put together my thoughts. “Did anyone in your family go to Oxford? Maybe our scholarship is a family thing. Like something they offer to all children and grandchildren of graduates.

“Nope. My mom went to Penn State and my dad went to Yale on a soccer scholarship.”

“Your grandparents?”

She thinks a moment. “My grandpa went to Yale, and my grandma never went at all. She was the quintessential society wife.” A small smile touches her lips, and I gather that her relationship with her grandmother is wonderful. “They still live on the East Coast. We spend our summers with them. I can tell that my grandmother is thrilled I’m here. She’s the only one who seems happy. For everyone else, I was going to college to get a degree I wouldn’t use, and then get married.”

It’s my turn to frown. “Don’t you have sisters?”

“A sister and a brother. I’m the baby of the family. My sister is in law school at Yale, and my brother is starting his first year of medical school at Michigan State.”

I whistle. “Impressive.”

She looks away and down. “Yeah.” She says it like she’s said it a million times.

Welp, that shoots that theory in the foot. And yet, I can’t shake the thought that there is a connection between my grandfather attending Oxford and the mysterious scholarship offer I received from a fraternity he was a part of.

“So, did you fall off a ladder at the library?”

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