Page 14 of No Place Left to Hide

Seriously, what’s Beau supposed to do when it rains? I turn and look back up at the porch. There’s a wall of windows, and a group watching a movie in the living room, but there are forty people out here. There’s no way all of us would fit inside what looks like a ten-by-twenty living room kitchen combo.

I hear Jena’s voice like a ghost in my mind:Snob.

Eh. Maybe she has a point. I mean, itisa beachfront property. Sure, it looks like the house a single mom might move to in a Nicholas Sparks novel. But it’ll do for tonight.

Besides, the lake house is gone. I can’t keep comparing everything to the past. Not when there is so much to look forward to in the future.

I talk with about thirty people in rapid-fire succession for the next two and a half hours, but I remain very aware of the time. As much as I’m having fun, I know what got me here, and it’s not Tracey McIntyre’shigh-pitched “I’m so excited about Dartmouth!” monologue. I try to pay attention to what she says, but I watch the side gate from the corner of my eye. ThesecondDylan arrives, my spine straightens.

I nod, emphatically, at whatever Tracey is saying, but she could be confessing to a murder for all I know. All my attention is on Dylan—but I don’t turn my head. I don’t give any indication that I know he’s here. Goodwins don’t drool, they don’t chase, and they don’t make themselves look like lovesick idiots.

Tracey blinks at me expectantly, her blond hair a golden halo under the globe lights. She must have asked me a question.

“Oh my god, Trace, I’m so sorry. I totally spaced out for a second. It’s been a day, you know? What did you say?”

She grins, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I get that. I asked if you were excited about Yale. That was your top choice, right?”

More like my only choice. “Yes! I’m so excited.”

“Do you know what your major will be?”

I open my mouth to answer before I fully hear the question—and when I do, my thoughts skid to a halt. I’ve been so laser focused on getting into Yale, I haven’t come remotely close to deciding what I’ll do once I’m there. I spent almost all last summer researching Yale’s best majors and the jobs associated with them. But it seems like accomplishment is my only actual interest. I know how to do well at Waldorf. I know how to volunteer and raise money for a good cause. I know how to organize people and places and things, but I don’t know how that translates to a Yale degree. Or anything beyond it.

I force a smile—this is a problem for later. I don’t have to know what I want to do today, or even this summer. I have time to figure it out. “I want to study law,” I say, the lie effortlessly falling from my lips. “Like my dad.”

Tracey nods enthusiastically. “Oh, right. I should have known! You Goodwins are born lawyers. I bet your dad is so excited for you. Did your parents freak out?”

I almost strangle the life from the cup in my hands and force myself to lighten up. “Absolutely. They were thrilled.”

“Mine too! When the portal came back with my acceptance, we danced around the whole house. My parents had a huge congratulations banner hidden in the pantry with like a thousand balloons. Even my little brother was excited. Today is the best day, isn’t it?”

I feel like I’ve swallowed a rock.

Someone—thankfully—calls her name, and Tracey gives me a little wave before sprinting across the sand toward another group. I slip into a vacant Adirondack chair by the fire and kick off my shoes. Sand pours from the flats, and I set them by the leg of the chair and stretch my toes toward the fire.

My parents had a huge congratulations banner hidden in the pantry…we danced around the whole house.

The idea of parents who celebrate their kids’ accomplishments, instead of moving on to the next goalpost is…hard to imagine. I can’t even picture my dad dancing. He’ll probably get that judge appointment and head straight to the office to sketch out a game plan for obtaining a seat on the state supreme court.

I sigh. Whatever. I don’t need balloons anyway. They’re bad for the environment.

I spot Jena on the other side of the fire with a few of our friends from the dance team. They’re laughing at something on Jena’s phone. My mom talks a lot of shit about Jena “settling” for culinary school, but at least she knows what she wants. My entire life has been a hustle to reach milestones to bolster the Goodwin name. It’s like a chess game ofachievement. Meanwhile, Jena found her passion and she gets to follow it and do what makes her happy. What’s that like?

I wonder if Jena’s parents got her balloons.

I didn’t even ask.

“You look way too sad for a girl who just got into Yale.”

I look up into Dylan’s beautiful face. He stands by the arm of my chair, wearing basketball shorts and a gray hoodie. A strand of dark hair falls across his forehead and brushes that spot between his eyes. He shakes it out of the way.

I force a smile and look away, like my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.

Be cool, Brooke.

“I’m not sad. I’m just realizing that next steps are hard.”

He crouches down beside my chair and props an elbow on the armrest. “Brooke Goodwin is scared of what comes next? I thought Goodwins were always prepared.”

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