Page 6 of No Place Left to Hide

Jena sits atop the list of people I don’t want to know about No Caller ID. If she finds out, she’ll drag me to the police station, and that can’t happen. My parents would flip their shit, and any more legal attention on our family would cause so many problems, especially for my father.

She toes off her heels in the entryway and walks down the hall, but instead of veering to the right, into my room, she goes straight to the great room. The ceilings rise above us as we step into the huge space, and she throws her bag on the cream-colored velvet sectional.

“Why are you ignoring my calls?” she asks, folding her arms.

I walk around her and into the kitchen. The black-and-white vintage tiles are cool on my bare feet as I pour her a glass of water. “I wouldn’t say ignoring. More like…passively avoiding.”

She sits at the island and drops her mess of keys on the countertop. Everything, from the key fob cover, to the pepper spray key chain, tothe giant glitter pom-pom is gold. “You mean hiding. Wehaveto go to this party.”

I set the water in front of her and get a glass for myself. “You may have to go, but the only thing I have to do is survive whatever happens in”—I check the decorative clock on the wall—“eighteen minutes.”

Jena excitedly slaps the counter. “You don’t have to survive anything. You’ve got Yale in the bag. I mean, your life is going to become even more perfect in eighteen minutes. How amazing is that?”

It’s increasingly hard to hold on to my Goodwin smile. “Amazing. Totally.”

She sees right through me. “You’re going to get in. You’re the perfect candidate for Yale, and your mom has been setting you up with all the best volunteer opportunities. Your application is gold star worthy. There’s literally no way you’re getting a no.”

Unless I don’t measure up. Unless they took one look at my overachiever application and decided I wasn’t interesting or dynamic enough for this year’s class. The Ivies aren’t only about grades and volunteer opportunities. You have to stand out among the best of the best. What if I didn’t?

Jena waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello? Calm the panic spiral. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I take a sip of water and try to breathe. “Easy for you to say. Your dreams don’t require you to sell your soul for admission.”

She laughs, but the corner of her mouth twitches like it always does when she’s irritated. “Culinary school isn’t exactly a walk in the park, you know.”

I backpedal immediately. “That’s not what I meant. I think what you want to do is amazing—”

“But it’s not like cracking the Ivy Leagues and completing a familylegacy. I know what you meant. And you’re right. I couldn’t do what you’re doing—mostly because I don’t want to. Which is why we should totally go to the coast after you get into Yale in sixteen minutes.”

I’m torn between the panic of time passing too quickly and the annoyance that she’s turned the conversation back to the beach party in the span of ten syllables.

“Hear me out,” she says. “If I just wanted someone to go with, I’d wait for Felix and Dylan to finish their game and catch a ride with them. I want to go foryou. You’ve been living like a hermit since the last party, and I understand why. But at some point, you have to start living your life again. What better time to reemerge onto the social scene than a party celebrating one of the most amazing achievements of your entire life? Besides, Beau is only throwing it to stay on your good side anyway, and youcan’tmiss your own party!”

Called it.I grab my water with a groan and flee to my room.

I nudge my bag off my office chair and sit down. The white fur tickles the back of my knees, and Jena flings herself onto the foot of my bed.

“First of all,” I begin, “the party isn’t for me. It’s for Beau’s ego. Ever since my parents sold the lake house, he’s been basking in the elevated social status that comes with having the ‘party’ house. And second, I’m not going to that party, no matter what Yale says. My mom would kill me if she found out. My instructions have been very clear since September. I’m to do absolutely nothing that could get me in trouble, or talked about, ever again. If there’s even a chance my behavior might shine a negative spotlight on the family, it’s a flat no—”

She nods, folding her legs beneath her on the white comforter. “Especially with your dad being considered for a judge appointment. I know. Everyone knows. Your parents are nuts about their Goodwin perfection—but your image is spotless now. Going to one party won’tpitch the Goodwin name into the mud. We’ll drive out together. No drinking. We’ll dance and bonfire and celebrate. The first whisper of drama or anything that could get you in trouble, we get the hell out of there.”

I give her a look. “You’re telling me that if we walk into that party and a fight breaks out in front of us, you’d be cool driving all the way home right then? A ninety-minute drive each way, for thirty seconds of party?”

“Yup. That’s what I’m saying.”

“You’re a liar.”

She laughs. “For you, I’d leave after thirty seconds. But it’s not going to be like that. It’ll be so chill and calm. Nobody’s going to fight, or Beau will have them thrown out.”

3:51 p.m.

I shake my head. “We’re going to have to resume this argument after four p.m., or my brain is going to melt.”

Jena launches herself from my bed and heads for my closet. “Fair enough. I’ll be in here, looking for your beach party outfit, while you panic refresh.”

Ugh.She’s relentless.

I open my laptop and log into the Admissions Status Portal. The Yale logo at the top of the page brings another wave of nausea. My eyes skim the application home page, checking and double-checking that everything is in order.

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