Page 24 of The Valedictorian and the Big Man on Campus

“Everyone knew.”

My eyes widen. “Even the teachers and Dr. K?”

“Especially the teachers and Dr. K.” She narrows her eyes at me playfully. “I heard your dad made a call to sweep it under the rug. As usual.”

“That was a cheap one.”

“And yet still perfectly accurate.” She nods at the bottle. “Go on. Rules are rules. Drink up, Rich Boy.”

I do it with a shake of my head. Rules are rules, as she pointed out. It’s funny how a few hours ago her calling me Rich Boy would’ve set me off. Then again, hours ago, she would have said it with more venom in her tone.

Wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I set the bottle back down between us. “You know, I never asked my dad to call in favors like that.”

Samantha’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“I wish he hadn’t. I know that probably seems easy for me to say now that it’s done. But I didn’t want my dad making my path any easier than it already was.”

She pushes herself upright so we’re both facing each other, legs criss-cross applesauce. “I know this is going to sound bitchy—”

“Something I’ve never heard from you before.”

She snorts. “If you didn’t or don’t want your dad’s help, then why do you accept it?”

“What? Am I supposed to tell him to fuck off?”

“You can choose whatever words you like.” She studies me in that piercing way of hers that could make a lesser person shrivel up under its heat.

It’s a good thing I’m not a lesser person. I’m Zack fucking Strovers. And that… Well, at one time, that meant something in these hallowed halls.

“But I suppose I shouldn’t have taken a job from my dad. Right?”

“It’s your life.” Samantha lifts a shoulder. “But it seems to me that if you didn’t want to have your dad breathing down your neck all the time, you might step away from him.”

“You mean, I should get out of his shadow.”

“You’re not in his shadow. You’re just… not standing completely on your own.”

“Samantha Wingfield. Here to drop another truth bomb.” I rest a hand on her knee to soften my delivery. “I know what you mean, though. Poor little Rich Boy.”

“I know no one has it perfect.” Samantha pulls herself up so we’re facing each other. “But from where I was sitting—a mom working overtime to scrape together rent money, a dad who couldn’t be counted on to send child support, and me flipping burgers when I wasn’t studying my ass off to save money for college—your life seemed pretty close to perfection.”

The picture Samantha paints of her high school looks so different now through that lens. I always remember her hustling. But I never gave much consideration as to why she did. I knew she lived in a little two-bedroom apartment with her mom, but I didn’t think about how hard they both worked to pay the rent.

“You must have thought I was a spoiled asshole.”

She starts to speak, but I hold up my hand before she says anything. I don’t need her to placate me by softening the truth.

“In comparison, I had everything handed to me. Private lessons. A country club membership. Admission to some of the best universities. An instant job offer from one of the top real estate firms in California.” I scratch the back of my head. “All signed, sealed, and delivered by Papa Strovers.”

“But I suppose having an overbearing dad who was trying to control your life might not be much better than having one who didn’t care if you aced your classes or won Model UN negotiations.”

I give a half-grin at that. “You mean coming in second place.”

She rolls her eyes. “One of these days, we’re going to find that plaque and settle the issue once and for all.”

We fall silent as we both seem to take a moment to consider the weightier subjects we’ve just discussed. The only sound is the ticking of the oversized clock hanging over the circulation desk. Counting away the seconds that pass. Each second brings us closer to the moment the janitor will come and let us out of here.

Samantha’s shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I always thought you were smart.”

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