Hypothetical Heart (Farewell Fairwood #2)

Chapter 19

19

M y entire life, I have strived for perfectionism. I’ve wanted to be the best ballerina, the best daughter, the best friend.

The mantra of my life has been “Do better, do better, do better.”

Yet, with every extra practice, every impressive accomplishment, every kind word, I’ve only ever been met with the notion that nothing is ever perfect.

It’s almost as if everyone is trying to make me feel better by promising me I will never be perfect.

It never makes me feel better. Instead, it only makes me wonder if perfection is only impossible to reach because everyone believes it to be.

“That was better,” Madame Bacri says as I continue practicing. “Not perfect, but better.”

Fouettés, oh, how I hate them.

She steps closer, motioning towards my waist. “You need to keep your hips more aligned. Try again.”

I do try again, only this time, the only thing I’m able to think about is the time being displayed on the clock above the mirrors.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes. That’s the other mantra of my life.

“No more watching the clock.” Madame Bacri snaps her fingers in succession. “Fouettés, go.”

I sigh, straightening my shoulders and gearing up to try again.

And again, and again, and again.

Some days in ballet are like this: tough to the point where I fear I’ve hit a plateau and don’t have the ability to get any better. But I have to remind myself of all the other times I thought I would never get a new skill, and I did.

By the time the bell rings for me to head to my next class, I’ve done two good fouettés. Madame Bacri tells me I’ll try again tomorrow, and I leave.

“You look cheery,” Eloise says sarcastically as I approach her and Genevieve where they stand by my locker.

“I’m still fucking up,” I tell her, knowing there’s no use in pretending nothing is bothering me. The two of them know me too well.

“Woah.” I hear the voice from behind me. “Did you just breach the Winnie Carter Language Handbook?”

Logan throws his arm around my shoulder. I know it’s him because no one else would do this as casually as he does.

“This is not the time.” I smack his arm, forcing it to fall to his side. “My fouettés are still bad, and if I can’t perfect them in the next week, I’m probably going to be executed by Madame Bacri,” I sigh.

“I’m sure it won’t be long before you perfect them,” Genevieve says with a tone of so much finality I almost want to believe her.

There are very few things as calming as Genevieve Alderidge’s reassurance. She’s usually blunt and doesn’t bother to sugarcoat things, so for her to be as empathetic as she is right now says something.

“I know, I know.” I’m well aware of my tendencies to freak myself out and embellish things to make them seem like a bigger deal than they truly are.

“If they were that bad, Madame Bacri would be on you a lot more than she is now,” Logan adds.

“I need her to be on me. I’m never going to get any better if she tries to baby me.”

“Winnie, we all know the implications ballet can have on girls’ bodies. She can’t be overworking you,” Genevieve says.

“I’m not saying she needs to work me to death, but I need to work harder than I am right now if I ever want to make it professionally.” God, the idea of doing ballet for the rest of my life almost makes me sick.

“Take it easy, Win, you’ll get it. You always do, and everything ends up working out,” Logan says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Thanks,” I sigh.

I’m going to be fine, and it’s not the end of the world if my fouettés aren’t the best that they could be, but sometimes it makes me wish I could be good enough at something else so I could quit ballet.

All of us—excluding Jameson—grew up yearning for something to separate our personalities from one another. Which led each person in our friend group to gravitate towards a different hobby, which then became our defining traits.

Mine is ballet. It is one of the only things that has been able to occupy enough of my time to be considered something I’m good at.

Genevieve is known for her intelligence. Not only is she one of two valedictorians for our class, but she’s also class president and class officer president. She’s going to Columbia in the fall to be a lawyer, for God’s sake.

Jameson is the other valedictorian, and while he is a recent addition to our inner circle, he has made it obvious what he is good at, and that is adapting. He is good at making the best of every situation, and he is exactly the type of person our friend group needed.

Luke is amazing at football. He’s been scouted for D1 schools since our sophomore year, but beyond that, he loves cameras. He’s always taking pictures with his wide collection of vintage cameras, and he knows how to use them.

Eloise is an entertainer. She knows what to do to make people laugh and is just daring enough to make anything a good time. Her exuberance excites everyone around her.

And then there’s Logan, the people person. Mostly because people gravitate towards him and want to be friends with him, but also because he’s lovable. Any person who has ever had anything positive to say about Logan will tell you the same thing: people are allured to him because he’s happy, and it radiates from him,

Along with everyone else, that's the way I’ve always felt about Logan. Allured.

“ D o you know how to do this?” I ask, looking over at Logan.

The farther into the school year we get, the more apparent it becomes that being good at math means absolutely nothing when it comes to calculus. I used to think I was a natural until I had to learn the definition of derivative.

“Not entirely,” Logan sighs, tapping his pencil against the desk. “Ask Gen.”

“Evie.” I tap Genevieve on the shoulder, causing her to turn around. “Can you teach us how to do this?”

“I’ll teach you,” she says before facing Logan. “But I’m not helping you. You haven’t paid attention all semester.”

“Gen, this shit is so boring,” he sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair.

“Well, it wouldn’t be if you actually tried because then you would know how to do it,” she snips, and all of us know it’s true.

Logan’s smart, really smart. He just doesn’t outwardly prove it like Genevieve does, which is why most people underestimate him. Most people don’t know that a majority of school work comes easily to him and that he wants to be a doctor.

His only downfall is he’s spent so much of his life being so naturally smart that when something stumps him, he doesn’t give it the time of day. He moves on.

“Gen, come on,” he sighs.

“Oh hush, we both know Winnie will show you how to do it after I teach her,” Genevieve snaps back.

I laugh because I know it’s true, and he winks at me.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he smirks, making my heart flutter in my chest. There’s something about Logan’s pleas I will never be able to resist.

“Okay, so show us how to do it.” I lean over onto her desk.

She begins describing all the different ways you use the theorem we’re learning about, all of its rules and exceptions. Meanwhile, Logan is staring at his phone, continuing to not pay attention.

“Hey!” I smack him lightly on the side of the head. “You can at least pretend to pay attention.”

But when he looks over at me, I can sense something more daunting than calculus is happening. “Holy shit, someone made a post about Eloise on Fairwood Locals.”

Genevieve’s head snaps up, and by the look on her face alone, I know she knows something we don’t. “What?”

I lean over, trying to catch a glimpse of what he’s looking at.

Genevieve sighs, putting her head in her hands. “What does it say?” We both have a feeling whatever Logan is reading can’t be good.

Fairwood Locals is the town gossip page, where some of the biggest narcs within Fairwood like to post information they should not know for the entertainment of other townsfolk.

I’ve never been on it, but Genevieve has gotten backlash over the years–mostly from parents who think she cheated her way to Valedictorian and are demanding retribution. Nothing bad enough for her to solicit her opinion on it, though.

“There are pictures of her and some girl making out in Meet in the Margins, but there’s no way to tell who the other girl is.” Her relationship just got exposed on Fairwood Locals, and we didn’t even know she was with someone.

“Does El know?” Genevieve asks, not waiting for an answer. “Should we tell her?”

“Where is she right now?” Logan asks.

“Trig,” I say before looking toward Genevieve. “Did you know about this?”

Genevieve has never been a good liar—maybe to other people, but never to the ones she loves—so I know she’ll answer honestly.

“I knew the bare minimum. All she told me was that she was hanging out with someone as more than a friend,” she admits. “I had no idea it was serious.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from getting up. “There’s no way you could have known, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“We need to go find her,” Genevieve says, grabbing her bag off the ground. “Class ends in four minutes, anyway. I doubt Mrs. Kisler will care.” Logan and I both nod, gathering our things.

Eloise may put on the front that she’s a hardcore, no-feelings type of girl, but if anyone knew her the way we do, they would know this is likely tearing her apart. She needs her friends right now.

I call Eloise as we walk out of the room, and she answers on the second ring. “El, where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom on the second floor.” Her voice cracks.

“Okay, we’re on our way,” I tell her. “Stay where you are.”

We make our way through the halls, avoiding the questions people are asking, and by the time we get to the bathroom, the bell has rung.

Eloise is smart, though, and chooses to hide out in one of the bathrooms not many people use in the corner of the school.

With no care for the rules, Logan bursts through the door before Genevieve or I can.

Eloise is leaning against the counter, staring at herself with tears in her eyes. I turn, locking the door so no one else walks in on the scene.

“What the fuck happened?” Logan bellows.

“Logan.” Genevieve puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. “Not the time.”

“No, I’m pissed,” he says. “Who would think it’s okay to post something like that?”

Eloise turns, and against all our expectations, tears are running down her face. We all fall silent.

“I—” She can’t even get the words out before Logan’s hugging her. Genevieve and I come up behind her, completely stunned.

“It’s okay,” Genevieve tells her, placing a hand on her back.

“I mean, what the fuck?” She pulls back, wiping her eyes. “That’s such an invasion of privacy. I don’t deserve that.”

“You’re right, you didn’t deserve for that to happen,” I say.

“They’re assholes,” Genevieve sneers. Logan gives her a look, and she shrugs. “There’s no other way of putting it.”

I set my backpack down, unzipping the front pocket to grab a travel pack of tissues. “Here.” I hand them to Eloise.

She nods in thanks, pulling one out to wipe her eyes. “I hate that this affects me so much.” She sniffs.

“It would affect any of us, El,” Genevieve tells her. “The only thing you can do once it happens is move forward, but sometimes you need to hit the brakes for a second.”

Genevieve is the best person for this conversation because she’s been through it. When her now boyfriend, Jameson, went back to London, Genevieve broke down just like Eloise is now. I think it’s easy for her to relate, which makes her sympathetic.

“I don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to stay here,” Eloise admits. “I can’t see my mom right now.”

“Why?” Logan asks. “This isn’t your fault, E. It’s not something you should be ashamed of.”

Eloise smooths her hands down the quilts of her skirt; the same skirt that Genevieve and I are wearing as part of our Fairwood Prep uniform.

“I know, and my mom wouldn’t react badly to it or anything. I just really can’t deal with her coddling right now. She doesn’t even know the girl. I can’t explain it to her right now.”

During this time of day, Chrissi would normally be running the diner she owns in town, but knowing her, if she heard about what was posted on Fairwood Locals, she would want to leave early to make sure Eloise was okay.

“We can go to my house,” Logan suggests. “My parents are gone, and Mae is still in school.”

We all agree on the idea, and Genevieve texts Luke and Jameson, telling them to meet us there.

“ S o, who exactly is this girl?” Luke asks as he takes his shoes off at the door.

Normally, he and I are the most diplomatic and composed when broaching topics like this one, but Luke is the closest with Eloise out of all of us, so at the moment, I think he’s feeling a bit betrayed.

“Don’t give me that look,” Eloise huffs from where she sits on the steps.

“Come on, Wheezy.” Luke shakes his head. “You can’t honestly say that you didn’t once want to tell us about the girl you’ve been seeing.”

“It’s none of your business,” she grumbles.

“Luke, be nice,” I warn.

“I am being nice. I know you’re embarrassed, Wheezy, but there’s nothing embarrassing about someone posting something about you against your knowledge. We all know it’s not your fault this got out.” He walks up to her, taking a seat on the step above her.

Eloise has her elbows against her knees and her head in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“No,” Luke rejects. “I’m not letting you push aside your feelings instead of talking about them.”

It’s the exact type of tough love Eloise needs, and I know I don’t have to be a part of this conversation, so I stay quiet.

Saved by the bell, Eloise’s phone rings. She looks down at it, and her entire face changes. “I have to take this,” she says, getting up and walking through the entryway and into the sitting room.

“You need to stop being so nosey,” I say to Luke with gritted teeth.

“There’s obviously something she needs to get off her chest,” he rasps.

“That’s not your cross to bear.”

“Did you know over sixty percent of gay kids are depressed because they think they have no one to talk about these things with?” he asks, running his hands through his hair. “I’m looking out for her because this type of scrutiny is why depression and suicide rates among the queer community are so much higher. That doesn’t deserve to be ignored.” The way Luke cares is endearing, and it’s one thing we all love about it.

“I’m not ignoring it, but there is clearly something she’s not ready to talk about yet, and while it’s great you want to be there for her, it’s only going to work out when she’s ready,” I tell him.

Sometimes, a person can only be helped when they are willing to accept it. I know that better than anyone. And when Eloise wants to come to us, I’m positive she knows she can, but until then, we’re better off staying out of it.