Chapter 139: Guilty

Chapter 139: Guilty CLARK POV: I felt horrible the whole day. Everything about what I’d decided sat like a stone in my chest—and Mom, unknowingly, made it worse. Over dinner, she asked how many college offers I’d received and which one I was planning to take. Clare was on the sofa with Dad, watching what looked like a comedy or something, both of them relaxed, easy. But the moment Mom spoke, they turned to me—waiting, expectant. I didn’t meet Clare’s eyes. I just mumbled, "Memoville." And even when she whooped, "Congrats!" she said with that bright voice of hers.They were all so damn happy for me. I still couldn’t look at her. They were all happy. Smiling. Proud. And I just felt... like a fraud. A cheat. Mom offered to make something special for dinner—"as a celebration," she said—but I just muttered something about eating in my room and left. I didn’t deserve a celebration. Not for this. God, I felt awful. I had so many great offers—schools just as prestigious as Memoville—but I didn’t care. I still wanted that one. The one I was rejected from. The one that had accepted Clare. I was terrified of telling her. Terrified she might change her mind, take a second look at Memoville, and fall in love with it the same way I had. That she might suddenly want to go, even though I’d convinced myself she didn’t. What if she suddenly changed her mind? What if she actually looked into the school, saw what I saw, and wanted to go? What if she decided she was willing to try college after all? I was scared.So I didn’t say anything.Didn’t confess.Not to Clare. Not to Sara. Not to anyone. Sara had texted earlier, asking if I’d gotten in. I lied. Said I got in.Another lie stacked on top of the others, tightening the noose around my neck. Every word felt like a lie layered on top of another. Then Clare walked into my room. Yeah—I forgot to lock the damn door. She stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" she asked. "You’re acting weird. You got into the school you’ve literally hero-worshipped since forever—you should be bouncing off the walls not acting like someone died.." Her words stung. Not because she was wrong, but because she was so right. I’d talked about Memoville nonstop. Bragged about it. Tried to get her interested, even if she never paid much attention. So yeah, she knew how much it meant to me. And now she expected me to be happy, not sulking like this. "Come on, bro," she said, her voice softening a bit. "What’s gotten you all grumpy?" I sighed. Told her it was nothing. She called it out. "Bullshit. I know you. This isn’t you. Spill." "Seriously, Clark. Don’t give me that silent martyr crap—what’s wrong?" So I lied. Again. Told her I felt bad because she hadn’t applied to any universities. That it made me sad she wasn’t even going to try. She just shrugged, totally unbothered. "That was kind of the whole point. I’m not interested, remember?" Then she smiled and added, "You worry too much. Relax." And for a second, I felt... relieved. Justified, even. She didn’t care about college. She said so herself. So what harm was I really doing? But the guilt was still there, tightening like a noose around my neck. Then, because she’s Clare, she started messing up my hair to pull me out of my funk.I swatted at her hand weakly. She poked at me. I rolled my eyes. Then she full-on tickled me until we were both laughing. We ended up laughing, rolling across the bed like we used to when we were kids. But even in the middle of all that laughter, all I could think about was the lie between us. And how, if it ever came out, none of this—none of it—would ever feel the same again. We were just hanging out, like old times. Clare was sprawled across my bed, kicking at my pillows like she owned the place—because, let’s face it, she kind of did. She started going on about how once I left for college, she was going to convert my room into a band room or maybe a pet sanctuary."I’ll get a dozen pets. Like, literally a zoo. Snakes, hamsters, maybe even a baby goat. You know, something that’ll make Mom scream." She grinned as she said it, eyes gleaming like she already had a name picked out for the ferret she’d smuggle in. Then she grinned at me with that evil twinkle in her eye. "Oh, and if you somehow manage to get a girlfriend—even with your ultra-geek aura—take pictures. I wanna see the mythical creature brave enough to date you." I threw a pillow at her, and she ducked, laughing.It felt easy. Light. For a second, I let myself forget everything. I laughed. She laughed. Everything was fine. Until she said it. "By the way..." she said, casually picking lint off my blanket, "show me this Memoville place you’re going to. I wanna see the kind of creepy lab my twin’s gonna be building doomsday devices in." And just like that—Snap.My stomach twisted. Crap.No. No no no. She wanted to see it. She kept going. "I mean, I need to see where my twin’s going to become a mad evil scientist, right? Gotta know what kind of creepy basement you’ll be doing your freaky tech experiments in." Crap. She wanted to look it up. And just like that, the floor felt like it tilted beneath me. And if she saw it, if she actually looked it up... she might want it. My throat dried up. I tried to keep my face neutral, tried to play it cool. But the panic was already slithering in. Because I knew—if she glimpsed Memoville’s campus, their tech lab, even a single photo of that place... she might fall for it.And then what?What the hell was I supposed to say?"Oh sorry, I kind of stole your spot in a moment of desperation and hacked my way in?" My heart sank. My palms went cold. I managed a weak laugh, but it didn’t feel real. Because I knew—if she actually searched it, if she even so much as looked at a brochure or pulled up the website... she might fall in love with it the same way I did. And if she decided she did want to go— If she realized it was her spot— Then what? What the hell was I going to do? My nightmare wasn’t just some anxious thought anymore. It was starting to look real She reached for my laptop like it was hers—which, to be fair, half the stuff on it was hers anyway. Videos of her pranking me, photos she hijacked during family trips, even that cursed voice memo she recorded of me sleep-talking about quadratic equations. "Come on, just a quick look," Clare said, already flipping the screen open like she owned it. "Let’s see what’s so special about Memoville. I wanna know what magical land turns geeks into mad scientists." I forced a laugh, trying to sound casual, even though my heart had started a full-blown drum solo in my chest. "No need," I said, leaning over to take it back. "I mean, it’s boring. Just a bunch of buildings and nerds and science labs. You’d fall asleep." She grinned. "That’s exactly why I want to see it. You make it sound like a tech cult." Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, already clicking. I was two seconds away from full panic mode. If she typed in that name, if she saw the university’s website, the programs, the campus, the vibe—God, the vibe alone could hook her. It hooked me the moment I saw it. She was impulsive enough to change her mind on the spot. And if she did... She’d see the offer letter. Her offer letter. Not mine. "Clare, seriously—" Just then, like divine intervention sent from the chaos gods themselves, the door slammed open. "Hey, you two—" Dad boomed, halfway through the door before he even realized what we were doing. "Why’s it so quiet in here?" Dad never knocked. Ever. Not in my entire life. I always joked he believed doors were decorative. But for once, I wasn’t mad. I could’ve hugged him. Clare groaned. "Seriously? Do you people not know what privacy is?" I jumped at the opportunity, slipping the laptop out of her lap while she was busy glaring at Dad. "Oh no, we lost the moment," I said in fake disappointment, slamming the laptop shut way too quickly. Clare rolled her eyes. "You’re so weird." "Didn’t you say that fifteen times already today?" I said, clutching the laptop a little too tightly. Dad chuckled, oblivious to the tension in the air. "You kids planning world domination or just being moody teens?" "Both," Clare shot back, flopping onto my bed like she had been wrongfully interrupted from doing something vital to national security. Dad, clearly on a roll, said, "Anyway, your mom’s ordering takeout—big celebration tonight. We’re thinking that Korean BBQ you kids like. So, Clark, come pick your poison. You too, Clare." She groaned again. "Can you guys chill? It’s just a school thing. It’s not like we discovered alien life or anything." I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a breath. "Korean BBQ sounds good," I said, already backing toward the door, laptop in hand like it was made of gold. Dad turned to leave, already calling out menu options down the hallway. Clare stretched, still on my bed, watching me with narrowed eyes. "I’m not done with you," she warned lazily. "I still want to see where you’ll be becoming the next Frankenstein. Don’t think this is over." I gave her a tight smile. "Noted." And then I bolted. Back in the hallway, I almost collapsed with relief. That was too close. But the worst part? It wasn’t over. She was curious now. And curiosity was a fire I wasn’t sure I could keep from spreading. And if she got too close again... God help me, I might not be able to stop her next time.