Chapter 5 – Different Personas

(Sc. 1)

Briony remembers her yesterday's conversation with the cab driver, after her handsome and strange employer sent her away in a cab…without any explanation about such kindness.

"Uhm, sir? When he asked you to make sure that I am dropped off at my exact home address, I just want you to know, I just want to clarify, just to…clear the air... I just want to make this very, very clear…that I am not a troubled teen-ager."

"Don't worry, kiddo. That impression never crossed my mind."

"Oh, really? Good. Uhm… So, wh-what did?"

"Mmm… You have a protective boyfriend."

"Oh, no-no, sir, no. That wasn't—we're not—he's not—he's not my lover…boyfriend…lover boy. Nope, no."

She doesn't understand why she suddenly sounded disoriented and awkward. It's not like she really got to know that boy for her to appraise that the possibility is cringe worthy. But she's not judging him either. More like her being a critique of herself.

"Why not?"

"He's…bossy…and…I'm not…girlfriend material," she tells the cab driver this as her safest answer, reminding herself that prior to having that strange boy as a boss for half of the day, he already seemed really troubled when he approached her.

"Mmm…yeah, you're right."

And now Briony doesn't know if that response was okay or if she should feel insulted. [Thanks, mister. I am not, at all, offended. Silver lining, Bry, silver lining.] "Thanks."

"Then, can I say this? You have a reliable friend." These words kind of echoed to Briony but she doesn't fully understand why, nor is she interested in finding out why.

Back in her walking, just a few steps more and she will be standing before her family's apartment building. But before Briony can do that, someone already beat her to it. And she knows exactly who this woman is.

"Mrs. Finlay?"

"Briony!" the woman definitely looks eager to see her as she approaches her and hugs her for a moment. "Mary. Just call me Mary, please."

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry but I don't think I can do that, I mean…you're my—"

"I'm you're friend."

[Yep. A really gallant friend.]

Mary Finlay. The heaven-sent patroness. Whose real intention Briony still can't put her finger on.

[Sometimes, I wish someone would just pop out of nowhere and reveal to me that this was all just a ruse.]

Because Briony still feels like dreaming; receiving this kind of support from a beautiful stranger, whose only history revealed to her and her family was that her son would've been the same age as her today if he had not died.

[I must have a knack for attracting wealthy strangers. Kidding. Or this school year is just setting me up for a huge disaster in advance, being the misfortune magnet that I am...]

"So, junior year, huh?" Mrs. Finlay breathes out in a still enthusiastic tone. "How are you? Nervous? Excited? Don't worry. Those feelings are perfectly normal, okay? Since you're a new student this year. And I really believe that you're going to make a lot of friends. With the kind of heart and resolve you have. I always knew, when the first time I saw you, I just knew, 'Oh, this girl has the heart of a lioness! And her radiance is contagious.'"

[Waah, easy Mrs. Finlay. You haven't seen me go after my best friend's bullies yet. I'm kind of like…the opposite of Ms. Little Sunshine. I'm not even girlfriend material, according to a cab driver.]

"Well, yeah, nervous, excited," Briony answers. "Then, nervous again. It's sort of a cycle."

If Briony has one wish right now, it would be to stop Mrs. Finlay from finding her response funny as she listens to her good-natured but genuine laugh right now. That's because she was not trying to be funny. It really has been a cycle of emotions for her ever since she accepted help from this wealthy widow, who, by the way, wanted nothing in return.

[Out of all the people in New York City that you could've offered your help to. Out of all the people that felt unwell and passed out that one evening in Queens… Out of all the renters in Sunnyside that were probably even more fun than me… Why did you pick me? I am truly grateful, I hope I'm able to convey that feeling but… I don't belong in your world and now I'm kind of…trapped.]

"So, any prayer requests?"

"Oh. Ugh…" [I certainly didn't expect that. Especially from someone like her.] "Uhm, well, I guess, to survive the first week…and…" And somewhat instinctively, "Guidance…for someone. A new friend of mine, kind of. I know he needs it…as much as I do… I can't give his name though. He's a very low-key person."

"Then, why don't you do it?" as Mrs. Mary Finlay gives her a telling smile. "Pray for this boy."

Briony beams back as the idea sinks in.

(Sc. 2)

[This is a bad idea.]

The Sanctuaire is the nickname they have for Leonce-Charles-Marcel Preparatory School. Why? Briony has yet to find out. A private school situated within a setting that is a combination of antiquated and contemporary. Literally. Two different buildings—the white, tall, modern one standing behind the beigy, old, smaller one—that look like they don't want to have anything to do with each other but they're there, smack in the heart of Manhattan. The only thing that eases the intense contrast between is the spacious garden park in the middle furnished with nicely trimmed bushes, romantic statues and about four pavilions, each with an art nouveau garden furniture set.

Like Briony. Smack in the middle of an unfriendly and indifferent ambience that is the widely opened gateway of The Sanctuaire. It is monitored by two security guards on each side while excited, fancy-looking students are everywhere on the area in these posh uniforms. From standing there, she can see the beautiful garden space that she almost forgets this is just one part of the campus and not a historical garden that's merely juxtaposed to a minimalistic-looking chateau.

"You're Briony Mullins? Please say I'm correct and I didn't just embarrass myself."

Briony looks up and sees a girl, about the same height as hers, with brown hair and some freckles on her nose, grinning back at her with those hopeful gray eyes. "Correct."

"Oh, thank God," the girl expresses in relief. "Hi! I'm Marianne Blaine. I volunteered-slash-assigned to be…sort of your mini-tourguide, if you will. In other words, your go-to person."

"Wow, that's-that's great," amazed Briony expresses this in relief as well.

"So, here's the list of my subjects, schedules, breaks, extracurricular activities," Marianne says as she hands out her schedule form. "Let's check what subjects we are having at the same time, okay? Oh my God, I totally forgot to say this. Well. Welcome to The Sanctuaire, Mullins!"

"Thanks, thanks."

"Don't mind them," suddenly, the unexpected shift in Marianne's expression as she lowers her voice as well. "They can be as cold as ice and it's better that way, trust me. It's better to be ignored here—do you want to sit? Classes during the first week usually start at 9am. So we still have a good amount of time."

"Ah yeah, sure," she tells her guide but then her attention is immediately grabbed by the limousine that has just arrived. [Limos? Of course…]

"Oh my God."

"What? What's wrong?" Briony focuses on the face—not on her eyes and what she's looking at—that Marianne is making. One word. Dumbstruck.

"Have you heard about the Four Princes of Manhattan?"

[I think I have.]

"Well, they always go MIA during the first week of the first semester. Exactly one week. They're usually out of the country, probably traveling with their butlers in private jets. They're not supposed to be here until next week. But right now, that is their limousine over there. What's going on this time?"

And so, Briony returns her stare at the well-known limousine. As, this she notices straightaway, every single student does in the campus ground. Others silent, others chat in anticipation. It's as though they're all waiting for a famous celebrity and the only thing missing is a red carpet.

One prince gets off the black, luxurious vehicle. Then, something nobody expects, one of the security guards closes the passenger door since there's no one else getting out of it.

Briony can feel the invading heat spreading down her back. What she's seeing right now is an irony, hitting her like a thunderbolt. She can't believe it. [You've got to be kidding me.]

"Just him?" Marianne almost gasps in horror. "Oh God… Out of all four, why him? I know he looks totally dreamy and all but why? We are so doomed. Why Derrick Spencer?"

[God. Why the sailing book guy?!]