CHAPTER TWO

GROUPTHINK

( — decision making by a group. )

— ♡ —

          JUDE LIKES TO THINK HE ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING. That's probably why he and Rhiannon have always gotten along so well, being masters at trying to come up with reasons as to why their lives aren't falling apart as much as other people think they are. He's doing a lot better than she is, with his parents not absolutely hating his guts, and it's not like having her parents dislike him is something new for him.

          She hates that she only made things worse. His reputation around her family only reached critically low levels through association, as he'd still be in safe territory along with Ezra if he and Rhiannon weren't close; she told him that countless times, that sticking with her wouldn't bring him any good consequences, but Jude always found the right words.

           "I'd like to be the one deciding which consequences are good or bad for me, thank you," he'd say. Rhiannon has always known better than trying to argue with him when he has already made up his mind regarding anything, whatever it might be, but it still made guilt crawl under her skin. It still does.

          It was never fair to drag him to the middle of this mess with her—it was an abominable decision, one Rhiannon will never stop regretting, for as long as she lives, but she needed someone and he was the only one willing to stand by her at the time. Not even Stephanie wanted to do it, arguing their loyalties should ultimately lie with their family, but Rhiannon wanted to remind her she, too, was a Ford and needed someone to be on her side for once in her life.

          She never meant to cause them harm. She thought she was doing the right thing, right before it all began to crumble down on them, and, like Mr. and Mrs. Ford enjoy reminding her, it was a miracle they escaped unscathed, but there would be serious consequences for her; you can't simply threaten to destroy an empire—especially the Ford one—and expect to escape from the falling debris.

          Though Rhiannon has never been one to keep wallowing in self-pity, thinking about all the ways she could have done things differently (for starters, now that she knows better, she knows she wouldn't get caught if it was happening in the present time), it pisses her off. It pisses her off because it ruined her life, both on a personal, social and financial level, but also because she thought she was better than that. She truly thought she'd never reach the point of turning to the Sargents for help, in case her parents decided to stop paying for her education, as any jobs she can get now wouldn't help.

          Crowcrest University is prestigious and, therefore, insanely expensive. There's no way Rhiannon would be able to get through her senior year on her own, with barely any money in her bank account because her summer jobs are nothing but that and there's only so much you can earn from one, but she hates feeling like a leech around that family. Fortunately, they've welcomed her with open arms—even if she suspects they've done it mostly to spite the Fords, but she'll take what she can get.

          Therefore, she nearly dies of embarrassment when she realizes she doesn't have enough money in her wallet to pay for her own cup of coffee. The barista quirks an eyebrow, waiting for her to pull out a credit card (even though her movements are controlled by her parents to ensure she doesn't do anything stupid and/or something that could potentially endanger their reputation once again), but Jude steps in and sets five dollars over the counter.

          "Jude," she complains, stuffing her wallet back inside her purse.

          "It's just a cup of coffee," he retorts, grabbing his own cup and handing her hers.

          While he has a point, she shouldn't be struggling this much, especially after how long it has been since this mess began, and you'd expect her to have found a way of coming back out on top; it's just a cup of coffee, but, somehow, that 'just' is what makes it so hard to handle.

          Nothing is ever that simple when it comes to the Fords. Sure, she could withdraw some money from her bank account to ensure what happened at the café won't happen again, at least for a while, but they'd know if she was wandering into dangerous territory.

          It has been a week since their return to Crowcrest for their senior year and Jude's prophecy hasn't crossed into the real world yet. He has a knack for those things, simply knowing something's going to happen eventually and pull their worlds out of their axis, but he just doesn't know when it will happen. Matteo calls him the prophet of destruction and mayhem, which Rhiannon has always found sort of . . . eerie, but it's not like it isn't true.

          Everything is exactly as it was when they left back in May. As August comes to a close, the temperatures get progressively lower and the wind grows more brutal during the night, slamming the branches against the windows of the dorms, but Rhiannon can't say she has witnessed the changes Jude said he felt would occur.

          Rhiannon doesn't appreciate any cracks in her routines, preferring to have everything under as much control as possible, because any deviation could potentially be fatal. She studies those deviations and the effects they have; changes affecting the regular release of neurotransmitters or the channels might have devastating consequences when they go beyond their strict limits.

          When the levels of GABA are too high, the inhibitory response gets stronger.

          Isla is also a constant presence in her life, which she's immensely thankful for. If there's anything Rhiannon needs, besides stability, it's peace and quiet and being around Isla Guerreiro gives her just that. Being the chancellor's daughter, Isla too has faced the struggles of not matching her family's expectations of her, but she has always been a lot stronger than Rhiannon herself, not letting them get to her head.

          Seeing her without her usual messy bun is a rare sight, but everything else about her looks relatively normal—the knit sweater (with her glasses hanging on the neckline), the jeans and the Converse sneakers, joined by a pencil stuck behind her ear and a heavy-looking backpack. She's quiet, quieter than usual (though she has never been particularly talkative), and Jude throws Rhiannon a knowing look.

          She hates how he can act like a know-it-all sometimes, as if this was still middle school and they felt the need to prove to each other how good they are at certain things.

         "Jude," Isla greets. No one greets him with a 'hey, Jude', knowing pretty darn well what will happen next; there's a reason why his name is Jude and he's extremely fond of reminding everyone of what it is, as there are three things Jude Sargent loves more than he loves himself.

          Those things, in order of importance, are as follows: The Beatles, his cats and knit scarves. Rhiannon comes in fifth place, after himself, and, truthfully, she couldn't ask for more, knowing just how important self-love is; nevertheless, there are times she wishes he could control himself before referencing some obscure song by The Beatles only he and other too devoted fans have heard about.

          Hey Jude clearly isn't one of those. Being awfully common and easy to reference, people have learned to not open their mouth and mention it when he's around.

          "Isla," he replies. "Where's the bun?"

          "I forgot my hair ties back at the dorm," she explains, glancing at Rhiannon's naked wrists. Rhiannon rarely ever wears her hair up, and never remembers to bring a hair tie along with her for emergencies; seeing Isla without her signature bun (as Rhiannon left their dorm room before Isla finished getting ready, being already late for coffee) could potentially count as an emergency, depending on what happens later today. "I don't have anything to keep it in place—what are you doing?" she questions, when Jude pulls the pencil from behind her ear like a magician reaching out for a hidden penny.

          "Twist your hair up. Come on, Isla," he insists, when she narrows her eyes, and Rhiannon sips her coffee, glad to be fading into the background. Things are always a lot easier when no one pays too much attention to her or to what she's doing, meaning the odds of seeing her screw up are considerably lower than they'd be if they remembered she's here. "I promise this is going to work."

          "Yes, Jude, because you totally have tons of practice with hair buns, don't you?"

          "I'm into a different type of buns, but give me the benefit of the doubt for once in your life." Isla sighs, but concedes, twisting her dark hair into a loose bun as Jude steps to stand behind her, helping her keep some strands into place as he sticks the pencil through it. When he takes a step back and she huffs, the bun stays exactly as it is, not looking half-bad. "See? It worked."

          "Because you lucked out." She checks the silver watch around her left wrist. "Listen, I have to go. I can't be late for my Algebra lecture—shut up," she adds, when Jude opens his mouth, not giving him a chance to say whatever he was going to. "See you guys at lunch? It's either that or having lunch with my dad and listen to him whine about how he can't find a damn ghostwriter to write that book in his place."

          "He still hasn't given up on that?" Rhiannon asks, partially wishing she hadn't broken her own vow of silence, and Isla sighs.

          "You think he would have by now, considering it's been, what, three months? Mom keeps telling him he should write the book himself before he runs out of time instead of depending on some random secret writer to do it, but you know him." Isla shrugs, dismissing the subject.

          Gabriel Guerreiro has been meaning to write a book about Vofield and all the mysteries and folklore surrounding their little port town for months now, but he fears he might not have the time and the means to do it himself. Isla is a mathematician, preferring to stay away from social sciences, and her mother is too busy managing her bakery, so Rhiannon supposes it makes sense for Gabriel to be looking for a ghostwriter.

          She doesn't trust those guys, knowing they're always lurking in the shadows as they search for an opportunity; she should feel some solidarity towards them, as she, too, needs some recognition and assurance she's not as terrible as she feels, but they're willing to likely get their hands dirty for someone else.

          Bravery and pure stupidity are two completely different things.

          "So, lunch?" Isla repeats, switching her weight from one leg to the other, when both Rhiannon and Jude stay silent for once moment too long. Rhiannon hesitates, but Jude steps in, for the millionth time in their lives, and says,

          "We'll be there."

          Isla throws him a bright grin before walking away, crossing the campus, and her bun never dismantles, bouncing up and down as she moves. Watching her leave feels like a punch to the stomach, even if Rhiannon knows just how irrational it is, but she was distant throughout the entire summer. Granted, Rhiannon was also busy, jumping from one temporary job to the other, but it's never a good sign when you feel one of the few people you can trust drifting away from you.

          "Rhea," Jude calls, tugging at her sleeve. "We're going to be late too if we don't get moving."

          "Yeah," she mutters, though she's not sure why she says it. He furrows his brows for a split second before his facial expression softens when she looks up at him. "Yeah, I'm sorry, let's go."

          "Are you okay?"

          Rhiannon catches a quick glimpse of her reflection on a window, finding her complexion to be too pale this morning, almost sickly so. "I'm fine. I'll even race you to the best seats in the auditorium."

— ♡ —

          BEATRICE NORTHROP USUALLY STAYS AWAY FROM THE BIOLOGY DEPARTMENT. She's the Dean of Psychology at Crowcrest, being rarely seen on this side of the campus, and, when she steps inside the auditorium where an Integral Calculus lecture is taking place, everyone lifts their head and holds their breath in anticipation.

          The mere sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floor is shiver-inducing. Though Rhiannon has signed up for a Brain and Cognition course this year, which belongs to the Psychology department, she hardly ever sees the woman.

          "Good morning," she greets, her dark hair falling like two iron boards all the way down to her chin, and Rhiannon sinks even lower into her seat, even if pretending to be invisible doesn't really work for someone her height. Next to her, Jude immediately straightens himself, as he had almost fallen asleep before the doors opened. "My name is Beatrice Northrop and, as most of you already know, I'm the head of the Psychology department. I'm sorry to be interrupting your lecture, but there's an important announcement I'd like to make for all those interested.

          "I've joined forces with my colleague, Professor Frances McCall, who some of you might have as a Social Psychology professor"—a few people nod, though Rhiannon isn't surprised to see they're certainly a minority—"to work on a project, which is essential to maintain Crowcrest's reputation as a trustworthy research institution. To make this experiment a reality, we need participants.

          "Thus, we'll be conducting interviews throughout the following weeks and handpick those we feel are the most suitable participants to test our hypothesis. You have plenty of time to think this through and sign up, as the experiment will only officially begin around November, if all goes well"—she throws the audience an encouraging smile and the light-yellow lights in the auditorium enhance her dark skin's warm undertones—"but I hope to see plenty of you there.

          "You can either email me or Professor McCall if you're interested in signing up, starting at the end of October, or you can fill one of the sheets we'll be handing out around that time. If you have any questions—"

          A hand shoots up. "What do we get in return? Besides knowing we've helped you?"

          Beatrice smiles once more. "If you're talking about a monetary reward, that is currently being discussed."

          Jude elbows Rhiannon in the ribs, and she jumps in her seat. "You should sign up for that." She knits her brows together. "What? If they ever decide to actually give the participants some money just for showing up, I don't think there's a downside to that."

          Rhiannon sighs, sticking her pen between her teeth and chewing on the lid. "I'll think about it."

          "No, you won't."

          "Can you get out of my head for a minute? Seriously, Jude."

          He chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm down for it if you are."