The Choice

Chapter 1

TESSA
The house is a mansion. And this is just the little house. My dad lives in a bungalow on a great estate in Connecticut - all Great Gatsby like. He is employed by a man that owns and operates some record company in New York City. Mr. Carson is pretty cool though. He is actually from southern money and married a banker's daughter. So, Mrs. Carson is the local. She can put on a party. But they have been married long enough that he has chilled her out some. He likes to travel - that's why I have seen so much of the world at the age of 17. My dad is Mr. Carson's Personal Assistant. He goes where Mr. Carson goes. And since he is obviously filthy rich, and pretty cool, when the family goes on vacation I am counted into that equation. My dad doesn't ever get to actually take vacation. Ever. He works All. The. Time. So, to compensate for that, my way is paid, and dad and I travel the world together free of charge. We hang out while the Carson's are doing their thing. I also spend half of my summer with Dad - at the Carson's other enormous house at Martha's Vineyard. I have grown up doing this, and sometimes it feels normal, and I pretend it's mine. I mean who wouldn't want a house the size of a castle, and other people to take care of it? Or open access to....idk...the world. 
But right now, it doesn't feel normal. I haven't really spent very much time at my Dad's house, like, where he actually lives. I mean I have been here, but only a few times, and usually just for a day or two before or after a trip - it feels like a hotel, not a home. 
The feeling is exacerbated by the fact that my dad is in full PA mode. He insisted on carrying my bags to my room, all the time with that fake professional smile, and trying to make small talk. Maybe he knows I don't exist anymore? It's never been so weird between us before...
"Alright, Tessa, dinner is in the oven. If you could, please follow the instructions I have left on the counter. I will be home to dine with you at 5 pm. However, Mr. Carson has an event in the city tonight at 9pm so I will have to leave again shortly thereafter." He says, without much eye contact, and sounding like a robot. 
I think I nod. Yeah, must be, because he does that smile again, kisses my forehead and walks back out

the door. 
I sit down on a stool at the island in the kitchen, idly tracing the patterns in the marble with my finger. The longer I sit here the better dinner smells. I think I am going to vomit. I have to breathe. I have to get out of here, the absolute quiet is killing me. 
I go back to my new room and dump my bags out on the bed until I find my favorite pair of running shorts and sleeveless Under Armor shirt. I leave my iPod on the bed. Music makes me as sick as food does. A quick change of clothes, hair up, Nikes on - I am running out the door faster than my father did. The estate has three acres of well-manicured lawns, with plenty of beautiful paths, specifically designed to be soothing. But I need out. I turn and head for the road. 
                                             ***
This town is perfect. No, really. On the list of the top 10 places to live in America, it is in the top four. Even in my state of mind I can appreciate its eerie perfection. It is a 3-mile run from the estate to the town center. This little New England town is a gem, nestled between Stamford and Greenwich, it hugs the harbor and somehow misses the tourist crowd... Probably because they can't afford it. I stop at a bench in the park downtown to catch my breath and stretch. From here the town looks like something from a postcard: church steeple in the background, brick buildings, little shops, 3 story school that looks like it may have been a military academy at some point. 
So, this is where I will spend my last year of high school. I am drawn to it like a magnet. School starts in one week, so the parking lot is empty and the windows are dark. It looks ominous. I see my likeness in this building - pretty and solid on the outside, dark and quiet on the inside. I have to take a deep breath and beat back the anger again. It's not fair to her but, I shouldn't even be worrying about this right now - I should be home, hanging out with my two best friends and plotting my ascent to homecoming queen. I was a sure bet. Head cheerleader, president of the senior class. I wasn't valedictorian, but salutatorian looks good on college applications too. And, after his messy break-up over the summer, I finally had a chance to make a move on Matthew, the hot basketball star of our school. I want that, I want everything I can get out of high school – out of life. Now here I am in this perfect town, and I am a complete mess. These people will never see me as their homecoming queen. I will be lucky if anyone even speaks to me. I am the daughter of a PA and a cop, literally, a nobody. They don't know me, and they won't want to. 
I turn around and run for my new home. 
My thoughts turn to all of those summers spent in the Vineyard. I have grown up among the rich and famous - just on the periphery. The Vineyard gets a lot of traffic, some more well-off than others. My father's job allows me to pretend that it is my house, my car, my driver, that I am counted among the wealthy. So, for the last few years that's what I have done - I pretend. I make fast friends with some very rich, very superficial people that way. But what am I supposed to do? I don't want to spend eight weeks alone all summer, and the rich are the only ones that stay that long. 
This past summer I met Jake. Jacob Carbone. I try not to think about him either. We met on the beach, and he was beautiful. We talked for hours and hours every day. But, somehow, we never had to talk about anything substantial. I never had to tell him about my real life. I never lied, I just talked more about my experiences with my Dad. And we talked a lot about the future. I built a dream world with him. I think we both knew it. We both knew it was pretend. 
From the first day we met we devoted our time to each other. He runs too. And swimming in the Atlantic has never been so fun. We rode bikes, and slept in hammocks all afternoon, went to parties on the beach that didn't even start until sunset. My last night there we made love under the stars. It was my first and only experience. I left the next day without saying goodbye. It was only pretend, and I couldn't watch the façade fall away under that kind of pressure. 
That was 4 weeks ago. I had only been home a few weeks when she died. It was just a routine drug bust. She should have been home for dinner, instead I got a knock on the door from her partner. It is so odd that her death brings me right back here. The very place that she fled from. My...mom. Mom. Mom grew up here. She ran away when she was 17 - a senior in high school. She was an independent thinker with a wild side, and the only daughter of a high society surgeon and socialite wife. I don't really blame her for running away. My grandparents never gave her a dime after she left, and they always seemed so cold to me. Of course, I don't remember them much. They were in a plane accident when I was 10, my grandfather was the pilot. About the only nice thing they ever did for us before they died was get my father his job with the Carson's. 
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Mom and dad married young. They tried to make a go of it for a few years. Dad was there while mom finished police academy. But, when she was offered the detective position in Albany we left, and he stayed. It was a friendly parting. A month later he relocated to Townsend and started with the Carsons. Mom never came back here though. She always sent me by train. When I was too young to go alone, the Carson's paid for a chaperone - because my dad couldn't take that kind of time off. He only gets Sunday's off. And one Saturday a month...sometimes...depending on the season. 
Anyway, here I am. About to start my senior year at the high school that she hated. Awesome. 
One more mile. Then I have to get dinner on the table. Dad has to go back out for work tonight. I am going to be so alone in this new life.