Home > Becoming Mila (The Mila Trilogy #1)(7)

Becoming Mila (The Mila Trilogy #1)(7)
Author: Estelle Maskame

   Warily, I nod. The fact that Sheri borrows baking stuff from Patsy Bennett leads me to believe that the two neighboring ranches get along just fine, but who knows? There could be some underlying resentment there. Maybe the Bennetts secretly despise us Hardings for being, you know, Hardings. It wouldn’t be the first time. Fame can certainly have a downside – resentment is pretty common; I’ve learned that firsthand.

   “So that guy from the Flash Point movies . . . You’re his kid?”

   I’m also Marnie Harding’s daughter, and Roxanne Cohen’s best friend, and Mr. Sabatini’s top chemistry student, but no one defines me as those. Only my father is important, like the sole reason I even matter in this world is because I share his DNA.

   “Yeah, that’s me,” I say through tight lips. I have my own name. “Mila Harding.”

   Luckily, Savannah changes the subject – for her sake or mine, I’m not sure. “My mom says you’re here for a while,” she muses brightly. “That’s cool. Missed Tennessee?”

   “Yeah. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here for, but I’m guessing a month or two,” I admit. I glance at Myles, his head tilted to the side as he watches me in fascination, then move my gaze back to Savannah. “I know it’s been forever, and it’s super out-of-the-blue for me to show up like this, but the truth is . . . I’d really like someone to hang out with other than my aunt and my grandpa.”

   “Oh.” Savannah’s eyes narrow slightly. “So, you’re just looking for someone to use for a couple months?”

   “Oh God,” I mumble, feeling my chest sink. I sure do have some nerve. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here.”

   A singsong of laughter escapes Savannah’s lips, dancing through the humid air, as she reaches out and grasps my wrist. “I’m kidding!”

   “Oh.”

   Myles cracks up with his sister. I stare at the knotty wood of the porch beneath my feet. Have I always been this much of a nervous wreck? To be fair, this suddenly feels out of my comfort zone and I don’t know how to navigate it at all.

   “Yep. We can be friends,” Savannah says reassuringly, her voice gentle once the laughter has died down. I look up to meet her eyes and she smiles, sweetly. “We already were once, anyway.”

   “Thanks,” I say, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Well, that’s something.

   “Ohhh!” Savannah exclaims, waving a hand at Myles as though he will telepathically be able to know what she’s thinking. Maybe he can – maybe it’s a sibling thing. I wouldn’t know. “We’re heading to a tailgate party later,” she says. “Super low-key. You should come with us! You can get to know all the Fairview locals – there isn’t a lot of us.”

   “A tailgate party?” I can’t help the surprise that crosses my face. “You guys really have those?”

   In one of Dad’s first straight-to-TV movies, I’m pretty sure there’s a low-budget scene at a tailgate party where he finally gets the girl and kisses her in the truck bed. I cringed then and I cringe now. There’s something super gross about watching your father kissing on screen – especially when it’s not your mom he’s locking lips with.

   “Just for saying that, you’re not coming,” Myles says, shaking his head at me in disappointment. Then his mouth twists into a teasing smirk, making it clear that he’s only messing with me since I’m clearly not the brightest at knowing when someone is kidding around. “You can come. I’ll give Blake a heads-up.”

   “Who’s Blake?”

   “Our cousin,” Savannah answers. “He’s hosting.”

   Not only do I already feel sluggish from the early alarm and long flight this morning, it feels a bit risky to start breaking Ruben’s rules on day one. Maybe I should stay at home with Sheri and Popeye tonight. But a tailgate party . . .

   “Sounds like fun.” I wipe my brow. “But I don’t know . . . There’ll be a lot of people there and I really shouldn’t be—”

   “You’re in Fairview now, girly,” Savannah says with a grin. “I know you only just got here, but when something actually happens around here for once, you don’t even think about it. You just do it.”

 

 

4

 


Aunt Sheri and I are out on the porch together, waiting for Savannah and Myles to swing by and pick me up. It’s been a few hours since I walked home from the Willowbank ranch.

   Darkness is rolling in, the sky a clear, gorgeous shade of deep blue with remnants of the summer sun lingering out on the horizon. The heat of the day is gone, replaced by a warmth that’s comfortable and cozy. At night, the ranch is even more peaceful and silent. No car engines whirring in the distance, no voices floating by, not even the bark of a dog. Just a calm stillness that slows down the world a little.

   “Try not to talk about your dad tonight.”

   Sheri is rocking gently on a wooden chair, running her hands up and down her thighs, scratching at the denim of her jeans. A nervous thing?

   “I won’t.” I turn around to look at my aunt. “I never do.”

   “Good,” she says. Although she seems worried about the potential repercussions of breaking Ruben’s rules by allowing me to go out tonight, I’m glad she hasn’t changed her mind about our little pact. “Have you spoken to your parents yet?”

   “Only my mom,” I admit, turning back around. I rest my hands on the porch railings and stare out at the walls that close us off to the rest of the world. It’s only now, gazing across the field, that I realize how much of a prison this ranch can seem. It feels claustrophobic despite the acres of land sprawling out around us. “I texted her, but I’m still annoyed.”

   “At least that’s something,” Sheri says from behind me. I hear the creaking of her chair still rocking back and forth. “I know she’s worried about this arrangement. She checked in with me earlier too.”

   I know I should call my parents at some point, but I’m not in a hurry to talk to Dad. Mom tried to fight for what was best for me, but Ruben’s job is to put Dad’s career first. Every argument Mom presented in my defense was quickly shut down, and no amount of persuasion could make Dad change his mind. In the late hours of that night, I lay awake listening to my parents’ raised voices from their room, but by morning Mom had gone quiet, defeated. The decision was final. From Dad’s side, it was far too easy. No protesting against Ruben like Mom did, no offering alternative suggestions, no objections . . . Good PR is obviously the priority.

   “Did your parents mention your allowance?”

   I glance over my shoulder. “No. They’ve blocked my access to my account, so . . .”

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