The way she says that last word, all wistful and dream-like, fills my stomach with dread. This is, like, her lifelong dream fulfilled, having me here with the new family she built in my absence. The sound of it makes me afraid that I’ll be stuck here until I turn eighteen.
“Sounds great,” I say instead, the words like ash on my tongue. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans as Tess looks me over with studious interest, like I’m some foreign entity that needs to be studied. “What’s on the agenda?”
“Breakfast at the club,” she begins, perking up a bit and snapping her eyes from my holey jeans to my face. By club, I assume she means a country club of some sort, and I have to hide my disappointment. I don’t think the tee I’m wearing will go over well with a bunch of stuck-up, snooty assholes. “Shopping for your new room.” Tess reaches out to playfully tug the sleeve of my shirt. “Some new clothes, maybe?” She raises her brows, like this should be a tantalizing offer. Instead, I just feel like my heart is being wrenched from my chest and stepped on. “If we have time, we can stop by the tailor and get you measured for your uniform.”
“My uniform?” I ask, blinking in confusion as Tess heads down the hall toward the staircase, and I follow after her.
“For Whitehall,” she says easily, like I should know what that is. “Your new high school.”
Ah.
Whitehall Preparatory Academy.
The fancy new school I’m supposed to be starting next week. Already, I’m dreading the very idea of it. I’ve spent my entire life at public school. Hell, I truly and utterly believe in the idea of equal education for all. A fancy elitist academy that favors money over nurturing the best and brightest, no thank you. According to Tess, most parents have to apply for that school just after their kid is born. Can you imagine that? Your entire life determined by some stupid application and a fat check submitted by your parents at birth?
Am I being too judgy? Maybe.
The only reason I’m allowed to attend Whitehall at all is because my discovery lit up a media firestorm. Combine that with my mother’s fame and money, her husband’s fame and money, and the fact that two of my newfound siblings already attend the school, and my fate was sealed.
I’m going to be paraded around and put on brochures and held up like some sort of specimen in a jar.
I put a hand over my belly to calm my nerves as we hit the bottom of the staircase and Tess leads the way into the living room I confronted Parrish in last night. As soon as I step through the threshold, I find myself faced with an entire room full of people, sprawled out on couches and playing with their phones. Just outside a pair of French doors, I see my new stepdad on his phone, talking and gesturing like this is an important call.
My gaze is immediately drawn back to my new stepbrother.
Parrish is curled up on one of the sofas, hair messy but clearly styled to look a certain way, dressed in a gray hoodie with black lettering that reads Whitehall Academy—Where the Best Shine Bright. I don’t know the guy from Adam, and honestly, he seems like a total waste of life, but I get the feeling he wears the sweatshirt ironically.
I do enjoy a bit of irony …
No. No. No. I hate this dude. Hate him. He’s a pig.
Those toasted almond eyes of his lift up to look at me, but there’s nothing in them, not a flicker of recognition, sympathy, empathy of any kind. Just … boredom. He yawns, and the fury inside of me amps up, making me burn again. Sooner or later this shit is going to turn me to ash. “Fuckability rating: three. Three and a half in the right outfit.”
“Mia,” Tess starts, and then she grimaces, and I sway slightly, like my feet have just been kicked out from under me. “Sorry, Dakota, I’d like to introduce you to your brothers and sisters.” Tess beams with pride as she holds out a hand to the oldest girl in the bunch, her hair an autumnal shade of blond, like gold on sun-drenched leaves. She lifts dark eyes up to regard me with no small amount of contempt. Honestly, the hatred in her eyes makes me take a physical step backward. “This is Kimber. She’s fourteen and just started at the academy this year.” Tess gives her daughter a look. “Kimber, say hello to your older sister.”
“I don’t have an older sister,” she snaps, and Parrish laughs. The sound does strange things to my insides. Namely, it makes me consider murder as an option to dealing with my social problems. My eyes flick his way. At least Parrish just seems bored and disinterested this morning. Kimber is openly flaunting her distaste for everyone to see. Sorry for being kidnapped, little sis, I think as I turn back to her.
“Kimber Celeste,” Tess snaps, the strength in her voice raising the fine hairs on my arms. “You will control your temper and your jealousy, or you will forfeit your phone for the rest of the year. Do you understand me?”
Kimber’s mouth gapes open, nostrils flaring as she flicks her gaze to me.
“Hi.”
Just one word, bitten out like a curse. She glances in Parrish’s direction, and they share a look.
“This is Ben,” Tess continues, gesturing to a boy on the other sofa. He gives me a shy smile and a little wave but makes no move to stand up. I’m starting to think this family is a bit … WASP-y. Emotions are tamped down and hidden beneath fancy rugs in this house. “And these are the twins: Amelia and Henry.” The two youngest kids actually do get up, abandoning their phones on the coffee table. I most definitely didn’t get a phone at age six, but I guess to each their own, right?
“I’m excited to have a new sister,” Amelia says, grinning and moving up to me. “Can I give you a hug?” she asks, and, despite my reservations, a smile manages to bloom on my lips.
“Yeah, of course,” I reply, leaning down to give her a tight squeeze. My grandparents, Maxine, and I always tried to give each other the strongest, most enduring hugs possible. A featherlight one just doesn’t feel as good. Amelia pulls back as Henry clings to the cream-colored leg of Tess’ pantsuit. Both twins have dark hair, just like I do, and tiny freckles on their necks. I see them when Amelia turns around to look at her dad.
He smiles at me as he comes in from the balcony, holding up his phone in explanation.
“Sorry, work stuff,” Paul says, zoning in on me. I met him back in New York, and he seems nice enough, but he’s also an extremely wealthy white guy who has no idea how good he has it. I heard him complaining about a new property tax the other day, about how he shouldn’t have to pay that extra three hundred dollars a year since his kids don’t even go to public school.
I make myself keep smiling. Fake smile number one thousand and one. From my left, I can feel Parrish’s gaze swing to his dad. A scowl takes over his full, lush mouth, but I tell myself that I’m imagining how pretty he is, even when he’s frowning like that.
“Can I please just go to school today?” Parrish asks, and his father gives him a warning look. “Chas and I have plans this afternoon.” Caz he said. Must be short for Chasm, the guy he mentioned coming over last night. “It’s not like Mia”—and here Parrish pauses, looking me dead in the face to tell me that mistake was intentional—“oops, sorry Dakota. It’s just, we’ve all been hearing about you for years now as Mia. Mia this, Mia that. Say a prayer for Mia, light a candle for Mia.”