Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“It’ll be an adjustment,” David starts again. “We’re all figuring it out together. It’s my hope, however, you both understand how much Michelle and I love you.” He signals to a waiter who emerges from the corner of the room with a silver tray. Two small green leather boxes sit atop it. “Since today is for all of us, I thought a small gift to commemorate the occasion was appropriate.”
David hands a box with a crown embossed in gold to each of us. I eye it warily, fighting the urge to say “nah, I’m good,” until I notice Mom imploring me with her gaze. Stifling a sigh, I open the box. Next to me, a bored Fenn does the same. Inside the boxes are matching Rolex watches.
David’s excitement makes up for the total lack of enthusiasm on Fenn’s and my part. “That’s a meteorite face and white gold case with a metal blade overmolded in a flexible black elastomer,” he tells us, as if I understand a word of it. He’s literally speaking gibberish. “They’re designed for endurance racecar drivers, but I thought it might be a bit more practical and sporting for young men.”
“Yeah, no, very practical, Dad.” Fenn snaps the box shut but stops just short of chucking it over his shoulder. “How long do you think it’ll last at RJ’s public school before he’s held up at gunpoint in the lunchroom?”
I snort a laugh that gets me a flash of the evil eye from Mom. “What? He’s not wrong.” Then I remember I’m supposed to be on my best behavior. “I mean, thank you. I’ll, uh, be careful.”
Mom and David exchange a quick, desperate look. At this point they’re muscling through this thing as Fenn and I become more unruly due to our waning patience. Neither of us wants to be here and I think we’re both questioning why we’ve tolerated it this long.
“On the subject,” David says then, nodding at my mother. “I have one more surprise, if it’s alright.”
Mom smiles at him, that smitten glow returning to her face. “Oh, honey. What have you been up to?”
“Well, I’ve made some arrangements, and I’ve managed to secure a spot for RJ at Sandover Prep next semester.”
Is he joking?
Prep school?
Yeah, I don’t see that working out. Being surrounded by a bunch of posh little bastards in bowties drinking lattes made of their nanny’s breast milk? No thanks. I suddenly wonder if it’s too late to hop that train out of town. Flag down a Greyhound, even. I could find my place among the skatepark beach people in Venice, maybe polish up on my pickpocketing while surfing the café public Wi-Fi for easy marks. Anything beats being shipped off to douchebag school.
“David, really? That’s wonderful.” She’s way too excited about this when she meets my gaze with a desperate insistence. “Isn’t it wonderful, RJ? This is going to be such a great opportunity for you.”
In other words, could you try not to get kicked out of this one?
“Oh yeah, it’s a real opportunity,” Fenn echoes mockingly, looking amused by the announcement. “Sandover Prep is known for its stellar academics and model students and—oh wait, stupid me. I must be thinking about some other prep school.” He glances at my mother, whose expression has gone uneasy. “Sorry to inform you, Dad’s new wife, but Sandover’s where all the delinquents are sent.” Laughing carelessly, he pokes himself in the chest. “Case in point, me.”
Mom’s gaze swivels to David, who is quick to intervene. “Fennelly is being hyperbolic. Sandover is one of the top schools on the east coast. Its alumni include two former presidents and dozens of Rhodes scholars. I promise you, RJ will be receiving the best possible education there and will pretty much be guaranteed admission into any college of his choice.”
As David continues to reassure her, Fenn leans toward me with a bitter smirk and a soft taunt. “Congratulations, brother. Welcome to fuck-up school.”
Chapter 2
Sloane
Not a drop of rain has fallen on New Hampshire in weeks. Even the grass is gasping. As I maintain a brisk and steady pace, the earth crunches under my sneakers, dry and brittle. It’s like running across rice paper. The trees on either side of the trail provide shade, but little relief. Penny and Bo, our golden retrievers, are good sports, even if their panting is more labored than usual.
“Maybe we take the short way ’round, yeah?”
When I don’t respond, my sister throws an elbow, jarring me from my thoughts.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I drifted off there for a second.”
“She’s got the sun madness,” Casey mocks, keeping pace beside me.
This heatwave is relentless. I can almost feel the gray matter melting inside my skull as we jog the well-worn dirt path on the empty wooded grounds of Sandover. In a few days, this place will be overrun by adolescent males and their pubescent shenanigans. Until then, we have the exclusive run of the place. Our personal estate of green lawns, brick, and ivy.