“I think we’re making a bigger deal about this being about her, when we should be focused on the blatant taunt being directed at us,” Rowan adds. Of course, he would want to shift the focus off Emma. His problem with her is getting old.
“How is it not about her, when the box was addressed to her?” Karl questions as he meticulously sharpens the blade of his hunting knife. He wants to hunt and I’m here for it.
“How do we know she didn’t send it to herself? I mean she’s the one who had the issue with Pamela,” Liam suggests, and Rowan nods his head in agreement.
“Seriously Liam, not you too? I thought I only had to deal with Rowan’s anti-Emma bullshit. Did you see her reaction? You can’t fake that,” I declare, my tone unforgiving.
Karl doesn’t even look up from his knife when he speaks, “Wy, we have to analyze all possibilities, not that I agree with dumb and dumber over here, but we have to weigh all options.”
I need to hurry and get up from the damn table. I believe in weighing options that make sense. Emma has fire, but she’s not sawing off a hand and mailing it to herself. This takes a different type of crazy, the kind that if left unchecked will escalate.
Sighing, I say, “Let’s just spend our energy on finding the culprit before they do something we can’t keep from our dads and the council.”
“Did we check the video yet?” Rowan chimes in.
“Yes, the footage shows a delivery driver being buzzed in, but there was no white box in the packages that he brought. So, either the box was in another package or it was already at the school and it was snuck in by other means. But we have another problem. The camera by Emma’s locker has been down and I’m not sure for how long, which means we have no video of who placed the ‘gift’ in her locker.”
“What about the printout of the thumb scanner? Does it show anything?” I’m not holding my breath, but I ask anyway.
“No, it doesn’t even show her activity, someone’s wiped the system completely. I’m going to install an override to the school system, banning anyone from being able to access our servers without me knowing,” Liam states. He’s being a dick about not trusting Emma and being team Rowan, but he’s a tech god. Up until this business with this organization, no one’s ever truly stumped him.
“Unless Emma is some tech savant this couldn’t be her. Plus, she’s been complaining about people accessing her locker since the first damn week of school,” I exclaim, pointing out the obvious. Emma would have to out-tech him, a point he purposely ignores.
The stupid biased fuck. Even Rowan can’t argue his way out of this one. He’s another idiot too. He’s constantly finding ways to try and get under our girl’s skin. If he keeps trying me I’m going to out his hemotional ass as a Swiftie.
“Whoever this is has skills that rival mine and if she had that level she would’ve hacked the system to see who put the used tampons in her locker or who tried to change her answers on the Civics exam,” Liam says begrudgingly.
They really have been messing with Riri. I know for a fact Liam was the asshole who changed her Civics grade. I almost kicked his ass for that shit. He had to change it back and then I made Miss Taylor publicly apologize saying it was a computer error.
She’s another one I have my eye on, I see the way her frosty stares are honed in on Emma when she thinks no one is looking. She’s going to end up on the receiving end of the cat o’ nine tails whip lined with nails. How prettily she would scream for me. Maybe Karl and I could tag team her, he could slice in between each lash of the whip.
Karl’s voice brings me out of my blood lust, “I say we question the delivery man. This will be our last night before the selections are announced, it can be like a Stag party.”
A sound between glee and grimace fills the space. They might not be ready, but I can’t wait for tomorrow.
But first, we hunt.
EMMA
The rest of the day passed in a blur, I couldn’t truly focus on anything my teachers said. Rumors flew around the school about the disgusting delivery I received this morning. They ranged from me sending it to myself for attention to me having some deranged avenging angel. Whatever was being said, no one so much as whispered a derogatory comment in my direction, so I guess there was something positive to come out of it all. Silver lining and shit.
Shay kept close whenever we had a class together. When she wasn’t there, August or Karl were my shadows. Guard dog might be a better description for Karl though because he literally growled at anyone who came near me. I felt like some punk ass damsel in distress, but it was nice to not always be so on guard. By the time the guys left, the tension relinquished its vice grip on my nervous system, allowing me to focus on the next stressful issues at hand: my meeting with the lawyers, the disappearance of my father, and the abandonment of my mother. Seriously, how does she sign our lives away to people we don’t freaking know, and then not even call?
These are the thoughts plaguing me, playing on repeat, when Thomas calls my name, for what I am guessing is at least more than a few times.
Yikes, I guess I really was in my own world.
“Sorry Thomas,” I start, heading in his direction.
Once I’m situated in the back of the Navigator, I ask, “Is it okay if I call you T or Timmy, maybe Tiny Tim?” I think I like Tiny Tim as a little homage to Dickens, but I’m sure this rambling has more to do with nerves than choosing a nickname for my new driver.
His Ray-Ban covered eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror before returning them to the road. “Miss Bishop, you’ll be okay in there. I’ll be with you the entire time. Ask all the questions you have and if you have more questions after the lawyers leave, your assistant will pass them along.”
Tall muscle-y man say what now?
“As-assistant?” My throat dries, a sheen of sweat forms on my forehead in spite of the air conditioned car, and the beginning of spots dot my vision. Any relief he was trying to give me has had the opposite effect.
“Take a breath, Emma.” T’s use of my first name jolts my conscience for a minute.
He’s been nothing but Miss Bishop this and Miss Bishop that or Miss Bishop we’ll be arriving shortly. So, him calling me by my first name means I really must look like the proverbial shit hitting the fan, ratcheting up my freak out, my pulse shooting higher, and oxygen deprivation in my brain leaving numbness in my limbs.
Where the fuck are my parents? I shouldn’t be the one having to handle all of this shit. I should be in school with friends, being a stupid and irresponsible teenager, kissing guys, or even worrying about passing classes. I shouldn’t be doing any of this!
“Listen!” The boom of his voice sounds out, like thunder rolling, “You need to take a breath, you’re having a panic attack. Look at me.” I hear every word crossing his lips, working to coax me back, like a defibrillator, but the words aren’t registering. My mind is racing too fast, my heart thumping too hard, and no air will expel from my lungs. I’m yearning for a breath that’s just a touch out of reach. There’s just too much and it’s all landing at my feet.
What if these lawyers try to take advantage of us or worse what if they try to separate us? Why did my dad have to go missing? Why did my mom have to lose her shit so much that I had to become the parent? There are just so many ‘why’ questions-.
“LOOK. AT. ME!” Dragged from the dark depths of my psyche, I snap towards the voice. His shades are off, lips scrunched, and eyebrows arched, as concern lines his face.
“Look. At. Me,” he says the words again, this time seeming less urgent, but still just as firm. “Breathe in through your nose and hold for my count.” I inhale as he counts, “three- two, three. Two- two, three and one- two, three. Now exhale.” He repeats this I don’t know how many times but the fog starts to clear and the ten-ton weight eases against my lungs, leaving me with only a dull ache in my chest. The questions haven’t stopped, but they aren’t on a bombarding infinite loop, like before.
“Are you ready to head inside now or do you need another minute?” T asks. He’s not prying into what he can see is my obvious panic and I appreciate him just a little more because of it.
I take one more deep breath in and out before responding, “Yeah, let’s go get some questions answered.” I’m not sure when he got into the backseat or when we arrived, for that matter, but I’m glad he’s here.
My chucks hit the ground and I wobble a little, still a little shaky, but by my fourth step I’m calling on my boss energy and my take no bullshit face is firmly in place.
My parents might not be here, but I am and I’ll be damned if anyone will try and take advantage of my family in their absence.
* * *
I was so out of it when we drove up that I realized I didn’t even get a look at the outside of the house or should I say mansion, but if the foyer is anything to go by then the outside has to be beautiful.
The door was opened by this cute older woman with peppered gray hair. I’ll have to remember to get her name again later. My nerves won’t let me absorb anything but what is at the forefront, and at the moment and that’s figuring out how this rustic modern-looking mansion is mine.
“Right this way Miss Bishop. The attorneys from Grant & Asher are waiting for you in the sitting room.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.