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“Will he?” My plate of untouched food remained on the table. I sat down and picked at the salad.
“I can reheat the chicken?” Miranda offered.
“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have left.”
Why was I making it sound like an apology?
She smiled and sat down opposite me. “You know, Blake, we really are happy to have you with us. When Ant found out that Imogen was, well, that she was gone, his heart was broken. He loved her more than anything, but then we discovered she had a son, you, and Ant was hell-bent on finding you. We could never have children, you see…” Her eyes glazed over with sadness, and I felt a spec of guilt.
“Ant wanted to know his only nephew. News that you were in a foster home was the decider. He pulled every string he could to bring you home to us. Family. We’re your family now, Blake. Please give him a chance.” She reached across the table and laid her hand over mine.
The feeling felt foreign, but a lump formed in my throat.
It had been so long since I’d had to look out for myself. And Aunt Miranda seemed nice. As if she actually gave a shit about me.
“Wellington?” I asked, needing to fill the awkward silence. Aunt Miranda nodded and said, “Yes, it’s the private school in Upper Arlington. Ant is good friends with the head. He pulled some strings.”
I grit my teeth hard. Of course, he did.
Private school?
Things just got a hell of a lot worse.
* * *
Seven long days later, I found myself trapped in Miranda’s Porsche as she drove me to Wellington.
There was a school bus, but she wanted to see that I had arrived safely. Although I figured it was probably just Anthony’s way of making sure I didn’t skip class. I stared out of the window tugging at the navy polo shirt Miranda had given me. It seemed all a little too convenient that they had a stash of uniforms waiting for me. It was the same with the fully decorated and equipped bedroom.
I hadn’t asked much about when or how they found out I was in Lancaster, but something told me it involved Uncle Anthony pulling a lot more than just strings.
“See the salmon-colored building up ahead? That’s Wellington. Alumni of eighty-eight. I have fond memories of this place,” Miranda cooed as she turned off the main road and onto the private road.
As we approached the main building, I noticed a playground off to one side.
“They have all grades here?”
Miranda rolled her Porsche to a halt and cut the engine. She turned to me. “Sorry, we’re not doing a very good job of this so far, are we? Yes, it’s a co-ed pre-school through grade twelve school. Small classes, excellent extracurricular program. I think you’ll really like it here.”
I nodded.
What else could I do when the woman sitting opposite me was giving me such a hopeful look?
“You have an appointment with the head of the high school, Mr. Spellman. I’m sure he’ll get you settled. I’ll pick you up today, and then maybe tomorrow you can try the bus, or Max could drive you? I’m sure your uncle wouldn’t mind.”
Yeah, right. I nodded again and reached for the door handle. As I climbed out of the car and hitched my bag up my shoulders, I drew in a deep breath.
One year. You only have to survive one year of this shit.
For you.
For Penny.
“Thanks for the ride,” I called back to Miranda as she watched me walk up to the glass doors. She waved, and I headed inside.
The silver Porsche disappeared out of sight. It shouldn’t have bothered me; new situations were something you got used to growing up in foster care, but something about this place had me on edge.
I wasn’t cut out for private school.
