I don’t say anything as I continue to sketch. I’m trying to capture the trees and landscape outside my window. As much as I don’t like this school, I can’t ignore the beauty around the area. It makes a calmness wash over me. Only for a second, though, because my mother sucks all the positive energy from the room.
“Damian, I’m talking to you.”
When I don’t respond, she walks into my room, grabs the chair from my desk, wheels it over to my bed, and sits down.
“I know we haven’t spoken much in years…”
Other than birthday cards where I know she had her assistants whip up something. Same way she had her people send thank you baskets after I sent her “Happy Mother’s Day” cards.
“But you’re in my care now and I won’t accept this attitude from you.”
I glance up, hoping to find some understanding or sympathy orsomething. But her eyes are as cold as stone, same way they’ve been for as long as I can remember.
She wasn’t always like this. Dad told me she was a totally different person when they fell in love. It didn’t matter to them that he was poor and she was wealthy. But pressure from her parents and her responsibilities caused a rift between them, and that led to her resenting my dad and then their divorce. I was only four and was caught in the middle of it.
I lived with Mom for six years until I had enough and moved in with Dad. She basically dumped me with nannies and was never around. All she cared about was this school and taking care of the Harrington Empire, which includes hotels, other real estate, and other businesses. And of course all the social events she needed to attend.
When she divorced Dad, she broke his heart. I don’t think he ever recovered from it, never dated or met women. He loved my mom just as much on his last day on earth as he did when he married her. He was broken, but he made sure to be a good dad to me. Maybe he was even too broken to fight off the cancer. I don’t know.
“Under my care, you are to follow my rules,” Mom continues. “Do we understand each other?”
My jaw clenches.
She places her hand on my arm. “Damian, I understand you’d rather not be here. But youarehere and like I said, you need to follow my rules or we’ll have problems.”
I press the pencil harder on the sketchpad. At this point, I’m not drawing anymore. Just making circles and nearly digging holes in the pages.
Does she feel bad at all for the way she treated Dad? She hasn’t said one word about his death, just gave me a stony hug at the funeral.
She’s not the only person I’m angry at. I’m mad at the world or the universe or whatever for taking my dad from me.
She gets to her feet. “Don’t forget to go to the dining hall for dinner at six. And I’ll wake you early for school tomorrow.” She heads to the door.
“I can wake myself up.”
Turning around, she says, “I’ll wake you up,” before exiting my room.
I stare after her, my chest heaving in anger. I don’t know why she’s always had this need to control me. Because I’m supposed to be the Harrington heir? Because so much is expected of me? Hasn’t she learned by now that Idon’twant to be a Harrington? When I moved in with Dad, I was Damian Lawrence. I shed the Harrington label a long time ago. Now Mom thinks she can mold me into something I’m not?
Shoving my sketchpad aside, I lean over and take a few short breaths as I grab my dark hair. It’s messier than it usually is, reflecting the anger and turmoil inside me since Dad died and I set foot in this town.
Even though I’m living with Mom now, I’m still completely alone. Being abandoned and lonely is one of the worst feelings in the world.
It’s close to dinnertime and I should be getting my butt to the dining hall, but I’m not hungry. And I’m not in the mood to enter a room full of kids who most likely would turn up their noses at me. I know many of these kids from when I lived here. Most of them thought so low of my dad because of his background. I remember getting into quite a few fights defending him.
I thought I put this part of my life behind me. I thought I was in a good place. Turns out life has a way of messing everything up and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I watch a movie for the remainder of the night. Mom doesn’t come to my room, but I hear her making many phone calls from her bedroom.
Fingers crossed we’ll keep our distance from each other, but something tells me the woman will want to keep me on a tight leash.
Chapter Three
Sophie
The food at Harrington Bay Academy is delicious. Students are served gourmet meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For scholarship kids like my friends and me, every bite is like a celebration in itself. So when we enter the dining hall for breakfast on Monday morning, we waste no time piling all kinds of dishes onto our plates. Carly Simmons is our resident foodie and tries to put every single variety on her plate.
“Did they get a new chef or something?” Raven asks as she places a crepe on her plate and then moves on to the next buffet table. “I don’t recognize a lot of the food.”
