“Mondays were made for violence,” she said, voice muffled by her pillow.
My fingers fumbled for the phone, expecting to hit the snooze button, only to end up accepting an incoming call withQueen of All that is Evilflashing across the screen.
“Crap.” I sprung up in bed and pushed my rat nest of hair out of my face. My Mr. Elephant plushie went flying off the bed from the movement, and I winced.
“Mother?” I croaked into the phone.
“Emmaline,” my mother said with all her usual decorum. Charlotte Fox was a proud woman. She’d been raised on a farm in the Midwest, but one would’ve never guessed if they saw her garden parties and daily brunches now. She’d somehow wrangled herself a marriage with one of the banking elite, and milking cows was so far back in her past, she hadn’t consumed dairy in decades. “You sound tired. Are you staying up too late?”
“It’s not even eight o’clock here. I’m two hours behind your time zone.”
She made a dismissive sound, and I could perfectly picture her twice-done nose turning up. “How’s your class with Atticus Slade going?”
I rolled my eyes. “Did your new friend Rita in Admissions tell you he’s my professor?”
“Yes, and she sent me a copy of your schedule. His assistant told me there was a quiz last week.”
“You’re talking to Slade’s assistant?” I wasn’t sure whether I was mortified or furious.
“Well, what am I supposed to do? He won’t respond to my emails.” She had the nerve to sound offended, while I could only gape.
“Emails? As inmultiple?”
She sighed. “Emmaline, your father and I are putting your prime recital years on hold because you begged to run off and learn from that man. I’m simply making sure this is a worthwhile investment.”
“But you can’t just email my teacher like that!”
“You’re my daughter. Of course I can,” she said airily.
I was at a loss for words, and Teresa’s brow rose in question.
“Have you secured an independent study with him, yet?” my mother asked.
I stifled a scoff. If only she knew I was failing Slade’s class. “That’s impossible. He doesn’t accept freshmen.”
Another sigh filtered through the earpiece, and my eye twitched. “I’m sure there are ways around that.”
I closed my eyes and fought to keep my voice even. “Please tell me you’re not planning on bribing my teacher. I’ll get kicked out of the program.”
“I’m saying it’s an option.” Her tone was a delicate one she used when talking to her precious houseplants, and it grated on my ears. “Now, enough about that. One of the ladies in my garden club said Oliver Bishop is doing a concert in LA in November. Why don’t your father and I come visit; we’ll invite Atticus and make a night of it?”
Blood rushed to my ears at the mention of my father, and I swallowed around a lump forming in my throat. I was counting on not seeing my father until at least summer, and the thought of inviting my professor to a concert made me want to puke.
“I’ll have to let you know,” I said to stall. “I’m really busy with school and tutoring.”
“It’s one night, Emmaline.”
My fingers clutched the phone tighter at her patronizing tone. “I know. You two should still go, though. It sounds like fun—”
“Darling, I have to run,” she said in a rush. “The landscapers are overwatering my hydrangeas again. Roberto—hey,Roberto!What have I told you about—”
The line clicked as she hung up, but my relief was minimal compared to the worry over her ruining the happy little life I’d made here.
“That sounded nice,” Teresa said dryly from her bed.
“My mother is truly one of a kind.” I dropped the phone back onto my nightstand and rubbed at my eyes. “At least I’m awake now.”
Teresa snorted and rolled over to face me. “I don’t know what possessed you to sign up for an 8:00 a.m. class. How have you not dropped it yet?”
