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Anders lets her know she isn’t being tapped for this, yet he doesn’t say who is as his gaze goes around the room. It’s like a game of Duck, Duck, Goose as we wait to see who he’ll pick.
Spoiler alert, it’s me.
“Out of all of us, you’re the only one that can pass as a teenager.” I’ve always said looking younger than my age was gonna bite me in the ass, and now I feel the teeth marks. Being right isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Anders isn’t done making his case yet, so he continues with, “You did say you wished you’d been able to experience your senior year,” he offers.
“In a looking back on it manner since I know it won’t come true,” I argue.
“Then consider me your fairy godfather because it is.” Anders then proceeds to wave the pen he’s holding around and mutters a, “Bippity boppity boo.” Jesse stares at his brother as if he’s never seen him before. So are we. “I can be funny, too,” Anders grumbles. “Jesse didn’t get all of it.”
“Yes, I did,” Jesse promptly corrects him.
They have a stare down contest the likes of which only siblings can participate in, then Anders returns to me. “I know you aren’t going to want to hear this, but I need you to become her friend.” I open my mouth to refute the tactic, but he raises his hand, stalling me, “This subterfuge might be the only thing that keeps her safe if the threat is viable, and I think it is.”
“And if the princess doesn’t go for it?” That’s not fair, and I feel bad for it, but chances are with her upbringing, the title fits. I need to pack some extra-strength Tylenol for the headaches she’s going to cause, especially if she doesn’t adhere to the rules the others will no doubt put in place.
My boss sighs, sends me a reprimanding look to which I admit is necessary, then states, “As for her not wanting a friend, she may have all the luxuries and advantages money can buy, but in some cases, that precludes true friendships.” He and Jesse share another glance that says so much without verbally doing so, and I grimace at the reminder they grew up in a similar environment. Their parents weren’t as wealthy as Willa’s, yet they were more than comfortable financially. They lost their lives while flying on a private jet owned by friends, one the couple had let them borrow to take a second honeymoon. Anders and Jesse relied on each other for companionship, and had from a young age as peers had been pressured by their own parents to “make nice” with the McKay boys, hoping they’d be generous and the families would profit from it. I send them both an “I’m sorry” expression, and feel only mildly better when they each nod in response. “I don’t take this suggestion lightly,” Anders adds, as if he’s reading my mind, “but it is our best option for Willa’s sake. And her safety is our primary concern.”
“I can do it,” I reassure him. I won’t like it, I think to myself, but I can.
“Then you’ll need this,” he tells me, sliding a folder my direction. I wait as it makes its way toward me, the others doing their part to make it happen. “Your class schedule is inside,” the asses sitting around me snicker, teasing me about homework, “and you’re in all of hers, including lunch, except one. It’s listed as ‘Life Goals,’” he shakes his head, grumbling about why it can’t just be called home ec like a normal school, “though we’re in the process of getting you added to the roster. You report Monday, so after we discuss parameters, you’re free to go.”
I flip it open, my breath stuttering out of me when the first thing that greets me is an innocent face with eyes that hold secrets. This is Willa? I skim through the pages, searching for her age, unsure which side of legal I want her to be. If she isn’t, my control with her will be stronger, yet I’ll be tortured being in her presence until she is. If not, I’ll be tempted to take her straight to the courthouse and make her mine, an action that could cost me my job.
Either way, I’m fucked.
Chapter One
Willa
April 5th…
As always when I walk the halls of Winfield, whispers seem to surround me. I wish I could shut them out, that they didn’t bother me, but they do. I’d once suggested attending public school, thinking I could avoid all this, yet I had to accept reality. Mine.
The murmurs about my parents’ fame and money would follow me there as they do here, just not in the same vein. Or vain as it’s the more appropriate spelling in the case of my fellow students. That word play makes me giggle, though I don’t show it lest anyone think I’m laughing at them. Even though they don’t give me the same courtesy, the thought of them mistakenly believing I’m laughing at their expense bothers me. My mom says I’m too sensitive for this world, that my heart is my greatest asset and it needs protected. That may sound as if she’s implying I have nothing else to offer, but it isn’t. Ella Patrick, as she was known before marrying my dad, took Hollywood by storm. As did my dad, William Franks. Both were highly sought after to play the lead roles in numerous movies, though they chose only those they wanted to be connected to, and refused to do intimate scenes with other people. And this was before they’d even met. They informed their respective agents, and had no problem discussing it in interviews, that someday they’d meet their other half and they didn’t want it immortalized on screen of them kissing, or doing anything else, with another person.
That changed when they were both up for the same movie. The second they met; dad says he swears the sparks between them were visible, and within minutes the director was scrambling to get kissing written into the script, which they agreed to. Mom said they wanted to capture them falling in love, having it for all time to look back on. She told me that while others had to rely on their memories of meeting their soulmate, they were lucky enough to have it on film.
Back to my current situation, well, it’s a continuing one, to be honest. Merge who my parents are, and the fact I’m not as lean as either of them, and I become fodder for the spiteful witches who masquerade as teenage girls. Where they see my curves as a detriment, I see them as a blessing. I’m not ashamed of how I look, nor do I make excuses for it. If I take after Marilyn Monroe in shape more than I do my own mom, then that’s the way I was intended to be.
Just like they were born to be bitches, I snicker. To add fuel to the dumpster fire of their minds, while I’m thankful for what my parents’ wealth provides, and appreciate the advantages it gives me, I’d be just as happy without it. There’s also the fact my dad and mom are married, happily so, while the majority of theirs are separated, divorced, were never together, or change partners as easy as breathing. Some of which have tried to persuade each of my parents to be the next in line, and did not take too kindly to getting their ass handed to them for even the insinuation they’d accept. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped others from trying.
As if all of that wasn’t enough to make me a pariah amongst my peers, I now have two bodyguards, Torren and Clover, watching over me. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this happen here – the student roster is comprised of the offspring of some powerful and/or famous men and women – but the consensus seems to be them wondering if it’s even necessary because, ‘who would want her?’
Like I’m upset the boys here don’t see me that way. No, thank you. I’m honestly quite pleased they don’t. Let them focus on the girls that think bragging about banging the quarterback is a life goal, seeing it as a chance to continue to get by on other’s merits, meaning the guy’s parents’ if they get knocked up. And yes, I’ve overheard a conversation detailing the lengths they were willing to go when they stupidly didn’t check the bathroom stalls.
As the kid in question is somewhat of a friend in so much as he’s never been unkind to me, I promptly told him to take precautions. He didn’t want to believe that of her, but he also knew I had no reason to lie. So, when the warnings I gave him became true…let’s just say if she ever discovered I was the reason her plan didn’t work, I might need to borrow Torren and Clover again.
Speaking of, I glance behind me and catch Torren keeping pace, far enough back to not hinder my movement, yet close enough that he can get to me within seconds. That wouldn’t seem possible for a man his size, but I never judge a book by its appearance, and I try to do the same for people. He gives me a chin lift, which I’ve learned is code for numerous things, and this one appears to be the all clear signal.
Clover, while a lot shorter and leaner than him, gives off the aura of being able to kick ass without breaking a nail. I think I want to be her when I grow up. She’s agreed to show me a few self-defense moves, and though I’m definitely not a natural, she did say I’m a tenacious student and she has no doubt I’ll get the hang of it.
I like that she not only mentioned me learning, but that she’s willing to be the one to teach me. While I’m not without my own deterrents – a knife I’m prone to carrying, intermittent guards, pepper spray, etc. – knowing I can protect myself in addition to or without those makes me feel better, especially with the texts I’ve been receiving. Her first lesson had been more in the manner of warnings.Always be mindful of your surroundings. Know at least two ways to exit any building you’re in. If you find yourself in a car, do whatever it takes to not be taken to a second location. And to remember, sometimes the answer isn’t complex. Simplicity works more often than not.
The bell rings, signaling the start of the school day, and I breathe a sigh of relief as it serves to pull me from thoughts best left alone. I increase my pace, Torren and Clover having no trouble keeping up. Hell, I think I’m holding them back, and slip in homeroom seconds prior to Mrs. Johnson closing the door. She is a stickler for being on time and will call on you for the rest of the class if you’re late, regardless of the reason why or the task she wants you to complete. After making that mistake once, you do whatever it takes to ensure it never happens again.
So, when it happens five minutes in, we all seem to collectively hold our breath, eyes scanning to see which student is about to get in trouble. Then the confusion arises, the whispers beginning, as everyone discovers nobody is missing. The only empty chair, next to me no less, has been that way since the semester started.
I’ve been thankful for that, not liking people in my personal space, which I never expected to change…until he walks in. Strike that, saunters, as if he has all the time in the world and Mrs. Johnson isn’t glaring at him. He may wear the uniform, but there’s something that sets him apart. And it’s not his appearance, though the glasses he sports aren’t the usual name brand that seems to be a necessity here, whether you require them or not. That’s right, a few of my peers actually have spectacles with non-prescription lenses because the cost is inconsequential to them or their parents and they believe having them makes them look smart.
