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Chapter 3
Giselle was muttering again.
She had two, distinct types of mutterings. One I would often refer to as her annoyed mutters. They would be nearly inarticulate phrases hissed beneath her breath and accompanied by a small shake of her head. My least favorite, and the most frequent, were her pissed off mutterings. These would involve a lot of swear words and a lot of random statements sewn together. Once, I believed I heard her make up a pretty interesting curse concerning a monkey, a lawnmower, and plastic surgery, but I could never be certain. With the latter utterances, her face turned beet red, and her eyes narrowed into slits. She had always been a condescending woman, but with her eyes probing my scalp as if she could physically skin me alive, she became terrifying.
Fortunately for me, I had grown immune.
“Can’t you do anything?” she snapped. The question was vague, though I suspected it was because she didn’t expect an answer. Still, being the smartass I was, I made a show of considering her words.
“I can recite the alphabet backwards,” I said innocently. I held the coffee cup up to my lips and took a tentative sip. It was still scorching hot, but the cream helped damper the heat. I was always a bear if I didn’t have approximately five hundred cups in the morning. Hell, I was a bear evenwithmy coffee.
“I can also hold my pee in until the very last possible second,” I continued, watching her face pinch together. “Let me see…Oh! I can put my toe in my ear. And I definitely have a talent with fire. On my last birthday alone, I lit my hair on fire…though I don’t think that really counts as my fault. It totally was the candle’s.”
Giselle shot me a glare that could’ve withered grapes into raisins. If I could only use one word to describe my tutor, it would be mousey. Of course, she would probably whoop my ass if she ever heard me describe her as such, but the older woman just reminded me of a petite mouse. She kept her gray hair cut short around her small, elfin face. Her body was wiry, nothing more than bones and wrinkled skin.
Still, Mrs. Baldwin was a scary son-of-a-gun.
“I don’t even know why we do these lessons anyway,” I said, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to respond. Moving from my seat at the counter, I poured myself another cup of coffee. A girl needed at least twenty in an hour if she didn’t want to become a murderer. “I already graduated high school and college. This is stupid and overkill.”
I graduated high school when I was only thirteen, courtesy of Mrs. Giselle Baldwin herself. Online college followed immediately after. Heaven forbid that my parents let me attend public school…like Highwood Prep. Not that I wanted to go there or anything. Nope. Not me. Who needed social interaction with kids her own age? Not this girl. Nope. Nada. Who needed social interaction with kids her own age or boys with unicorn tattoos across their chests? Definitely not me.
Giselle still didn’t answer me, possibly too angry to speak.
With a roll of my eyes, I turned back towards the textbook she had laid out in front of me. Business Law and Relevant Cases.Oh joy. Because there was nothing else I would rather do than study business law cases.
“Are we done with lessons for today?” I asked in my sweetest tone, batting my eyelashes for effect.
We were in my suite, an immense, multi-room space located on the upper floor of the resort, entirely separate from my parents’. We currently sat inside the kitchen, which was nothing more than an open space with sleek, marble flooring and a wide, granite countertop. Off the right wall was my small dining room, though I barely used it. Why would I want to sit at a dining room table by myself? Even for me, a girl that talked to herself,thatwas entirely too depressing.
The living room was just as extravagant as the rest of the place: a leather, black sofa, a television mounted to the wall, and a collection of armchairs arranged into a makeshift circle.
Overall, the place was devoid of any personalization. If it wasn’t for the scattering of clothes in my bedroom, some might wonder if the suite was even occupied. I may be living here, but it sure as hell wasn’t my home. It felt too cold, too empty, too lonely.
Despite feeling this way, the idea of moving in with my parents made my skin crawl. I was stuck in perpetual isolation. I could be around hundreds of people, yet my heart still ached as if it was just me. Maybe it was because nobody ever sawme. Sure, they saw the beautiful girl that my parents desired me to be, but nobody looked past such a superficial mask. Did they see my scars, both mental and physical? Did they understand that my sarcasm and wit were a defense mechanism?
Did they understand I was barely hanging on?
My hand, went to my arm covered by my red sweater. Sunlight trickled through the kitchen window in soft beams, making the temperature in the kitchen stifling. Still, I knew I couldn’t take off my sweater. Not with Giselle around.
Not ever.
“I suppose we can stop for now. Despite your obvious attention problems, you are far enough ahead that we can call it a day.” Though her mouth was set into a thin line, her eyes warmed slightly. Giselle loved to brag about her teaching skills, but I would’ve been fine just learning the material myself.
I found it all easy.
I couldn’t tell you how to change a tire, but if you asked me to configure data for a property, I’m your girl.
Taking another sip of my coffee, I opened my mouth to thank Giselle for my few hours of free time – I had to meet D.O.D. in a couple hours for a meeting – when something on the television caught my attention. Frowning, I hurried past my aging tutor and into the living room. The remote was where I left it, smothered between two couch cushions (totally intentional), and I quickly turned the volume up.
“…so far, only five casualties have been reported, though this may increase over time.”
The footage switched away from the newscaster to what once might’ve been a pretty town but was now nothing more than piles of debris and broken homes. Everything was in shambles; I couldn’t discern one house from the next.
Frowning, I squinted my eyes at the screen to make sure I’d read the heading correctly.
FOUR TORNADOS HIT BRACKEN, ALASKA
Alaska? Tornados? That was a rare phenomenon all on its own, but four?
