Page 66 of Raise Hell

Mamma didn’t know that I could see her reflection in the glass.

I got an earful when I first suggested Felicia join me at St. Bart’s. Mamma had been offended. Not because I was implying she couldn’t provide anywhere near the same educational opportunities in the Eastern Cape, but because it’s the truth. I still remember the tiny classrooms, shared textbooks, and faded maps with countries listed that no longer existed.

The Iron Curtain never fell in my old classrooms.

“Felicia is fine, Mamma.”

Her expression is more than skeptical. “She always seems to be alone when I call. I don’t like that. Felicia seems lonely.”

Thinking of how much time my sister has been spending with Olivia Pratt, loneliness is the least of my worries. “She isn’t.”

“I still don’t understand why you won’t let everyone there know she is your sister. Your friends could be her friends.”

I have too much respect for my mother to laugh in her face. “You’ve seen my friends, right? They’re the ones who almost busted my laptop for a laugh. I don’t want Felicia anywhere near them.”

“Then why insist she be there at all?”

This is an old argument that always ends the same way.

“You look nice.” My mother is beautiful and she always has been, but I’m hoping the compliment will get her to change the subject.

I’ve seen the pictures — she looks exactly the same in her forties as she did when she was my age. The only mistake that I’ll ever admit out loud that my father made was when he left her. She was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“You let anything happen to my babies and I’ll beat you silly.”

The irony of her beating me for letting something happen to myself isn’t lost on me. “I know, Mamma.”

“Next time I talk to Felicia, she better tell me how much fun she has been having at that ridiculous school, or I’m getting on the next flight.”

The threat is a real one. I make sure she knows I realize that as I promise to contact her more often. She only lets me go when I swear up and down that I’ll make sure Felicia isn’t spending all her time alone or otherwise suffering in any way.

I love my mother, but damn is she exhausting.

My head lolls onto the back of the desk chair as I stare up at the ceiling.

Someone knocks loudly on the door. I strongly consider telling whoever it is to piss off.

Nine more months of this shit and I never have to think about St. Bart’s again.

“What?” I bellow.

Vaughn peeks in. “You have a visitor.”

The sour look on his face should be answer enough, but I ask anyway.

“Who is it?”

“The only person who would bang on our door after dark like the police on a raid,” he says drolly. “I’d admire her courage if she didn’t annoy me so much.”

I don’t need to hear her name spoken out loud.

Only one person on this campus fits that description.

Olivia fucking Pratt.

* * *

Nolan and Coleare entertaining Olivia when I get downstairs. Vaughn hangs back in the hallway behind me. He seems less than willing to involve himself with whatever is about to happen. He hangs back by the entrance to the kitchen, almost hidden behind the wall.

---