Page 13 of King

Seems like I have a type because there's a flutter in my stomach thinking about that gaze. Those eyes. Those lips. It wouldn’t be unlike me to get a thrill out of trouble. How bad can a hot rich boy be?

Envelope in hand, my eyes narrow in on my name in a small font. “The fuck…” Picking up one of the papers off the floor, my brows furrow. There’s a list of my previous schools, previous homes and criminal record. I thought Eric said he wiped it all. And why would Cindy Huang need all this information if she was already so confident in me taking this job?

I reach inside the envelope and almost drop it all again. There’s a picture of my old house. That house. The one gone in flames. My parents with it.

My chest tightens, stomach rolling.

“Jo?” Willow calls my name from the main room. I tuck the papers back inside the envelope. “Henry says five minutes!”

“Be right there!” I try to steady my voice as I fold the envelope in half, deciding to keep it for myself.

Questions fight for space in my mind. Why is Damien giving Cindy Huang information about me and my old house? And what is she even planning on doing with it?

I don’t know what any of this means but I’m sure as hell going to find out.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I wrinkle my nose at the clothes laid out on the large grey ottoman.

We’re standing in our new closet the size of our old bedroom, two hideous green and white outfits in front of us.

“It’s not that bad.” Willow stands beside me in old checkered shorts and a tattered white t-shirt. She’s got a headstart on her hair, half of it straight, the other a wavy mess.

Tilting my head to the side doesn’t help me see these outfits any better. Starch white buttoned blouses sit beside two pairs of green tartan kilts. At the foot of the ottoman are two pairs of black flats, white knee-high socks beside them.

Two green blazers hang on otherwise empty racks. Sweaters of the same deep forest green hang next to them. If they’re trying to give me options, I pick neither.

“There’s no time to dawdle, little ladies!” Vincent burst through the doors. He has a couple of white headbands in one hand, stiff leather backpacks in the other. “School starts at eight-thirty.”

I lean against a shelf, the sharp pain in my back already more of a dull annoyance. Arms crossed, I watch him plop the items on the ottoman. “Thought you didn’t work for us.”

Without a look at me, he’s out of the room, calling behind him. “These are Mrs. Archibald’s orders!"

My sister picks up a blouse, holding it against her body as she looks in the tall mirror. It sits against greyish walls, a pot light pointed at Willow. “At least we’ll blend in.” When Vincent comes back, he has two white boxes in his hand. My sister squeals, “New phones?!”

Vincent nods, “Yes. As much as I disagree, Mrs. Archibald prefers to have instant access to both of you. If Holly or the Archibalds call, you answer.”

Willow takes both boxes out of his white-gloved hands, giving one to me as she walks back to the centre of the room. Just when I thought there’d be minimal perks to living in Eden, I’ve got a brand new iPhone to call my own. If the Archibalds’ think I’ll actually be using it to communicate with them, they're more naive than I thought.

“Now.” Vincent gestures to the ottoman. “Get dressed.”

By the time he’s closed the doors my sister already has her phone up and running. “So cool!” She turns around to face me, “Are you going to give Zane and the guys your new number? Oh, and Shauna?”

This is the first piece of tech that Willow has called her own since the tablet. While it makes me smile to see her so stoked, it’s time I lay down the rules.

“Nope!” I toss the silver phone on the Ottoman, watching as it bounces onto the kilt. “These phones are only reserved for people who care about us. And no one cares about us except us. And remember…”

“Don’t post our whereabouts on social media,” Willow mouths along with me and I nudge her with my toe. Dropping her shorts, she asks, “Was Zane that mean last night?”

Mean is an understatement but I nod, not wanting to relive my first shift.

“Twenty minutes!” Vincent’s voice bellows from outside the door, my eyes back on the outfits.

My sister starts pulling off her shirt, her voice cloaked by the fabric, “You’re getting dressed right? Not going to school in that, are you?”

I stare down at the same band tee I wore yesterday, boyshorts underneath. While this would be more comfortable than what’s in front of me, Willow’s right. Uniforms would be a much better way to blend in. After last night’s shift, blending in is likely the best option.

It doesn’t take us too long to get dressed and my sister looks pretty polished once she’s got her blazer on. As for me…

“This is a joke.” I can't recognize the girl in front of me when I look in the mirror. While the kilt makes my legs look longer, I feel so awkward I’m tempted to swap back into my old shirt.

---