Page 38 of Reign

And I listen. Hang out. And catch up with old friends as if my mom is waiting for me at home, ordering in our favorite Italian and attempting to make hot chocolate on the stove—this time without burning it and covering up the faux pas with a mountain of marshmallows.

While it feels like I’m tugging on an old sweater a little too small for me, I appreciate the softness, the warmth. Moreover, I accept Sylvie’s smile and Matt’s deep laugh as they tell me about my old high school. And I study Sylvie’s complexion, rosy and vibrant, as her hands whip around with emphasis. She resembles the girl I met in elementary school, brimming with mischief and unafraid of the future.

And I wonder if this is what it can looks like when someone embraces all the bad they’ve done. And forgives themselves.

14

Callie

The glow of my phone is the only light in the kitchen where I’m plopped on a stool, gaping at the letters scrolling across the screen.

I’m so immersed in whether I’ve been hacked that when the cabinet under lights flicker on, I jump, then scream and fall off my stool at the sudden movement in the doorway.

The shadow screams back.

“Christ on a cracker, Callie!” Lynda cries, clutching the collar of her nightgown as she bends over to catch her breath.

“I—Jesus on a biscuit, Lynda!” I retort, soothing my own pounding heart by placing my palm over it.

“You scared the life out of me.” She puts her hands on her hips, then arches her back until she’s exhaling toward the ceiling. “Usually I’m alone when I’m wandering the halls late at night.”

“Sorry.” I resume my position on the stool. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t tell me you’re waiting up for Santa?”

I huff out a laugh, but hunch over my phone again. “I wish.”

“Blair has me up at such odd hours, my stomach’s starting to adapt to midnight snacks. Want to join me for some hot chocolate?”

“Sure. That’d be nice.”

Lynda opens the upper cabinet, pulling out two mugs. “Tell me what’s going on, honey.”

“Nothing. I…”

“Those are your final grades for the semester, aren’t they?”

I peer up from my phone, straightening in my seat. “How’d you know?”

“Oh please, I’m hardly psychic.” Lynda chuckles at my expression. “Your Dad was emailed them a few hours ago.”

Grades must’ve come in while I was out with Blair. After the incident at the traffic light, I was reluctant to add another distraction and look at my phone until I got home. Then, Christmas Eve dinner happened, and it was only an hour ago that I’d thought to check my email. That stopped any slim chances of catching any sleep.

“You don’t look happy,” Lynda observes as she sets a pot on the stove. “If I were you, I’d be ecstatic at those grades. Your dad and I are so proud of you.”

I stare back down at my phone, the letters growing blurry the longer I forget to blink. “They’re not mine.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course they are. Briarcliff doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes.”

Her words hit me in the exact opposite way she intended. My hand clenches around my phone as I glance between the screen and her.

“Lynda.”

I use her name forcefully, so she’ll stop puttering around stove and turn to look in my direction.

She does, her long, satin nightgown flowing with her movements. “Cal? What is it?”

“Did Briarcliff falsify my grades because I’m a Virtue initiate?”

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