Page 5 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

Everett chuckled, but it didn’t sound like real laughter. “You live here now, remember?”

I followed him up a wide staircase, my footsteps echoing as I walked. The house felt like it swallowed sound, like it was waiting for something to happen. My skin prickled, but I shrugged it off.

We went down a long hallway, passing what seemed like a million closed doors until we got to the last one.

Everett grinned, his white teeth glinting under the lights, and then he opened the door with a flourish.

My breath caught in my throat. The room was insane. Like, over-the-top, “pinch me I’m dreaming” insane.

The walls were painted in soft blush pinks, but not in a little-girl way—it was elegant, sophisticated even. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting sparkles of light over the room. There was a plush, oversized bed in the center, piled with pillows in different textures and shades of pink and gold. The headboard was tufted velvet, the kind I’d imagine you’d see in some fancy hotel, not a bedroom for a teenager. Across from the bed was a huge wall-mounted flat-screen TV, and to the side, a vanity filled with designer makeup and perfume bottles that shimmered like little jewels.

I took a step inside, my eyes darting everywhere, not sure where to focus because everything was…incredible.

Everett stood by the door, watching me take it all in with a satisfied smirk. “The bathroom’s over there,” he said, pointing to a door against the wall. “But check the closet first.”

I glanced around, immediately finding the door that was slightly ajar, revealing rows and rows of clothes, all neatly hung, organized by color and style. Skimming my fingers across the soft fabric, my skin caught on a tag. I nearly fainted when I saw the amount of zeros on it. Just this one shirt was probably a hundred times more than the entirety of all the clothes I’d ever owned.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” he said, his voice smooth and confident, because he knew he’d done well.

I couldn’t even find the words to respond. It wasn’t just to my liking—it was beyond anything I’d ever dreamed of. In our crummy apartment I’d been too busysurvivingto think about the condition of the four decrepit walls we were living in. And then afterward, in all of those foster homes…I’d just decided that was it for me. A lifetime of struggle and secondhand things, and I’d put aside all thoughts that life could actually be different.

Everett must have realized I was struggling because he smiled gently and turned to go. “I’ll leave you to settle in,” he said. “If you need anything, just let me know.” His smile broadened. “Welcome home.”

Home. The word got caught in my throat, burrowing into my chest as the door clicked behind him, and I threw myself onto the bed, sinking into the softest mattress I’d ever felt.

A squeal of pure joy slipped from my lips, and my legs kicked up in the air as I buried my face in the pillows, grinning like an idiot.

I rolled onto my back and stared up at the chandelier, the giddiness bubbling inside me. Was this what the princess felt like in the stories when she was whisked away by the prince and her fairy tale came true?

Maybe—just maybe—things were starting to turn around for me.

* * *

The first week passed in a blur of disbelief and exploration. Every corner of the house proved just how small and out of place I was.

I spent most of my time wandering around, trying not to get lost. There were rooms that seemed to have no use at all for Everett, like the libraries with shelves towering to the ceiling, filled with books that still smelled new and untouched. I ran my fingers along the spines, reading titles I’d never heard of, feeling a strange pang of disbelief inside me that I would now have the opportunity to read them all.

The house had its own home theater. Rows of leather recliners faced a screen that took up an entire wall. There was a candy bar and popcorn machine, and I spent almost every night watching movies while eating popcorn and ice cream until all hours of the morning.

There was also an enormous pool. It was sprawling, glittering under the sun like a sapphire embedded in the backyard. There were lounge chairs lined neatly along the edges, a cabana off to the side, and even a little waterfall feature that trickled into the water. I’d never seen anything like it in real life. It was the kind of thing I’d only ever dreamed about, and yet there it was, right outside the glass doors.

My uncle’s rooms were on the second floor on the other side of the mansion overlooking the pool and gardens, and the first couple of days I rarely saw him because of work. He told me he was in “acquisitions and sales,” but he hadn’t given me any other details besides that.

School wasn’t starting until the next week, so I took advantage of all the rooms, reading all the books I could, swimming in the hot Texas sun, and trying on all of my clothes like I was Cinderella herself.

Everything seemed too good to be real.

And I forgot an important lesson that I should have already learned. That sometimes, when everything feels too perfect, like a dream you’re afraid to wake from, it’s because the cracks were hidden just beneath the surface, waiting to remind you that nothing that good ever comes without a cost.

* * *

My uncle had set me up to attend the most prestigious school in Dallas—even though one look at my grades should have told him I had no business being there. Everyone at Smithwood Preparatory wore crisp uniforms, and the buildings looked like something out of an Ivy League brochure. It was intimidating at first, seeing how polished and put-together everyone was, but I somehow managed to make friends—quickly—for the first time in my life.

Here, I wasn’t the girl with a junkyard past and a suitcase full of secrets. No one knew what my life had been like before I got here, and I wasn’t about to tell them. It was easier to blend in, to let the shiny new exterior my uncle had handed me do the talking. The uniform helped—a tailored blazer and pleated skirt that somehow made me look like I belonged. It was a far cry from the thrift store finds I’d patched together back in public school.

Friends.I’d never had them before, not really. I’d had people who were nice to me in passing or sat next to me in class because there were no other options, but this was different. These girls wanted to sit with me at lunch, wanted to know where I got my hair done, wanted to tell me secrets they swore no one else knew. They asked me to join their group projects, to go shopping after school, to come to their birthday parties.

And I could say yes. For once, I could actually say yes.

---