Page 9 of Vicious Games

If it weren’t for the uniforms, you could pick us out instantly.

I’ve even witnessed some of the crueler kids play a game to guess who’s filthy rich and who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. Who goes home to loving parents and who was abandoned at birth.

It’s sick.

But I’m almost at the finish line.

Senior year.

The year I finally get to flip this place the middle finger and say, ‘Sayonara, bitches!’

Well… not in those exact words.

Sister Margaretta would lose her mind if I spoke like that. I can practically hear her now.

‘Frances, a nun should only speak when there is something valid to say. Otherwise, silence is key to the betterment of a nun’s life. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, stop with the cursing already. You’re a child of God. Not a heathen. Need I remind you that such things will not be tolerated in the nunnery?’

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention—I’m going to be a nun.

Or at least, that’s the plan.

The minute I graduate, Sister Margaretta will vouch for me in applying to the convent. Once accepted, I’ll start my discernment with Mother Superior as my mentor and spiritual adviser. It will take roughly around six to nine years before I can take my final vows, but I don’t mind the wait. As long as I get three square meals a day and a place to lay my head at night, I’m golden.

Because anything is better than the alternative—living on the streets.

That’s exactly where Ishouldbe by now.

I aged out of the orphanage last summer, and if it weren’t for Sister Margaretta pulling strings to keep me there so I could finish high school, I’d be another lost soul wandering the cold, windy Chicago streets.

This isn’t the first time Mother Superior has saved my life.

At just three months old, I was abandoned in a car seat right in front of St. Mary’s Church. Sister Margaretta was the one who found and named me. She could have easily allowed the authorities to bounce me from one foster home to another. Instead, she ensured I stayed at the orphanage, where she was the director, in order to keep me safe. And when she became headmistress of Sacred Heart, she ensured I was enrolled here, too, giving me access to the best education money could buy.

As I said, Sister Margaretta has been a godsend in my life.

If it wasn’t for her, I shudder to think what would have become of me.

Now, it’s my turn to pay it forward—to become a nun she can be proud of.

And that means no cursing.

Which isreallyfreaking hard for me, considering it’s the one sin I enjoy committing.

That and eating—or, as Sister Margaretta calls it, the sin of gluttony.

Although eating and drinking for pleasure is not seen as sinful, eating or drinking in excess is.

And when I like something, I indulge in it. No two ways about it.

God, I love food.

I love everything about it.

From its inception to its creation.

I love the smell of a busy kitchen or the scent of fresh herbs plucked in the garden. I love the way a single ingredient can transform a dish, the sizzle of onions hitting a hot pan, or the warmth of bread fresh from the oven. I love the stories food tells and how a meal can bring everyone together. Every bite is an experience, a memory in the making, a celebration of flavor and life itself.

If I weren’t on the path to becoming a nun, I’d consider culinary school. But that shit’s expensive, so… nun it is.

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