Page 4 of Pump Fake

My sister’s hysterical voice reached my ear as I pulled the phone away to look at the time. I had a half hour until I needed to leave, and my hair was still wet from showering. I needed to move things along.

Stanford had welcomed Serena for next fall, and she’d accepted, her plans set—or they had been. What she was currently telling me made it clear that wasn’t in the cards anymore.

“Look, Ser, I’ll help you. It sucks that you can’t go to an Ivy League school now. I get that.”Thank you again, Dad, for screwingus all. And Mom for waiting until now to tell Ser the college fund that was supposed to be there for her is gone.“I’ll help you think of some”—I cringed—“more affordable in-state schools.”

“My life is ruined. It’s so late. I’ll be lucky to get in anywhere, let alone get a scholarship.” Serena sobbed. “And Mom doesn’t care. She’s too drunk all the fucking time—and shopping like we actually have money, which is probably where my college fund went. She and Daddy completely hijacked my college plans.”

Goddammit, Mom. I hated that she couldn’t accept our new station in life and instead drowned her sorrows in wine rather than making sure my sister—her daughter—was coping okay. Selfish. That was what she was. And sure, Ser was spoiled, but that was their fault, not hers.

“Try not to worry. I’ll help you with applying and essays this weekend—and of course, finding a good school where you can get a scholarship to help with tuition.”

She sniffed, some of the sobbing ebbing. “Thanks, Brie. I-I don’t know what I would do without you.”

That made two of us because I felt the same way. I didn’t know what I would do without my sister, even if she was still pretty damn sheltered about some things. But that wasn’t really her fault—again, it was our parents’.

I managed to get off the phone and got to work on my hair, trying not to let it bother me that Ser hadn’t even considered what I’d had to do to pay my tuition. I had loans and had gotten a job two years ago. I was damn lucky that one of the teachers at Linwood, where I’d done my student teaching, had gone on maternity leave and I’d landed a paid substitute job. I’d had to rearrange my classes to accommodate the three hours I was teaching at the school every afternoon, but the money was so worth it.

My family’s situation had caused us to lose so much,including the house, cars, and anything of value inside our home. I’d come to terms with it, mainly because living at college was enough of a separation that I wasn’t faced with the daily losses. But my mom wasn’t dealing and had been finding solace at the bottom of chardonnay bottles for the past two years. Not to mention she was delusional and continued to live like we were still wealthy with all the country-club lunches and designer clothes.

I had no idea where she found the money to support her habit. Maybe Ser was right, and she’d raided my sister’s college fund—if they’d managed to keep it for Ser like they’d said two years ago. I kind of doubted it, which made Mom telling her so late in the game unforgivable.

As for the shopping sprees that Ser had mentioned, the only way that made sense to me was if Mom was selling some of her jewels or paintings that she and Dad had managed to squirrel away at friends’ houses.And if so, why couldn’t they cough up the money for Ser to attend Stanford?

I knew the answer. Deep down, and even on the surface, they had narcissistic tendencies. Oddly enough, they were loyal to a fault—but only to each other. Too bad that didn’t extend to their kids.

With no way to help Ser currently, I shoved all the family drama deep inside. I had to hurry and finish getting ready for the one morning class at the academy I was covering for a sick teacher. Then I would have to head straight to my afternoon English and Comparative Literature class.

The day flew by until my last class, which I dreaded. It was mainly ninth-grade students and a select group of boys who were loud, obnoxious, and unruly. One of them led the pack—Preston Waters. He was the bane of my existence.

A headache had been brewing since Ser had called me that morning, and it was threatening to turn into a raging, pounding, borderline migraine. If I didn’t go back to the dorm, takesome meds, and pass out immediately after class, I would endure a whole night of pain and nausea.

I’d almost made it through the entire class without incident or laying my head down from the building pain, when a loud knock sounded at my classroom door. I glanced over and spied the headmaster waiting for me on the other side of the pane.

I nodded and quickly addressed the class. “Turn to chapter twelve and review the information. There will be a quiz tomorrow. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Stepping into the hallway, I closed the door and put my back to the window to avoid any distractions. I didn’t need them, not with the jackhammer percussion banging in my skull.

“Miss Sinclair, Emily will be out for the remainder of this week and next. Her mother called with a family emergency and requested that her teachers send her homework by email.”

“Oh no.” Emily was a quiet kid but did well from what I’d noticed. She didn’t let the other rambunctious students interfere with her studies. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ll send everything shortly.”

“Be sure that you do. I sent an email to all her teachers, including you. Everyone has replied except you.”

I barely stopped myself from flinching. I hadn’t checked email since sometime yesterday morning with how busy I’d been. “I apologize, Headmaster Snyder. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t. At Linwood Prep, we pride ourselves on timely and effective correspondence.”

“Of course.” I took the dressing down as it was meant—a warning.

His eyes softened, and he sighed. “You need to be on top of your game, Miss Sinclair. This is a real shot for you. With people knowing about what happened to your father, you have a chance to rise above it and make a career for yourself.” He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m rooting for you, but you have to be beyond reproach.”

“Thank you, and I understand.” But I was already on edge, teetering on the ledge, and I knew it would only take one little thing to push me over.Do I even want this career?I’d thought I did. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure anymore, or at least, I didn’t want it in that town.

With a nod, he pivoted on his heels, and I pushed the conversation from my mind as I twisted the doorknob to reenter my class.

The hits just kept coming. I glanced at the students, who were oddly quiet. Then I found Preston with his phone out and pointed at me. I glanced around, but nothing looked amiss. Whatever news he’d hoped to get from my chat with the headmaster probably hadn’t carried through the closed door. We hadn’t been speaking that loudly, so I didn’t sweat it.

“Preston, put your phone away unless you want me to take it.”

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