Page 2 of Bad Boy
“It’s part of orientation, Remi. It’s not a choice. They assign you a student guide, and that person is also your advisor. You have to keep in mind that you’re starting in October, and honey, your old school isn’t quite up to par with Blue Ridge Prep.”
“It’s not up to par with shit,” I mutter. The place was a dump, and I worried every day whether the ceiling would cave in on us. Any school would be a. . . transition, to say the least. Plus, I’m not the greatest student.
“Please, Rem. Just go along with it, for me,” she pleads.
She’s already sacrificed so much for me, lost so muchbecauseof me. I sigh deeply, “Okay, Mom. Promise I’ll go.”
“Thanks, baby.” She smiles, even though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and focuses back on the road, turning the volume up and bobbing her head to her favorite rap songs circa 2006. I shake my head at her, a grin tugging at my lips.
My mind is instantly scheming and twisting the angles to figure out how to get what I want. I’ll find this student advisor and make him sign off on whatever the fuck he needs to mark the tour as complete. And if this fucker thinks he’s going to advise me onshit, he has another thing coming.
I make my own decisions, fuck anyone else.
CHAPTERTWO
REMI
The sun dips low, night on its way, as the last of the day’s light shines through the tall pines ahead. The sketchy mountain roads have gotten narrower and windier as we neared our new home in Hunter Springs, North Carolina. I really have no clue what to expect, and I’m starting to feel a little anxious the closer we get. I hope I didn’t leave one shithole for another one.
“It’s only about two more miles down this road, if I remember correctly,” Mom muses.
“Two miles away? From here?” I ask incredulously, making an obnoxious point of craning my neck to peer out every window like I’m searching for something when there’s literallynothingout there. No buildings, no people, no street lights. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a speed limit sign.
“Town is on the other side, Rem. Don’t be a smartass. And there’s a mall and a movie theater,” she says, rolling her eyes like she always does.
Oh, thank fuck.
“We take a left here, and as soon as we crest this ridge, you’ll see the estate.”
“The estate? What the hell is that?”
Before Mom can answer, we get to the top of the hill, and a sprawling mountain-style Craftsman home comes into view, surrounded by a forest of vibrantly hued trees. Althoughhomeis an understatement. Mom’s right—itisan estate. It looks like a fucking ski resort styled as a log cabin. The setting sun reflects off the sea of autumn leaves, gleaming with some of the most beautiful colors I’ve ever seen in nature, making this whole thing all the more breathtaking. . . andshocking.
A giant, circular fountain with a koi fish statue in the center spitting water sits in front of the main house, the driveway wrapping around it in a loop. Solar lanterns line the path to the brick staircase leading up to the ten-foot-tall, imposing front doors—probably solid oak. There are four garage doors and a smaller house off to the side, meaning there’s probably a pool back there.
“What the actualfuckhave you been hiding, Mom?” My wide eyes dart between the unreal sight before me and myliarof a mother.
“Just listen to me for a second,” Mom pleads as she pulls up right in front of the staircase and puts our beat-up old Honda into park, “before we go in there and you meet my. . .dad.”
It’s like she can barely choke the word out. Fucking hell, can this woman carry a grudge. I understand that she was sixteen, pregnant, and scared and that her mother kicked her out. But I also get the sense that she hasn’t been around for a while, and poor old Gramps has still been getting the cold shoulder from Raina Michaels.
“I left because my mother was toxic. She abandoned me—kicked me out—and I wasn’t going to let her control me or my decisions. She gave me some pretty twisted ultimatums, so I decided to leave and be with your father. I never wanted you to be controlled by her the way I was. And yeah, maybe in hindsight, that wasn’t the best decision. Maybe I gave you too much freedom, but that’s beside the point now. Just know that I only kept this from you to protect you. To keep these hateful people away from you.” Her dark brown eyes glisten in the dimming light.
“Did Dad know?” I wonder aloud, referring to the fact that she obviously comes from money. There’s no fucking way he knew about this, or he would have figured out a way to siphon money from them like the parasite he is.
“No. He wasn’t from my hometown. I’ve told you that. We met on spring break at the beach, and you know the rest.”
“No, Mom. I’m one hundred percent certain I donotknow the rest. In fact, I am so beyond fucking confused right now, I’m starting to get a headache.”
I rub my forehead and bite my tongue to keep from spilling every intrusive thought I wish I could tell her—like how keeping me away from her overbearing,rich-as-fuckparents instead kept me with a drunk and abusivedad. But I’ve never told her that. She doesn’t even know the half of it. Well, she obviously knew he was a drunk, but I hid everything else pretty well. She worked all the time and was hardly home. He never put his hands on her, only me. I made sure of it.
It started a couple years ago, shortly after I turned sixteen. Mom always assumed I got into fights running around the city, which in all fairness, was usually true as well. Bruises and butterfly bandages are nothing new to me.
But the worst of what she saw was usuallyhisdoing. I had to walk on eggshells, never knowing what would set him off. Did I forget to empty the dishwasher? Take out the trash? Even looking at him wrong could earn me a punch to the gut. So I started going out more and staying out later, just to avoid being home. Even if the streets weren’t any better.
At seventeen, I started working out regularly and got into the underground fight leagues for extra cash. Dad backed off some; he had no choice when I started fighting back. But it was pretty out of hand for over a year, and Mom has no fucking clue.
“I don’t know, Ma. Seems like this would have been a better alternative to the last few years in Detroit.” Financially, things were bad. Dad couldn’t hold a job down, which gave Mom and me no choice but to pick up the slack. And look where that got us—arrested, expelled, and fired.
