Chapter One
My Instagram feedis filled with snow-covered landscapes and elite socialites all bundled up in Gucci sweaters and knee-high boots posing with their pumpkin spice lattes in hand. To all that winter aesthetic stuff, I say:gross.
In many parts of the world, January is a frigid, snowy awful month of warm layers, electric blankets, scraping ice off your car, and eating hot soup or whatever it is people do in cold climates. But here in sunny California, it is an absolutely perfect seventy degrees. (Or twenty-one degrees Celsius, as my Canadian chef likes to say.)
I look away from my phone, letting my head fall back on the lounge chair, my eyes closing while I listen to the sound of the pool water sloshing through the filter, and feel the warm sun on my face. The Malibu mansion is truly my favorite of all our homes. We used to only come here in the summers, but as soon as I got old enough to start calling the shots, I settled down in our Malibu vacation home and let my parents go wherever they wanted to go for the rest of the year. Sure, Cali isn’t as historic as England or as gorgeous as Thailand, but I feel a sense of belonging here.
My phone starts ringing the cheerful Shawn Mendes song I’ve assigned as my best friend Viv’s ring tone. Well – she’s aclosefriend. You don’t exactly have best friends in the traditional sense when your family is wealthier than everyone else’s. You really never know who you can trust and who is trying to use you for your connections. I’m pretty sure that everyone is trying to use you when you’re rich.
But Viv’s mom is the president of a large fashion company, so they’re doing pretty well with money. I trust her for the most part.
“Hey,” I say, putting the phone to my ear as I relax by the pool.
“There’s another MTV party tonight,” she says, heaving a sigh like it took a lot of energy to get out those words. “Are we going? I’m kind of tired of the music scene.”
That’s probably because her beloved Shawn Mendes hasn’t noticed that she exists yet, despite her pretty desperate attempts to flirt with him. But I’m not going to say it out loud. Girl code and all that.
“I’m over the music scene, too,” I say. Solidarity. Truth is, any party is my scene right now. As long as I’m not stuck at home for another awkward dinner with my parents who are staying here this summer, I don’t care where I am. I love my mom and dad, but they’re basically strangers lately.
“Great,” Viv says. “We’ll find something else to do.”
The clickity-clack sound of Charlie’s heels draws my attention to where my mom’s assistant is approaching from across the pool. She waves frantically at me like it’s important.
“Viv? I’ll call you back.”
“Kay, but don’t forget. You always forget.”
I roll my eyes and promise that I won’t forget. But now that the MTV party is out tonight, I have no idea what else would top that. I haven’t posted to Instagram in a few days and my adoring followers will want to see something that makes them envious. That’s why they follow me, after all.
“Sophia,” Charlie says, smiling politely at me as her tall frame hovers over mine. She works for my mom full time, and she basically lives here, but she doesn’t dress like it. She only ever wears pant suits or blazers and matching skirts. And always heels. I mean, props to the woman for wearing heels twenty-four hours a day, but holy crap, the fancy clothing must get old. I practically live in my jeans, leggings, and oversized shirts. The ironic thing is that my designer loungewear costs ten times what her formal work clothes cost.
“What’s up?” I say, peering up at her. She’s in her early thirties, but easily looks as stressed as a fifty-year-old heart surgeon. You can blame that on my mom, who asks a lot out of the poor woman.
“You’ll need to pack up your things, hon.” She glances at the tablet in her hand, and something tells me she just doesn’t want to meet my eye. “Your plane is leaving in the morning.”
“Where am I going?”
She checks the tablet again. “Some small town in New England.”
“New England?” There is nothing cool in that part of the country. In fact, it’s one of those places that gets snowy and gross in the winter. I am absolutely not going there.
Charlie nods. “Your flight is at ten-thirty. Mrs. Brass has informed me that you’ll be attending school there until you graduate, so pack enough clothes and belongings for the duration.”
“What?”I fling my sunglasses off and stand up. I am equal parts confused and angry. No wait, strike that—I am mostly angry, and only a little bit confused.
Of course my mom would send her lackey to tell me upsetting news. She always does. Mom doesn’t say anything herself unless it makes her look good.
I storm past Charlie and into the house, my bare feet cold on the white marble floors. “Mom!” I call out, even though it’s loud and rude and everything my mother hates. “Where are you?”
“Calm down, child,” Mom says in a voice that’s stern and unaffected, aka-her normal voice.
Charlie is right on my heels, no doubt clutching that tablet and thinking of excuses to placate my mom. I’m sure if my mom had it her way, she’d never have to speak to me.
“What is all this talk about me flying out to New England tomorrow? Is this some kind of joke? Because I’m not laughing.”
My mother is beautiful, starkly put together, and absolutely as cold and unfeeling as the stone tiles beneath my feet.
She glances up from the book she’s reading, her dark brown eyes meeting mine for the first time in weeks. We might live in the same house a few months a year, but we mostly communicate through Charlie, or text message.
