The man doesn’t flinch. He takes in Sam’s words, nods, then offers a small, careful smile. “I understand. My name is Mr. Ryder. I’m here on behalf of your father.”
That lands like a punch, and I still. Sam’s arms drop, her expression flickering with something—maybe anger, maybeconfusion. But my mind is already racing. How did he know our father? What does he want? Was he a friend?
“What do you know about our father?” Sam asks coldly.
“He was a friend of mine. I’m sorry about what happened. It was a truly tragic death,” he continues, and it’s the genuine sincerity in his eyes that makes me invite him in. He follows us to the kitchen, in which there are only two and a half seats.
Half because, one of the chairs half broke. I offer him the not-broken seat and lean against the kitchen counter instead.
“This may seem sudden,” Mr. Ryder continues, glancing between us. “But your father and I were very close friends. This was something he wanted for you, a future at Brentwood. Since I’m the headmaster, I’d like to extend an invitation.”
Ah yes, Brentwood College. A few things come to mind at the mention of it. The tests. My father, Mason, and the plans we’d made. Brentwood is one of the colleges to get into—a place for the elite, the best of the best. It requires relentless exams: reasoning and non-reasoning, Mathematics and English assessments from the age of eleven. Which we did. And more.
Mason got a place, of course. My older brother was, undoubtedly, brilliant. And we all knew Brentwood wanted him in. But Mason never got the chance to go. And then, things fell apart. I remember Sam and Naomi were supposed to go for their final interview a few months ago. I suppose I also was more recently. One final step, but we didn’t show up. After everything, it just… stopped mattering.
What was the point anyway? We didn’t have the money. And a scholarship was wishful thinking. It’s not like Brentwood would want me now; certain grades were required even to be considered. Ones I now didn’t have.
Naomi’s eyes practically sparkle, her mouth half-open in shock. Her face lights up as she stares up at him. “What?” shefinally breathes, like she needs him to repeat it, just to make sure it’s real.
I can’t blame her. Brentwoodwouldbe a dream. A distant one, but one nonetheless. A place Dad had raved about for as long as I can remember. It didn’t matter what anyone said, we all knew Mason was going to get in. There was always a chance the rest of us wouldn’t, but everyone knewhewas always going to. It was practically written in the stars. And yet, here this man stands, polished and perfect in our worn-out kitchen, offering us an easy ticket to a place meant forhim.
And all I can think is, why? Why now? Why us? I can’t stop the suspicion that prickles at the back of my mind. There’s no way he’s offering this up so easily. Nothing in this world is ever truly free. Everything comes with a cost. And we hadn’t even finished the exams.
I watch as Mr. Ryder catches my expression, the lingering doubt in my eyes, and clears his throat. “I’ve reviewed your exam results, and they were exceptional. The interview… well, think of it as a formality. A pass of sorts.”
I feel a chill run down my spine. There’s that word—pass. Like we’re being ushered through an open door without fully knowing where it leads. I may not remember exactly how I did on those exams, but I know this: I’m not exceptional now. Not since Mason and Dad. My grades, my focus, all of it slipped into the same dark void that swallowed them.
“What about costs?” I ask, folding my arms, as if money would be the only thing that could stop this. “We can’t afford a place like Brentwood, even with a pass.”
His expression softens slightly, and he inclines his head. “You’d be on a scholarship. All expenses would be covered. Tuition, books, uniforms.”
I catch a glint of excitement in Naomi’s eye. I can only imagine how she must be feeling about now. All she’s ever talkedabout since the accident is how much she wants to leave, in her words,this dump. I also don’t miss the tightening of Sam’s jaw as she shifts beside me. Sam doesn’t look relieved or grateful. She looks wary, her eyes scanning Mr. Ryder waiting for the catch.
“Butwhy?” she asks, her eyes wide.
He meets her gaze, his voice unwavering. “As I mentioned, I owe your father a great deal. He was a good man, and this was his wish. It would be my honour to fulfil it, to help bring his daughters the future he wanted for them.”
Honour. Wishes. Words that feel so out of place in our crumbling little kitchen, spilling from the mouth of a man who doesn’t belong in this world. A man who shouldn’t be making promises like this.
And yet, here he is. And here we are, with him looking at us like he’s giving us the keys to some grand future. But I know better. Nothing in this world is given without a cost.
“My son Christian also attends Brentwood,” Mr. Ryder adds, his tone casual, yet the revelation sends my jaw, as well as Naomi’s and Sam’s, plummeting to the floor. “He’s in Year Thirteen. You may know him?”
Know him?
ThatChristian Ryder?
Of course I know him. Everyone does. It would be more shocking if I didn’t when the whole of the UK worships at his feet like he’s some kind of national treasure. Him and his obnoxious friends. You can’t even walk past a damn newsstand or open your phone without seeing their faces staring back at you.
Christian Ryder’s family is very influential here in the UK, but aside from that, he’s known primarily for his genius and academic potential.
His cousin, though, is something else entirely. Kai Steele is the epitome of brilliance. A child prodigy turned full-blowncelebrity before he’d even finished being a child. Everyone’s first crush, everyone’s golden boy. He’s probably the most famous eighteen-year-old in the world right now.
But I always thought it strange, how people spoke of him like he wasn’t flesh and bone, like he wasn’t a child.
Although the Steele name had always been powerful, a dynasty of sorts, Kai continued their story in capital letters and bold handwriting.
And then there’s Will Carson. One of Christian’s friends.
