“Marie Whitlock.”
Blaze stomps up the steps and snatches her diploma from Dr. Van der Merwe’s hands while glaring at the deputy headmaster.
A shrill scream echoes through the hall, followed by a “Go Blaze!” from a fist-pumping Charlie. Blaze beams at her and subtly pulls the middle finger at me before trotting off the stage, taking the stairs two at a time.
My eyes instantly snag on Kiervan when I glance back toward the audience up on the bleachers. He gives me a crooked grin that increases my internal temperature by four degrees. Dad is beside him, tapping away at his phone; Mom is doing the same, except she’s simultaneously silently judging any person who walks by her.
I run my thumb over the spark wheel of my lighter and tightenmy grip around my diploma, fighting the urge to light the fucking thing. There’s still no sign of Jonathan. He’ll have to show up at some point to collect Blaze, and like hell will I let that happen.
Everyone returns to their seats as the deputy headmaster drones on about the school year, fundraisers, and everything of zero interest to me. Applause fills the air one last time when she gives her final congratulations to the graduates, and I watch a head of copper hair zip out of the side of the hall as soon as we’re dismissed.
The entire student body and every single visitor starts to pool out of the main door and into the blinding sunlight. I clutch the lighter in my pocket, silently counting to ten as I weave through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Jonathan and my girl.
Sweat beads along my back, sticking the white material of my uniform to my skin. The weather has grown increasingly unbearable as we head into summer, and I have to squint just to see over the heads of all the excited students. Some people rush to the lake to take pictures, others hug their parents like surviving the academy is their greatest accomplishment. There’s happy faces and laughter everywhere I look.
A hand clamps on my shoulder, and I whirl around with a scowl.
“Congratulations, baby bro.”
The three words combined with the sound of his voice is enough for fire to start in my stomach, and spread over my skin in a rage of fury and hatred.
My fists tremble around the lighter as I let Kiervan shove me toward our parents. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, and I wish I could have put it off for longer. It’s harder than it should be to keep the glower off my face as I quickly scan the area for any of the Whitlocks.
Blaze better have stuck to the plan.
“Mother,” I grate out when I meet the dead eyes of the woman who gave birth to me. The warmth from her umber skin somehow looks cold, and her lively coiled hair is straight and lifeless.
“Kohen.” She briefly touches my arm unaffectionately with her manicured hand, giving me a smile that does nothing to hide the fact she doesn’t want to be here. I’m thankful the brush of her hand over my blazer is the most affection I’ll receive from her.
The man who sired me hasn’t looked up from his phone once, while the woman who gave birth to me darts her hazel eyes to every student that comes within five feet of her, and she clutches the bright red designer handbag beneath the arm of her white dress suit.
When Kiervan throws his arm over my shoulder and says, “The Osmans are back, baby,” I flick the wheel and release the gas while sliding my thumb over the chamber to stop the flame from catching the pocket of my polyester uniform pants. “What do you say we all go get some ice cream to—”
“No.” If he keeps talking, I might burn him alive.
“Donotcut your brother off,” Mother scolds.
Kiervan gives me a sideways grin as the muscles along my fists vibrate with the need to make my brother one with the concrete. I’ve been in my family’s presence for all of ten seconds and it’s already like I’ve never left. Mother takes Kiervan’s side, Father doesn’t react, and my brother does everything humanly possible to get a rise out of me.
My father stuffs his phone in his breast pocket, inspects me from head to toe, then starts walking to the car park with a dismissive “Let’s go.”
Mom spins on her heels, casting a disapproving glance at one of the giggling girls nearby.
I hold firm in my position despite the shove Kiervan gives me. “No.”
Both of my parents stop, turning back to me. My father cocks a patronizing brow. “No?”
“We need to talk.”
“This oughta be good,” Kiervan snickers from beside me, then takes a big step back to avoid any association with me.
“Go on.” The vein in my father’s forehead pulses, and my mother closes our circle like she doesn’t want anyone to hear.
“My trust fund.” I don’t need to say more than those three words because they know exactly what I’m talking about. “I got accepted into college.” With a full scholarship—they don’t know that though.
“A community one,” my mother scoffs.
“Still a college,” I argue. “There are two conditions to those funds: I’m over eighteen, and I go to college.”
