Page 160 of Mad Girl

“Fuck you, too, Dad.” I took pleasure in watching him flinch before I stormed upstairs.

The following day, I forced myself to stay downstairs with everyone else, but buried myself in schoolwork. Michael did the same, I assumed, from my dad’s office—where he remained hidden—only wandering out occasionally for snacks and meals, keeping his eyes downcast, never once meeting mine.

After lunch, I distracted myself with more schoolwork. Bree and Tinsley—both restless and looking for something to do—reluctantly did the same, so we all sat at the dining table with our laptops, toiling away, while you or Libby occasionally popped in to drop off snacks.

A couple hours in, I checked my email, and there it was: the response I’d been waiting for from Harvard.

Hand trembling, I clicked on the email. Dear Elliot, it read, I am delighted to inform you…

A normal person would squeal with excitement and call everyone into the room, bursting to share the good news. But not me. Long after Tinsley and Bree had left the table, I sat there, frozen still, staring at the email. You came up behind me, saw the screen for yourself, and pulled out the chair beside mine.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “You got in.” You pulled out your phone. “Let’s⁠—”

“Don’t,” I said, clasping your forearm. “I’m not telling anyone.”

You drew back. “Why not?”

“There’s no point.” I slammed the laptop shut.

“Of course there is,” you said, aghast. “You’ve just been admitted to your dream school.”

“I’ve just been admitted to his dream school. And he doesn’t even want me to go.”

“He wants you to take a year to unwind, that’s all.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, drawing back. “Have you talked to him about this?”

You squirmed beside me. “He just asked what I thought.”

“And what are your thoughts, Casey?”

You studied me, gaze dancing softly over my face. “I think you should do whatever you want. But I also feel, given everything that’s happened over the last year, you deserve to take a break if you want one.”

“If I want one? That’s funny. He doesn’t care what I want. What I want is completely irrelevant to him—always has been. I put a bitch in the ER, and now he wants to extend my sentence by another year. One more year, in which I’m really not allowed to have anything. In which I’m stuck—on pause—while everyone else gets to move on with their lives.”

“Listen, if you decide to take a gap year, we’ll make the most of it, okay? We could…volunteer at an animal shelter.”

“He doesn’t want me around people, Casey. You think he’ll let me around a bunch of already traumatized cats and dogs?”

“Okay,” you said, eyes drifting closed.

“I’m beginning to wonder why he didn’t just…let him take me.”

Those twin lines appeared between your eyebrows. “Let who take you?”

“My grandfather. For years, Gabe’s been trying to talk my dad into letting him take me to Paris—to live with him. Last time he was here, they got into a fight because my dad wouldn’t let him take care of it.”

“Take care of what?”

“Me. He wants my dad to move me far away…before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“Before I screw up too badly over here and tarnish their precious name, I guess. Gabe doesn’t want me here at all. If it were up to him, I’d never be allowed to work at the firm. You know what I heard him say to my dad once? Gabe told my dad he needs to have more kids—that’s the real reason he’s always trying to set my dad up with someone. He wants them to have other options, because I’m not good enough.”

Not good enough for my family. Not good enough for Michael. Not good enough for college. Not good enough for anything.

Then something else occurred to me: maybe that’s why Nic had moved you in, excited by the possibility you might be his son. Someone good. Someone better. Someone to replace me if I screwed up.