Page 86 of Mad Girl

“I get that, but⁠—”

“Wait a minute,” I said, hopping up from the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Just hold on,” I called over my shoulder. I ran upstairs, made a beeline for the bookcase in my bedroom, removed that photo from The Secret History, then hurried back down to your room.

“Look at this.” I handed you the picture of my mom with the other girl. Both of them dressed alike, wearing tight black t-shirts and leaning against the bar. “Remember the girl Libby brought up at breakfast that morning at the beach? The one who looked like my mom? She said John always flirted with this girl, and now that I look at her picture again, she could definitely be your mother.”

You studied the picture.

“That’s my mom,” I said, pointing to her. “But this other girl? You actually resemble her, Casey.”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” you said, still staring at the photo. “You, on the other hand, look almost exactly like your mum.” You glanced up and gently brushed your gaze over my face. “Beautiful.”

Unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. “Beautiful—but likes to fuck with people. A dangerous combination. I got more than her looks. No wonder my dad keeps me locked up.”

“You’re not a prisoner with me,” you said. “That still stands. I want you to have a good year, so long as you’re not fucking with people.” You gave me a pointed look. “And you are where you say you are, Elliot. No lying—that’s still the most important thing to me.”

“Deal,” I said, then complained of being hungry since you’d abandoned my breakfast. You tossed the picture aside and suggested we remedy the situation. On the way downstairs, I asked, “What about you, though? When I’m at school this year, what will you do?”

“I’ll be at school, too,” you said. “I’m a freshman at Harvard now.”

“How’d you manage that? Did my dad pull some strings or something?”

You stopped and turned to me. “Are you saying I couldn’t have got in on my own?”

I blinked. “It’s not exactly…easy.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m actually rather smart.”

I let out a sharp laugh that caused your expression to go flat. Which only made me laugh harder.

“Are you finished now?” you asked.

“Well, you did weasel your way into a billionaire’s house and successfully lie to a family of politicians for an entire year—I’ll give you that.” You rolled your eyes and started down the stairs again, but I caught your arm. “Wait. First-years are required to live on-campus. Does that mean you’re moving out for a year?”

“Your dad arranged it so I wouldn’t have to do that—like the Harrises did for Michael.”

So my dad had paid the hefty sum for you to “room and board” even though there’d be no rooming or boarding. The type of privilege money—and certain names, Harris and Bancroft among them—could buy.

I laughed. “Of course he did. You know my dad’s on the board, right? Some of the other board members were here—at that reelection party for John—the night we met. Makes you wonder what else he might’ve arranged, doesn’t it?”

You stared blankly at me. “You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”

“Not a chance,” I said with a smile.

In the kitchen, you put your hands on my shoulders. “Listen,” you said, dipping your head to meet my gaze. “Everything I told you? It stays between us. I want to be the one to tell Michael we’re brothers. He needs to hear it from me.”

“Of course,” I said, and I meant it. “I won’t tell your secret, Casey. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thank you.” You smoothed your thumb down my braid, then grabbed your teakettle off the stove and took it to the sink.

My voice came out small when I asked, “Did he tell you her name?”

You switched off the tap. “Whose name?”

“My mother’s.”