The Encounter

“John Steinbeck is a litera—”

My dad cuts him off. “I’m fully aware of John Steinbeck and his work.” He shakes his head in disgust. “This was a mistake. Christ, Reed and Jax read East of Eden at ten.” He takes his phone out and starts texting, I’m sure telling Jay, our driver, to bring the car out of the garage.

“I’m not paying you to give me your opinion on my children. I’m paying you to scientifically validate me in what I already know.”

“That’s what I did,” the man speaks loudly as the room goes silent. My eyes dart to my dad’s as I wait to see what he’s gonna do. His eyes narrow and I shake my head and look over at Reed who smirks back at me. He knows that when my dad gets quiet, all hell is about to break loose. My dad is tall, fit, and no one says no to him. Well, my mom does, but other than that, he’s pretty much a king.

“You were hired to test them, not psychoanalyze them.” His voice is soft yet rather menacing, and the fraud sniffs and reaches for his glass of water, which has a cucumber and lemon in it.

“It goes hand in hand.”

“Jesus Christ.” Reed steps forward as my dad puts a hand on his chest and I step in front of them both.

The doctor looks at me and shakes his head, then sits and starts making notes, I guess.

Reed looks over my dad’s shoulder. “So, what? I’m the bad one, right? That’s what you want to say, so go ahead and say it!”

“Just stop, Reed. He wasn’t going to say that.” My dad pats his chest and glances at me.

I move toward the door and turn around for a moment.

“What I was going to say”—he points at Reed—“is that you’re the one to watch.” Then he looks over at me. “You need to know that he will drag you down. It’s science, really.”

“Let’s go.” My dad pushes Reed toward the door.

“I’ve studied this, seen this in twins all the time. Look at his obsession with that girl you mentioned on the phone,” he says to our backs.

My dad stiffens but keeps walking.

“You know nothing about me and Tess. You know nothing about anything,” Reed yells as I push him out the door, the pretty receptionist looking up in shock. I guess she doesn’t see this happen much.

“I was only trying to give some insight into their intelligence,” the fraud calls out after us.

This is fucked. It’s nothing but a way to feed my dad’s ego, and he doesn’t need any more of that. My dad is actually cool. He’s good, not like the asshole dads my friends have. But for some strange reason, my dad has constantly wanted the label of genius for us. I push the elevator button. Something tells me after today he might finally let it go.

It’s all bullshit anyway. Whether I’m a genius or not, the world smiles on the Saddingtons. Always has.

Reed and I are the heirs to the Saddington empire. Reed is my twin, but he’s also my best friend. Anyone who hurts my brother hurts me. Because unlike what that cartoon fraud said upstairs, or all the other entitled dicks who seem to think they know everything…

They don’t.

I know the truth.

Reed knows the truth.

I’m not the good twin. I’m the bad one. I grin as Steinbeck’s novel infiltrates my head.

Yeah, I’m Caleb and Reed is Aron. Our whole lives, everyone has thought Reed is the bad twin.

Everyone is wrong.

Ava

Thirteen years old

Manhattan, New York

My eyes are closing and I can’t help it. Mr. Roberts is the most boring English teacher in the world. I put both my hands under my chin and try my hardest not to fall asleep. The classroom is so quiet besides Donald and his annoying sniffling. Maybe if I rest my eyes for a second it will help.

“Ava… Ava Gardner Jackson, do you mind explaining to the class what I just said?” My eyes pop open and my face goes from warm to burning in seconds. I glance around and all twenty-two of the most elite, wealthiest children in Manhattan stare at me. Well, some stare. Others snicker and look bored. I don’t fit in. I never have. I’m here because my mom has a rich boyfriend and that’s it. I look up into Mr. Roberts’s face and wonder why he doesn’t retire. He looks so tired and old. Why does he still teach? No one is nice to him. I think I remember his wife died last year. Maybe he’s just lonely.

“Umm.” I sit up and recross my legs. The knee-high socks do nothing to help with the cold weather, so they keep the heat at like a hundred degrees in the classroom. Wouldn’t want a one percenter to catch a cold.