I’d love nothing more than to take that stupid device away from her as punishment, but seeing how it’s the only way I can track her down, it isn’t an option. I could ground her from her friends, but she claims she doesn’t have any of those. Short of making her scrub all ten thousand square feet of my town house on her hands and knees using a toothbrush, there isn’t much else I can do to help her realize the gravity of her actions.
Hooking my arm around her narrow shoulders, I direct her to the curb and hail a cab. A taxi screeches to a stop, and I yank open the rear passenger door.
“Get in.” I climb in beside her before slamming the door. “Highland Prep on Columbus.”
“I’m not going.” My niece crosses her arms over her barely there crop top and pouts her glossy bottom lip, a move that makes me realize she left the house looking like a five-dollar hooker today. I shrug out of my jacket and drop it on her lap. “Put this on. As soon as we get there, you’re washing your face, and then I’m personally escorting you to the principal’s office so you can apologize for ditching school . . . again.”
She begins to protest, but I lift a finger.
“You’re also going to tell him how much you love Highland Prep and how grateful you are to be a student there.” Pulling out my phone, I check my email. Tom was supposed to handle the Elle Napier fiasco this morning, but it’s been a solid hour, and he’s given me nothing.
“So you want me to lie.” Scarlett angles her body to face the window, refusing to look at me, as if it’s going to make a difference to her fate.
“No. I want you to grovel. They’re two seconds from kicking you out of that place, and the next best option has a two-year wait list. There’s a six-month wait at Kingman Hall, but that’s on the Lower East Side, and quite frankly, I’ve not heard amazing things.”
“I have an idea.” Her voice is overly chipper. “You could just ship me back to Nebraska.”
“Not in this lifetime,” I snap back. Sending her back isn’t an option, and even if it were, I wouldn’t. I refuse to fail Scarlett. I’m giving her a better life whether she wants it or not. Someday she’ll understand. Until then . . .
The taxi slams to an unexpected stop, and we brace ourselves on the seat back in front of us.
“Sorry,” the cabbie mutters, his eyes flicking into the rearview.
Ordinarily I’d have my personal driver running me around, but given the fact that Scarlett pulled this cute little stunt and I’d given him the morning off, grabbing a cab was the most efficient option.
“I hate it here,” Scarlett says under her breath.
“You haven’t even tried to like it.”
“I miss my friends.”
I chuff. “The ones who hung out at that abandoned railroad depot every night getting stoned? Or are you talking about those little eighth-grade boys who hot-wired that elderly woman’s Buick and went joyriding with a case of Busch Light they stole from their dad’s garage fridge?”
Silence.
“I refuse to let you grow up to be just another loser from Whitebridge. And you shouldn’t settle for that either.” A block ahead, her school comes into focus. “If you had any idea how lucky you are to be here. To live in this city, to go to one of the best high schools in the country, to have a wealth of opportunity and privilege at your fingertips . . .” I trail off because I know she isn’t listening. Or at least she’s pretending not to because she knows it gets to me.
The cab creeps to a stop, and I swipe my card to pay the toll before bolting out of the germ factory on wheels.
Scarlett takes her time getting out—to spite me, I’m sure. And keeps a careful distance from me, teetering on the curb with her arms folded and eyes averted.
“Put the jacket on.” I nod to my suit coat, the one currently crumpled in her grip.
“Absolutely not. I’m going to look ridiculous.”
“I’ll see if there’s a spare uniform when we get inside, but for now, you can’t go in there with a bare midriff. It’s against school policy.”
“Since when do you care about rules?”
I ignore her attempt at deflection.
Jerking the jacket from her haphazard hold, I drape it over her shoulders and escort her inside, then stop at the restrooms in the front hall so she can wash off her sticky CoverGirl face before we head to the main office.
“I’m not sending you back to Nebraska, Scarlett. Not now, not ever,” I tell her when she steps out, fresh faced and looking like a true fourteen-year-old. “The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you. There’s nothing you can say or do to change that. You may not understand it now, but someday you’ll thank me. Until then, you’re living under my roof, you’re following my rules, and you’re not to miss another day of school.”