Cloudburst (Storms 2)

“It’s too comfy,” I moaned. “I hate getting out of bed.”

She paused and nodded.

“I remember when you first could get out of bed easily after your months of therapy, you didn’t hesitate to do so. You were usually up before anyone else in this house. It didn’t take long for you to pick up someone else’s bad habits, I’m afraid,” she muttered. “I can only imagine what else would go on if she wasn’t off in that college.” She paused with a suspicious expression on her face and stared at me. Did she think I had done something else that would meet with her disapproval, that there was some other way Kiera had infected me?

“What?”

“I always wonder. It is a real college, isn’t it?” she asked, and I laughed with relief.

I threw off my comforter and sat up.

“Yes, it’s a real college, Mrs. Duval. She has homework and lectures to attend and has to pass tests. It’s just a very expensive, exclusive school with students from all over, including Asia, as well as Europe.”

“Well,” she said, tightening her lips, “I don’t care how rich you are. Money can buy you right up to the steps of heaven, but after that, you’d better have something else to offer to get those gates to open.”

“Kiera’s not thinking about heaven,” I said.

She grunted in agreement, and I rose, stretched, and looked at the clock. I did have to get moving.

Two weeks ago, my foster parents surprised me on my seventeenth birthday with a red BMW hardtop convertible. The sight of it took my breath away. Jordan had arranged for my private driving lessons, and Donald had let me drive his Bentley three different times. I thought that was to see if I was ready to drive my foster mother’s Jaguar sedan occasionally. Never did I dream they were planning such a gift. From what I heard them say to each other about it, I assumed it was mostly Jordan’s idea.

Anyway, having my own car meant I could take a little longer to get ready for school. I didn’t have to get up earlier for Donald to drive me on his way to w

ork, and Jordan didn’t have to change any of her plans or get up earlier herself. Often, they had Mrs. Duval’s husband, Alberto, drive me or pick me up, but I knew that took him away from his work.

The private school I attended had no buses. The students were all from families rich enough to have drivers or had parents with the time to cart them to and fro. Many were often brought in taxicabs or in chauffeured limousines. It was quite a sight to see four or five of them lined up at the end of a school day. Someone who didn’t know would think the school was having a black-tie affair for some very important government official.

I quickly pinned up my long black hair, which I kept at the length my mother had kept hers, just below her wing bones, and hurried to my bathroom to shower. If I let her, Mrs. Duval would put out my clothes, but she always chose something more conservative than I would have chosen to wear. Today I was excited about wearing the outfit Jordan had bought me over the past weekend at Mademoiselle Boutique in Beverly Hills. The teenagers who went there for clothes didn’t have to break piggy banks. That was for sure.

I had a pair of low-rise skinny jeans with sequins down both legs in quarter-moon shapes and a fancy ruffle tee top. Jordan had bought me a new Zsa Zsa Zebra cross-body bag to go with it and a pair of platform pumps. I also had the Ed Hardy Showgirl Geisha watch still in its box. Donald had brought it back for me when he had gone to Tokyo last month. He said he thought it was amusing to find something made in America at the airport there.

“Whenever I see anything cute that’s Oriental, I think of you,” he told me.

I was surprised to hear it. Even Jordan looked surprised to hear that I was on his mind when he traveled.

“He certainly doesn’t think of me that often,” she muttered. She was always complaining about how he wasn’t in touch with her enough on these trips lately.

After I dressed and brushed my hair, I hovered over the twenty or so necklaces I had. I had been favoring the recycled African green glass, but I also liked the chunky marbled bead necklace. There were so many other good choices that would go well with what I was going to wear. I paused to look at the opulence.

Was Mrs. Duval right? Was I getting to be just as spoiled as Kiera? Mrs. Caro would always look at Mrs. Duval if she made any comment suggesting that and say, “After what she has been through, that girl deserves to be a little spoiled.” Mrs. Duval didn’t disagree, but she wasn’t one to countenance waste or laziness, not that I wanted to be wasteful or lazy, either.

“The clock’s ticking,” Mrs. Duval called from the hallway as she passed my room, carrying some fresh linen to Jordan and Donald’s bedroom.

I scooped up the marbled bead necklace, slipped it over my head, and started for the doorway, but I paused when I saw there was an e-mail from Kiera on my computer. Lately, she was writing to me late at night, long after I had gone to sleep. Too often, she would call very late, too. Despite what I told Mrs. Duval about Kiera’s school, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of work she was doing there these days, especially now that she was claiming she was having a hot new romance. Maybe Mrs. Duval wasn’t so off with her suspicions. Maybe the students at Kiera’s school paid so much to be there that their teachers bent rules and grades to make sure they passed, after all.

Hey, she began as if we were right next to each other. Richard just left. That’s right, I smuggled him into my room last night through the window. Lucky I’m on the first floor of the dorm. I didn’t think he would do it, no matter how much I promised him. When I first met him, he was so English. You know what I mean, correct and perfect, wiping his lips after every bite at lunch and leaning over to wipe mine if the smallest crumb was stuck on my lip. I never had a boyfriend who pulled the chair out for me, opened every door, including rushing around to open the car door like some chauffeur, and then hold out his arm. He hates walking side-by-side without my taking his arm.

As you know, at first I found him annoyingly proper. I hated having to remember all the rules of good etiquette. I especially hated those charm-school lessons my mother ordered both Alena and me to take from that woman who squeaked when she walked, Mrs. Catherine Emmerline Turner. Even Alena hated her coming around, although she would never complain. Alena never complained about anything, even when she was sick, but you know I’m a professional complainer, so I had no problem.

Anyway, Richard proved to be so sweet, and he’s so obviously head over heels in love with me, I couldn’t keep ignoring him. I’m slowly changing him, anyway, showing him how to relax and have fun, which is what he did last night in my bed. I’m so glad I bought the Kama Sutra book I was telling you about a few weeks ago. I promised him something different every time, and he was practically screaming with pleasure. In fact, I had to put my hand in his mouth and—.

“Sasha,” I heard, and looked up from the computer. “Everyone’s worried you’re going to be late for school,” Jordan said. She was in my doorway and wearing her light green velvet robe. Her hair wasn’t brushed, and she wore no makeup, which was something she would never do when I first arrived. I wasn’t the only one who was changing in little ways. “You know I don’t want you speeding in your new car. Donald says the police favor red cars, especially expensive ones.”

“Okay, coming,” I sang.

I quickly clicked off the e-mail and shut off the computer. I didn’t like leaving it on when I wasn’t in the room. I had no doubt Jordan would have a hemorrhage or something if she read any of my e-mails from Kiera lately. It was very important to Kiera that I keep secret what we wrote to each other, anyway, and at this point, I wanted her to trust me. I still relied on her for some advice when it came to boys at our school—or boys anywhere, for that matter.

“Sorry,” I said, joining Jordan in the doorway.