by Ivy Clyde
3
Paris
I spent most of the day with Zoya, re-watching our favorite rom-coms. She had a steady supply of cake and pastries from my mom’s bakery downstairs while I lounged with a large jug of sweet iced tea.
My room was small, the bed taking up most of the space but it was also very cozy. There were no housemaids to bicker at us if we threw wrapping paper around or left plates of uneaten food on the bed.
Zoya lay on my bed, watching the screen of an old TV that my neighbor gave me after he bought himself a large flatscreen.
Making a living in a poor community like ours was hard, but the people around us made it worth it. The locals were safe despite the news of daily crimes that happened in our area. As long as we minded our own business, we were left alone.
“So, what do you plan to wear?” asked Zoya, rolling on to her side to face me.
I looked down at my clothes. “Is there a special dress code for visitors at Knightswood?”
Zoya fixed me with a strange look. Her usual cheerfulness disappeared and she seemed thoughtful.
“What’s wrong?”
She crawled to me and put her arms around my shoulders, resting her head on my chest. “I love how you don’t care about designer brands and the exclusivity of everything you own.”
A chuckle escaped me. “Why would I care? It’s not like I can afford any of those things…even when they’re on sale.”
She held me tighter. “Promise me something, Paris?”
“What?”
“That you’ll always be this way.”
I had to force Zoya away from me. She was suddenly acting strange. “Tell me what’s going on. If you want me to change out of these clothes, just tell me.”
She shook her head. “Forget I said anything.”
“No.”
She looked uncomfortable. “It’s just that people at Knightswood are different. They look at your clothes, bags, and shoes to make a judgment about you on the spot. If your appearance isn’t impressive enough, they’ll treat you like dirt.” Her voice was low and pained.
Zoya had been terribly bullied at Knightswood. While my mother painted a rosy image of the academy for me, I knew things couldn’t be as simple as that. It was a school for the elite. A girl like Zoya who spent all her life in a public school was bound to be looked down upon by others. She rarely spoke of her time there, always falling silent if I brought it up.
“We’ll go meet your brother in these exact clothes,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why should we care about they think? We don’t go there anyway.” When Zoya continued to look glum, I added, “Oh, cheer up, Zo! You’re bringing a Hulk dildo with you to Knightswood. If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is!”
She giggled, sitting up.
“Whack them with it if they annoy you,” I said, making her laugh. I turned up the volume of the TV, hoping to distract her with a scene from ‘Crazy Rich Asians’.
We were both full of pastries by noon, so we skipped lunch and headed out of the house. We decided to take a walk before calling for her driver to take us to Knightswood.
Even though my part of town was among the least popular areas of Philly, at least we had amazing street art covering the crumbling walls of abandoned buildings and factories. The colorful murals made up for the dismal state of our surroundings.
“How about we get going?” said Zoya after we’d circuited around our favorite parts of the neighborhood.
“Sure,” I agreed. “It would be nice to look around the place.”
Zoya’s gaze hovered over my shirt and ripped jeans but she didn’t say anything. Seriously, what was wrong with my outfit? She had to stop worrying what people from Knightswood would say. It’s not like we were ever going to study there. Even though I secretly wanted to attend, I knew Mom could never afford the tuition. I regularly checked their website for scholarship announcements but there weren’t any at present.
A shiny white Rolls Royce came to a stop beside us. It looked ridiculously out-of-place amid the crumbling brick buildings and pot-holed street.
“Come on,” said Zoya, moving forward to open the back door of the car. She promptly went inside the dark, cool interiors. She gestured for me to enter. People stared at me openly as I slowly climbed in.
“Does Master Nikolai know you are bringing a guest?” asked Javier, the driver, staring at me in the rearview mirror.
“It’s a surprise visit,” countered Zoya.
Javier turned his attention to the front and soon we were driving down the street. I looked out of the tinted windows, watching the neighborhood pass by. No matter how dismal or shabby it looked compared to other parts of the city, it was my favorite place in the world. It had been my home since I was born.
Zoya was texting on the phone. A quick glance told she was telling her mother we were on our way to Knightswood Academy.
Soon, we left the city’s outskirts.
The Pennsylvanian countryside was gorgeous at this time of year. The afternoon sun shone down on the rolling green hills in the distance. It was unbelievable how close it was to the city but so different and serene. Putting the window down on my side, I let the fresh breeze enter the car. The long lengths of my indigo-blue hair blew in the wind and I had the urge to shout and sing at the top of my lungs.
“We should come here often,” said Zoya from beside me. “It’s an amazing drive.”
I sat back in my seat and nodded.
In another half an hour, we entered the town of Knightswood. As the car drove down the streets, it felt like we were transported into another world. The houses and buildings were all painted in the same shade of brick-red. Leafy trees lined the avenues. There were specialty shops and quaint restaurants every few steps. From the brochures of the academy, I knew the town was specially built for the students.
“We’re almost there,” said Zoya, sitting up and placing the large sunglasses over her eyes.
I looked out at the magnificent academy building in the distance. It was as impressive as I’d imagined it to be. Painted in the same brick-red shade, it rose high into the sky.
“That’s the main school building,” said Zoya, looking in the direction of my gaze. “The dorms and other activity areas are located behind it.”
Deep inside me, I ached to go to a place like this. Apart from the snobby student body that Zoya often spoke of, the nerd within me yearned to study at a school like Knightswood. They had amazing lab facilities for students studying Physics, Biology, and Chemistry. Their curriculum was advanced, helping their students settle into their future university courses seamlessly.
I adjusted my large indigo-rimmed glasses on my nose. The frame was new, bought to match the new shade of my hair. Even though my eyesight was perfectly fine, I liked wearing the lens-less glasses.
The car came to a stop near the large iron-wrought gates of the school. A vast lawn separated the main building from the road outside.
“Please call me when Master Nikolai comes out,” said Javier. “He’ll be expecting Greg to pick him up.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Zoya, waving him off. “Come on, Paris.” She climbed out of the car. I got out after her, stretching my arms over my head. A cool breeze blew around us, lifting the stray strands away from my face.
“What do you think?” asked Zoya, looking at me closely.
“Well, it’s different from Kensington,” I replied with a grin.
The gates opened on their own accord just as Javier drove away around the bend of the street.
Zoya checked her watch. “He’ll be here anytime now.”
“Are you sure you want to play the prank?” I asked. “What if you end up upsetting him?”
“I don’t care.”
Zoya was the sweetest person I knew but she had trouble adjusting to people like Nikolai who kept themselves closed off. From what she told me about her stepbrother, I could tell he wasn’t cruel. He was an introvert who liked staying in his space. Perhaps, Zoya wouldn
’t have cared if he wasn’t her family but being an only child, she yearned for Nikolai’s attention.
The sound of a hundred chattering voices broke the silence of the area. Next moment, students emerged out of the gates, chatting and laughing with their friends. I stared at their neat uniforms, the nerd inside me wishing public schools had the same kind of dress code.
The girls wore white blouses with short crimson pleated skirts while the boys’ uniform consisted of red plaid trousers and long-sleeved white shirts. Some even sported the maroon school blazer stamped with the academy’s insignia on the breast pocket. They all looked polished and dignified, even the girls who wore skirts that were barely covering their asses.
“Stop staring!” hissed Zoya from beside me.
I glanced down at her. With her sunglasses on and her designer-labeled clothes, she looked part of the crowd. I suddenly realized why she’d asked if I wanted to change out of my regular clothes. No matter how fashionable I thought they were, they were meant for the street. Knightswood Academy was a completely different world. Just the school uniforms were enough to make me feel shabby.
“Oh, my god! Look!” Zoya was excitedly pointing at a pair of tall boys.
I felt my lips part slightly as I focused on them. They were both handsome and walked with a casual, elegant gait. However, the charisma they exuded was so great, they seemed to shine among the other students. Suddenly, the world seemed to turn into a flesh-colored haze and they were the only two people my eyes could see.
The boys got closer.
One of them sported sleek, chestnut-brown hair and vivid blue eyes. His uniform was neat even after the day was over. He looked at me curiously while his friend gave me a dazzling smile. His dark hair was long, the strands falling over his brilliant sea-green eyes.
“Stop staring!” hissed Zoya.
Next moment, I felt a painful pinch on my arm. “Ouch!” It was enough to bring me back to reality. The boys walked past me and I was once again looking at the throng of students exiting the building.
“What were you doing?” asked Zoya, glaring at me. “You’re lucky no one saw you drooling over Liam and Gabrielle.”
“Who?”
“The boys you were just staring at,” whispered Zoya. I grinned at her, but she kept her lips pursed. It was weird how much her attitude changed after the car ride. Zoya was reduced to feeling tensed and edgy, completely different from her usual cheerful self.
Again, I wondered what she endured during the few months she went to Knightswood Academy.
“Nikolai!” she shouted, waving her hand at someone in the crowd. Following the direction of her gaze, I looked towards a tall guy with ice-cold silver eyes and jet-black hair. He was painfully beautiful but the frigid aura emanating from him sent a shiver down my spine.
His glance fell on Zoya first and then, on me.
My heart skipped a beat as I met his narrowed gaze.
“Hasn’t he changed since you last saw him?” asked Zoya, still waving her hand at her stepbrother.
“Uh-huh.” Nikolai Ivanov had definitely changed over the course of the last five years. He was incredibly tall with well-built chest muscles that stretched the front of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Even in the academy uniform, he seemed much older than seventeen.
“Oh, what now!” she huffed, reaching to the back pocket of her shorts. Taking her phone out, she glanced at it. “Mom?” Swiping the screen, she picked up the call. “What’s up, Mom? I am about to pick up Nikolai.”
“What?” Zoya’s forehead creased as her mouth pressed together. “No way…” She’d suddenly gone horribly pale.
Nikolai came to stand beside us but before he could acknowledge his sister, his phone rang too. Picking up the call, he listened without a word. Only the change in his expression indicated the news wasn’t good.
Zoya and Nikolai got off the call at the same time. They were both looking at me strangely.
“Let’s get inside the car first,” he said in an expressionless voice.
Zoya nodded, looking scared. She tried to smile but failed miserably as she took my hand in hers. “Let’s go that way, Paris,” she said, her voice shaking. Her hand felt cold.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Tears gathered in her eyes as she shook her head, tugging at my hand. “Just come, Paris.”
It didn’t take a genius to tell something had gone very wrong. Whatever news they’d received was upsetting them both. We walked further down the street and followed the bend that led to a large parking lot. Nikolai called for Javier to pick us immediately.
This part of the street was crowded and jammed with other cars. People glanced at us, especially at me but Zoya didn’t seem to care anymore.
As soon as Javier drove up beside us, Nikolai opened the door and gestured us to climb in. Even in an emergency, he seemed to keep his composure and manners.
I got in first, with Zoya following me. Nikolai got in last and shut the door.
“Drive,” he instructed.
Zoya began sobbing as soon as the car started. She hugged me tight, crying her eyes out. I glanced at Nikolai. It was hard to tell how he felt. He was good at masking his feelings.
“What happened?” I asked gently.
“I’m so, so sorry, Paris,” she whispered, swallowing a choke. “It’s your mom…”
4
Paris
The rest of the day was a blur…
The Ivanovs drove me to the hospital where Cathleen, Zoya’s mother, was waiting for us. She hugged me and said a number of things, but I heard nothing. My mind kept replaying the same thing Zoya told me in the car.
“There was an accident in the bakery this afternoon. Your mom went in to try and douse the fire but she got caught in it. By the time, the firefighters came by, the place was demolished. They say it was a gas leak.”
By the reaction of both the Ivanovs, I’d thought something bad had happened to their family. It turned out Zoya was mourning mine.
I don’t remember how long I sat in the visitor’s lounge.
Nurses, doctors, and cops came in and went. Cathleen Ivanov spoke to them even when they attempted to speak to me. I sat on one of the plastic seats, too numb to think or react to any of their questions.
When my mind came back to the present, both Zoya and Nikolai were gone. Cathleen was speaking to a well-dressed lady in hushed tones. They were too far away for me to hear anything, but I knew Cathleen was arguing with her by the frustrated expression on her face. A suave man in a smart black suit came to stand by the stranger and offered Cathleen a stack of papers.
Cathleen took them and hurriedly unfurled the papers, her frown deepening.
“Unbelievable,” she moaned, loud enough for me to hear.
I got to my feet and tottered forward. “What’s wrong, Aunty Cathy?” I asked. My knees shook but I managed to stand before her.
“Hello, Paris,” said the stranger. I focused on her. She was a pretty lady, close to my mother’s age. A gentle expression rose on her face as she stared at me. Her bright blue eyes reminded me of a clear summer sky but perhaps, it would be better to compare them to a lake’s water as they were full of tears. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispered in a choked voice.
“My loss?”
The afternoon ride with Zoya came flooding back to me. The driver had driven rashly through the city traffic to reach the hospital quickly. All because my mother was caught in an accident and she was dead.
“No,” I whispered, staring up at her. My head jerked towards Cathleen. She watched me with tear-filled eyes too and gently shook her head. And that’s when it hit me.
Mom was dead.
Our bakery and home were gone.
Life as I knew it was truly over. All in the matter of an afternoon.
My scream shattered the stillness of the hospital corridor. “No! Mom can’t be dead!” Bile rose into my throat as my mother’s death registered itself fully. She
was burned to death! As full consciousness returned to my mind, I became aware of the way she’d died. Her pain became mine. I shrieked like my own skin was on fire.
Strong arms grabbed onto my shoulders as I writhed and fought. The last thing I remembered before I lost all consciousness was the sharp prick of a needle in the side of my neck.
I woke up in a darkened room.
Thick, warm blankets covered my enter body. Blinking against the soft glow of a night light, I slowly sat up. My head throbbed painfully, accompanied by panic.
I was in a strange room.
Pressing my fingers to my temple, I tried to remember what happened to me. The hospital corridor flashed through my mind. “How did I end up here?” I whispered, looking all around me. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness, showing me a vast room. Scrambling to the side of the large bed, I fumbled for the switch of an ornate bedside lamp.
The room was flooded with light as the lamp flickered to life. Oil paintings of flowers and summer meadows covered the walls. The tall windows were covered by thick velvety curtains. Dark mahogany furniture filled the place, reminding me of photos I’d seen of Victorian-era parlors.
Confusion seeped in through the panic.
What was I doing in a place like this?
I looked down at myself. A pale pink nightdress covered me. I picked up the hem of the short dress and felt the smooth, soft fabric. This doesn’t belong to me. In fact, it was something I’d never consciously pick up at a store.
Before I could question my surroundings further, I heard the door slide open.
The pretty lady I’d seen at the hospital entered the room.
“You…”
“How are you feeling, Paris?” she asked in a soft voice.
I wracked my brains for a memory of her but came blank. “Who are you?”
“I am Clara Davenport, your legal guardian.”
“Guardian?”
She nodded with a tentative smile. “I’m sorry we’re being introduced in such circumstances but your mother really did appoint me as your guardian. If something were to happen to her, you would be in my care.”
