by Cassie James
In the chaos of the next few weeks, I find out I have a grand total of one living relative. My great-aunt, Pearl Lexington. And without ever having met this woman, my brand spankin’ new social worker tells me I have to move three hours away to a town I’ve never even heard of to live with her.
“Are we lost?” I’m sitting in Sherry, the social worker’s, car. I’ve stared listlessly out the car window for the whole drive, ignoring the constant badger of texts Jake has been sending trying to check in on me. Until now, we hadn’t passed anything interesting.
I sit up a little straighter when we pass the Welcome to Patience sign on the side of the road, but almost immediately I’m pretty sure there’s been a mistake. Sherry said Pearl’s house was nicer than the one I’ve been living in, but she didn’t prepare me for this. I swear I’m pretty sure one of the houses we pass has a moat. An actual, true-to-life moat.
“No.” Sherry is completely calm, totally at odds with my own sudden panic. “Just another block here.”
She turns onto a short dead-end street that—no shit—is labelled Lexington Court. I gawk as Sherry is forced to stop almost immediately. I’ve never seen so many cars in one place in my life, much less cars that look like this. Sleek things that look like they belong in a museum instead of on the road.
“Are you sure we’re not lost?” I swallow hard as she puts the car in park and turns off the ignition.
“I’ve had to drop girls like you off at far worse places than this.” She offers me a sympathetic smile. “Let’s try to make the best of it, shall we?” She opens her door and climbs out of the car instead of waiting for an answer.
“Easy for you to say,” I murmur, refusing to move as I watch a few stragglers walk down the court towards the house in the center. It’s massive, a giant stone monstrosity that makes me want to tuck tail and run. I glance at the houses on either side, slightly smaller monstrosities, but they look lifeless, like no one is home.
Sherry opens my door. “Come on, sweetheart. Your aunt is expecting you.” The words feel foreign to me. When’s the last time anyone outside of work was expecting me to be anywhere? Even school didn’t bother calling home when I missed school or skipped classes.
School. With everything that’s been going on I didn’t stop to think about the fact that summer break was ending and I’m due back at school on Monday. A measly three days away at this point. I scramble out of the car, my panic getting the best of me as I throw my arms wide.
“What about school?” My voice is shrill enough that a couple walking past stare at us, then turn to each other and laugh. Apparently nobody ever raises their freaking voice in Patience. “I’m supposed to start back to school on Monday.”
“Yes, well, there’s a great private school nearby so I’m sure…” Sherry trails off when she sees my face fall. I sink down into a squatting position and cover my face with my hands. I count to ten slowly because I think I might start hyperventilating at any moment.
I hate school. The only reason I ever bothered to go was because Jake gave me all kinds of shit when I skipped. “You’re too smart to be skipping class, Jess.” That was what he always said. I should really text him back.
I start to stand up again, prepared to beg, plead, kick, and scream until Sherry agrees to take me home. I’m about halfway up when I’m jolted from behind. The bump catches me by surprise, so I flail as I lose my balance and end up on my ass on the sidewalk.
A figure blocks the sun and casts a shadow over me as undeniably expensive black dress shoes step into my view. I tilt my head back, ready to curse whoever the idiot is that ran into me, but I lose the words as soon as I make eye contact. Dark eyes stare down at me, paired with a sharp smirk that doesn’t look at all apologetic. I’ve seen faces like this before, so cruel that my defenses immediately go up. This guy might be dressed like he’s somebody special, but he might as well be any creepy rando in Nikon Park.
“Stop staring,” I snap, because the intense way he’s looking at me makes me majorly uncomfortable. One of his eyebrows—the hair just as dark as his eyes—quirks up in surprise. He didn’t except me to stand up for myself.
He offers me a hand, and I don’t want to take it but Sherry starts to giggle nervously. She’s probably worried I’m incapable of manners and am about to make a whole hell of a lot more paperwork for her. I let out a sigh but take the offered hand against my better judgement. I’m fully expecting the whole thing to be over in a matter of seconds, but the guy doesn’t help me up like I’m expecting. He leaves me sitting in the ground for several moments longer than necessary as he stares down at me with a twisted smile. Like he enjoys seeing me down here. And his grip is uncomfortably tight around mine.
“Ugh.” I yank my hand away and push myself off the ground. This guy might have money, but he has exactly zero manners. “Let’s just go,” I tell Sherry, not wanting to drag this out any longer. I grab my backpack out of the floorboard of the car and slam the door.
Sherry tries to ask if I’m okay when we step away, but I don’t bother answering. Nothing feels okay at the moment, and I vow to myself to sneak away and call Jake at the first opportunity. Funny how I’m finally out of Nikon Park and now all I want is to go back in time and be home in my dumpy house with my not-actually-my-parents parents. The grass sure as hell doesn’t seem any greener in Patience.
I feel eyes staring holes in the back of my head all the way to the door. So much for hoping Dark Eyes isn’t headed to the same place as us. Sherry takes a half-step forward to knock on the oversized wooden door.
A hand grazes my ass. At first I chalk it up to an accident, because my patience is already worn so thin I’m about to snap. Then I hear the accompanying chuckle. My blood boils as I whirl around to face the same freaking guy that knocked me over—no surprise, of course.
“What is your problem?” I’ve been here for all of two seconds, but this guy is already staring at me like I’ve personally wronged him somehow.
The door swings open and I start to turn back that way. Instead, I stop cold when I hear him mutter, “You,” under his breath.
“That is it.” I face him head on, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling his stare gives me. “I don’t even want to be here! So leave me the hell alone!”
Anyone else might have backed off at the confrontation, but this guy only grins in a big, sloppy way that makes it feel like my stomach is bottoming out. I’m so worked up that I can hear my own heavy breathing, and that’s when I realize the sudden silence behind me.
“Welcome home, Juliet,” a woman greets in a dry voice. I turn, completely mortified, to find a severe looking woman staring at me from the open doorway. She’s dripping in jewelry and dark clothing like a Disney villain. Her hair is pulled back so tight that her face looks pinched and less wrinkled than mine—or maybe it’s Botox. I wouldn’t be surprised after seeing the houses and cars around here.
We’re both silent as we take each other in. I assume this is my great aunt Pearl, but after the way I just managed to embarrass myself I’m not sure what to say. And it’s not like she looks like someone a person would want to run up and hug hello.
“Mister Woods, perhaps you could find someone else to harass for the evening.” She stares past me to the guy behind me, and much to my amusement I hear him uncomfortably clear his throat. Her sharp eyed expression is even more killer than his.
My unwanted companion steps around me, but not before grabbing a healthy handful of my ass. I grit my teeth and don’t dare call him out on it. There’s not even the slightest sign of attraction between us, so I know he’s only trying to get another rise out of me.
“Jessica, this is your great aunt Pearl. Pearl, this is Jessica.” Sherry gestures to me like she’s Vanna White and I’m a brand new washing machine.
Pearl’s lips twist into a clear sign of distaste. “Your given name is Juliet.” She’s still looking me over and I try to imagine what I must look like from her perspective. Probably a homeless person. She la
ys a hand across her collarbone and gives a slight shake of her head. “I will not call the last surviving Lexington heir by a secondhand name.”
“You want me to change my name?” I gape at her because there’s no way she really expects me to take on a whole new identity. It’s bad enough I’ve been plucked out of the only home I’ve ever known and been dropped in this new place where I so obviously don’t fit in. And what the hell kind of name is Juliet anyway?
“I want you to go by the name you were given.” She’s unrelenting. “Your parents gifted you that name, and I won’t see you turn your back on it.” She manages to hit me right where it hurts. The one thing I’ve been dwelling on for days is that I’ve been robbed of the chance to know my real parents. This name, though it doesn’t feel like mine, is quite possibly the only part of them I have to hold on to. It makes me feel more than a little guilty to feel so resistant about it.
“Maybe we can table this discussion for later, once everyone has settled in,” Sherry jumps in with a cheerful voice that’s trying too hard to keep the peace. It’s funny how she jumps in at all, really, considering she won’t be around to see this through. Once I step through that door, I’m not Sherry’s problem anymore.
“Fine,” Pearl says, but I can already tell this is one battle I won’t win. Maybe it’s for the best. The girl I’ve always been, Jessica Brown—there’s no place for her here. That becomes even more abundantly clear when I’m ushered through the doorway and come face to face with dozens of curious onlookers. “This is a welcome party, not a gawking party,” Pearl chastises the room, and instantly everyone goes back to what I assume they were doing before I made my awkward entrance.
“Okay, well if there’s nothing else you need from me…” Sherry looks to me for confirmation, a final chance for me to raise any red flags. Only, there isn’t much of a choice for me. There’s nowhere else for me to go back to as the only two parents I’ve ever known sit in jail. At best, I could maybe get placed in a group home. I’ve been in one once before, and there’s no chance of me asking to go back.
I shake my hand and give a halfhearted little wave. “Thanks for everything, Sherry,” I tell her because even though I’m not feeling very thankful, I hope it will keep her from replaying my case every night when she goes home after a long day. There are plenty of kids in Nikon Park that should keep her up at night, I don’t want to be one of them.
Pearl puts a hand on my shoulder, her cold palm chilling the skin around the strap of my tank top. It takes everything in me not to shrink away from her touch, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t go over so well with all of these people still watching from the corners of their eyes. They aren’t nearly as discreet as they think they are.
“Now, this outfit is rather unfortunate. I guess a party was rather unexpected, but the locals were all badgering me for first looks. This way no one has an edge over anyone else. They’ve all seen you at the same damn time.” It’s strange to hear such a proper looking woman curse, but she says the word like it’s a revered, close personal friend. So maybe, deep down, Auntie Pearl isn’t as proper as she seems.
“This is the nicest outfit I own,” I tell her deadpan. “Unless you count my Mango’s Hot Chicken uniform, but is has rhinestones.” It’s not a lie, but I admittedly only say it because I’m interested to see how she’ll respond. I don’t know how much she’s been told about my living situation up to this point.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure this is much of a rhinestone crowd, but I’m afraid I didn’t think to have something prepared for your arrival. I suppose you might fit in something of mine.” She puts her hand—the one previously on my shoulder—back over her collarbone. I’m starting to think it’s some kind of soothing thing she does because it seems like a nervous habit. I can’t picture myself trying to wear her clothes, considering she’s built a bit like an early 90s heroin-chic model and I look like a pretty average teenager. I’m on the thin side, mostly from lack of consistent meals all summer, but I still have noticeable curves in all the places Pearl doesn’t.
“I can help,” a girl around my age glides gracefully closer to us. “We’re about the same size. I can get Juliet something appropriate to wear.” I’m confused for a second until I remember that’s me. She’s talking about me though she’s only looking at Pearl. It does give me a chance to study her without seeming like a weirdo. Blonde hair cascades down her back in carefully curated curls that I instantly envy. My own hair is a brown mess that I don’t even bother to brush most days.
“My niece isn’t leaving this house with a Harrington.” Pearl peers at her with undiluted scorn. It’s actually a little embarrassing for me as I stand to the side, wondering what on earth could be so bad that an old lady would talk to a teenage girl with such disdain. But the girl doesn’t even seem fazed.
“No, no, no.” She grins, really not seeming offended at all. “I’ll go grab something and bring it right back. What shoe size are you?” She turns her attention fully to me for the first time.
At first I’m a little taken aback by her eyes. I thought it was disorienting looking at that guy’s dark eyes before, but her icy blue ones are almost just as hard to face. It looks like you could see right through them if you tried hard enough. And it feels like they can look right through me, too.
“I wear an eight.” I glance down at her feet as a reflex. My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I stare down at the deathtraps she’s wearing. “But I can’t walk in heels. I’ve never worn them. Ever.” My mom only ever wore sandals—usually swiped from the secondhand store up the street from our house. I never got that whole little girl playing in her mother’s heels moment as a kid.
“You’re a Lexington,” the girl says, “you can walk in heels.” It sounds a little condescending, but her face is so sincere that a part of me believes her. “I’ll be right back.” She vanishes before Pearl has a chance to protest again, though from my aunt’s expression I’m not sure she was planning to.
“That girl makes it very hard to dislike her.” Pearl shakes her head. It’s an admission shared quietly between only the two of us, and for just a second I forget about all the nosy strangers surrounding us.
I start to ask what the problem is with Harringtons, but I get distracted by a painting on the wall just behind Pearl’s shoulders. It’s an extremely realistic rendition of a pretty beachfront cottage. The waves roll in dangerously rough against the shoreline which the artist has somehow captured flawlessly. The thing that caught my eye, though, is that the painting is seriously crooked. I reach for it, only intending to straighten it out. Pearl’s hand clamps around my wrist almost painfully and I flinch back.
“Don’t touch the art!” Pearl snaps in a harsh whisper, her eyes going wild for a moment before she releases me. My cheeks go a little pink from being admonished so harshly over something that feels so minor. “The art in this house is worth a small fortune. You should refrain from touching any of it.” She seems to calm down quickly, but I can feel bruises forming on my wrist where she grabbed me.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or not, but it also feel like the crowd has closed in on us more. There are people lingering close that I don’t remember seeing before. A quick glance at my aunt’s annoyed face tells me she’s noticed it, too. I guess I get it, the fascination with my presence. I’ve been told that I was long presumed dead after the robbery-murder of my parents. Though I would never use the pretentious label myself, Pearl wasn’t kidding when she called me the last surviving heir. I guess that means something for people who have money. I just can’t stand being watched like a sideshow attraction.
“Can I get some air?” I ask, overcome by a wave of emotion that I’m scared I won’t be able to tamper down in front of all these people.
Her lips press into a thin line. She studies my face with a kind of intensity no one ever has. I idly wonder whether she sees evidence of our family line when she looks at me. Do I have my father’s nose? My mother’s eyes? I make a mental note
to ask for pictures of them later. I want to know what else they gave me besides a name.
“Use the balcony at the top of the stairs.” Pearl points to the winding staircase beside us in the entryway. The front door is closer, and I wonder if she doesn’t suggest it because of what her guests would think, or if she’s worried I’m a flight risk. Maybe a little of both, if I really had to guess.
I start towards the stairs, pause, and take another long look at Pearl. I really don’t belong here, not in this house with these people. What am I even supposed to say to them all? Surely they’re disappointed now after having had their first glimpse of me. I might not be in Nikon Park anymore, but I still feel the Nikon Park in me. This place, Patience, nothing about it feels like home. And I know that everyone can see I don’t belong.
The noise from the party fades as I reach the top of the staircase. I already have my phone out dialing Jake as I reach for one of the handles on the double doors leading out to the balcony. “Jess?” He picks up immediately, like he’s been waiting for my call. Hearing him say the name I’ve spent sixteen years thinking was mine, something in me breaks open.
“It’s actually Juliet now,” I tell him, my voice cracking much to my horror. I take a deep steadying breath and close the door to the house behind me. I don’t want anyone to happen by and overhear me. “Jake, this place is awful. Everyone’s so pushy and no one even seems to like each other.”
“So basically it’s exactly like home then?” It’s a stupid joke, but it breaks the tension enough that I’m able to laugh. “Do you want me to come get you? Because I will.” I know he’s not just saying it to be nice, either. Jake has always had my back and I know he’d speed all the way here if I asked him to come. Which is exactly why I can’t ask him to.
“No, I’m okay. I just needed to hear a familiar voice.” It’s a half-truth, but one I know will protect us both. Before I left, I started to think Jake and I might… But now that version of me feels a million miles away. I wish I could let go completely, give Jake a chance to let go, too, but right now I so desperately need him to be my anchor. “What’s Brandon been up to?”
