by Lila Younger
As soon as I open my bedroom door, I’m greeted by the smell of breakfast. I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. Isabelle’s at the stove, fixing French toast and bacon. Coffee is burbling away in the pot, and everything’s laid out on the granite breakfast bar. Charlie’s at her feet, hopeful as ever for scraps. The old scoundrel. He didn’t leave Isabelle’s side all night.
“Morning,” I say as I make my way over for a cup of coffee.
“Oh hello,” she says, her cheeks turning pink when she sees me. “I-I made breakfast. I thought it’d be a good way to say thanks for letting us stay.”
“It is, but you don’t have to cook. I really don’t mind having you two here. In fact, I’m glad there’s something I can do to help.”
“I like cooking too,” she says. “And baking. It relaxes me.”
“Well then bake away,” I tell her, flashing her a smile. “I won’t say no to that, especially if you know how to fix apple pie.”
“One apple pie coming up,” she tells me. She sets down the plate of bacon and flips the toast in the pan. Charlie’s head follows the plate, his tail drooping when he realizes that I won’t be giving him any.
“Take your time,” I tell her. “I mean it. You don’t have to do anything. Treat this like your home. I know you don’t know me, but I… I knew your parents. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I am. Like I said, baking relaxes me. It’ll feel so good to be able to bake again,” she says cheerily. I like that she’s so relaxed as she moves her way around the kitchen, putting breakfast together for me.
“You don’t do it at home?” I say, sipping on my coffee. I can’t go without the stuff.
“We can’t really afford it,” she says, casting her eyes down. Damnit. Wrong thing to say. I should have known that from what Jerry’s told me. There’s a bit of a silence as she slides the toast onto the stack she had warming in the oven.
“I got you enrolled into school,” I tell her, changing the subject. “Rosewood Academy is one of the best private schools in the city. It’d take you almost two hours on public transport to get to school, so I thought this would be a better solution. I know you only have a few months to go.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I’m used to being the new kid. We moved around so much already.”
Isabelle joins me at the breakfast bar, and I load up my plate. The French toast tastes amazing, better than anything else I’ve had in a long time.
“This stuff is amazing!” I exclaim. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever had such good toast.”
That beautiful smile of hers returns again.
“Thanks. It’s my grandma’s recipe,” she says. “The world’s best French toast, she always says.”
“I believe it.”
“The secret is to dry out the bread by toasting it, and only using egg yolks instead of the whole egg,” she says, leaning in to tell me. The light catches her hair, dark honey shot through with gold.
I take a few more bites, really savoring each one. We sit there in companionable silence as we eat, which is great. I hate it when someone thinks they have to fill up the space with words. Sometimes they’re just not needed, and Isabelle seems to feel the same way. We’re settling into a groove with each other, and I’m surprised by how much I enjoy that.
“So what do you do Wyatt?” she asks.
“I’m an app developer,” I tell her. She raises her eyebrows and I laugh. “Didn’t expect a guy like me to be into computers?”
She turns red again and I put a hand on her shoulder. She feels fragile beneath my hand, and I feel a surge of protectiveness. Those shoulders have lifted up such a heavy burden. I can’t imagine how tough it was to deal with a parent who wasn’t one. No wonder she seems older than her years.
“Don’t worry. Not many people do either. I do the fun stuff though. My company invents games. We were the first ones to put together the concept of ‘freemium’ games. Once it gets big though, I tend to sell it and move onto new projects. I like the inventing part more than anything. I donate most of the proceeds too. I don’t have anyone but Charlie to depend on me, and I don’t need millions squirreled away. I can’t ever spend all of that.”
“It sounds like a lot of fun,” she says wistfully. “I wish I could do something like that.”
“You’re into computers too?” Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrow.
“No,” she said with a laugh that’s like pure music. “I am absolutely terrible with that kind of stuff. I mean it would be nice to be able to pick something you enjoy doing for once.”
“Now you can,” I say seriously. She stops smiling when she hears the intensity in my voice. “I mean it. Rosewood Academy is the best of the best. I know you’re only there for a few months, but whatever it is you want to try, I’m sure they have a class for it.”
She takes in my words.
“Thank you,” she says at last. “It’s just strange to have someone thinking of me first I guess.”
Emotion grips my heart like a vice. I can’t imagine how much Isabelle’s gone through.
“Well you better get used to it,” I say gruffly.
I carry the smile she gives me through the whole fucking day. Somehow, Isabelle’s already become an integral part of my day, in less than twenty four hours. My life before she arrived pales in comparison. I feel like I have a purpose now. I’ve always been a good uncle, but this is different.
The only thing that weighs on my mind is her mother, and how I caused her death. I don’t know if she could ever forgive me for that, but the longer I put off telling her, the harder it’s becoming. I need to do it soon, but I don’t want to ruin things. For me or for her. She’s just settling in after all. Once she has, I’ll find the time, I’m sure of it.
Isabelle
I’m nervous when I get up on Monday morning. I wasn’t telling the complete truth when I told Wyatt I’d be fine with starting a new school. I’m used to being the new kid, it’s true, but that doesn’t make it any easier each time I have to start again. There are new rules to learn, new people to adapt to, even teachers can make things tough. But this school’s going to be different. Rosewood Academy is for the rich folks of the city. It’s where the kids of our football team go.
At least I won’t get made fun of for not wearing the right stuff. Rosewood has a uniform policy. White shirt, maroon tie and skirt, and black tights with closed toe shoes. I tried to refuse to let Wyatt pay for the clothes at first, but he insisted since he’s the one who arranged for me to go. And to be honest, I’m relieved. I have savings, but I need to keep them in case of an emergency, like we’re forced to move out again. It could happen. Wyatt could decide that he didn’t want my dad around, especially if stuff went missing. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t seem fazed at all.
I’m actually a little worried, because I’ve hardly seen anything of my dad these past few days. I hope that it’s because he’s found a job or something, and not because he’s gone into an even deeper spiral. He’s only done that once since I moved back in with him. It was my fault though. I went on a cleaning spree, and cleaned out this box underneath his bed. It was full of my mom’s things. I was so overjoyed to discover more about her that I didn’t even think about him, and he came home to me wearing one of her sweaters. I could swear it looked like he was seeing a ghost, I guess because we look so alike. He turned around and left the apartment for almost a week. I was even wondering if maybe I needed to report it to the police, but I was too scared of getting put into a foster home.
If something did happen to dad though, I don’t think Wyatt would make me leave at least. He just didn’t seem like that kind of person. He’s… well, he’s responsible. And so far, I can take him at his word. I didn’t realize just how much I distrusted my dad until I had something to compare him too. In fact, he’s nothing like my father in every way.
He looks nothing like my father either, if I’m being completely honest here. Wyatt’s twenty nine, something I lear
ned when I googled him. Ten years is a lot, but when I think about the ridiculous high school boys that I know… well, there’s a reason why I’ve never felt anything for them. Just catching a glimpse of him is enough to start up the fire in my belly. Ugh. It’s probably written all over my face too. As Nicole, my science partner, once told me, I’m an open book. Which is totally embarrassing. He probably thinks I’ve got some kind of silly crush on him.
It’s more than that though. I can tell. There’s something about him, about the way I feel when I’m with him, and I’m not just talking about how he can make be gush in two seconds flat. We’re so comfortable with each other, and he’s accepted me so completely into his life, that I can almost believe… believe what? That we’re together? That’s just foolish talk. As if on cue, Charlie pokes me with his nose.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t be wasting time,” I say, patting him affectionately.
I wasn’t lying when I told Wyatt that I like cooking and baking. They’re on of my favorite things to do, in part because it’s also something my mom liked, according to my grandmother. She also gave me a recipe book, filled with my mother’s notes when she used to bake. It’s a way of connecting to her. I’ve become quite good at it, and by doing this, I feel like it’s a way to repay Wyatt for all of his kindness.
This morning is easy. I made cinnamon rolls the night before, and it’s a simple matter of heading them up and spreading the cream cheese icing that I made last night over them. Then I get the coffee going and take care of Charlie. Wyatt comes in, looking deliciously tousled in a t-shirt and flannel. He stretches, and I catch a peek at his rock hard abs and the line of his hips as they dip below the hemline of his pants. My mind jumps ahead to what lies underneath the pattern, and I can feel the heat spreading through my face. I mean, just because I’ve never had a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on.
“Morning Isabelle,” he says, plucking a bun from the plate. “A guy could really get used to this sort of thing. You’ll ruin me for anyone else.”
His words nearly stop my heart in its tracks, but he’s busy looking at his watch to notice.
“Crap. It’s almost eight thirty already? I’m sorry, but I have to run. I know I said I’d drive you to school, but do you think you can find your way there?”
“Sure thing,” I say faintly. “It’s only three blocks away.”
“Great. I’ll see you later,” he says. He gives me a wave and heads out.
You’ll ruin me for anyone else. His words have me floating on air.
********
Rosewood Academy is a grand brick building with white trim around their windows and a beautiful campus surrounded by a tall, ivy covered wall. An iron sign curving around the front gate proclaims that it was established in 1938, and the manicured grounds really reflect a sort of stately elegance. I follow the stream of students through the front door and then to the office.
“Hello dear,” a matronly woman says as she stands up at the desk. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Isabelle Wilson, a new transfer?”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says, peering at me over her glasses. “Let me find your schedule for you. We’ve assigned you to a student to take you around on your first day. Her name’s Bailey.”
I turn around and see a pretty blonde stand up from the chairs against the wall. She’s tall, athletic and I’d eat my socks if she wasn’t probably the most popular girl too. Bailey holds out her hand, and I shake it.
“Here you are,” the secretary says. “Bailey has the same schedule as you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I obediently follow Bailey as she leads the way out. Unlike the institutional concrete buildings I’m used to, Rosewood Academy looks modern and shiny and well maintained. There’s even art hanging on the walls, which would never survive a day back at my old high school. And that’s not the only thing that’s different here. I keep waiting for Bailey to turn around and tell me I’m on my own, but she doesn’t. In fact, she’s pointing out everything I need to know.
“And here are our lockers,” she says. “You’re really in luck. Mine is just on the other end. We need to hurry though or we’ll be late for History. It’s pretty far, but I can show you a shortcut.”
“Thanks,” I say shyly. I look at my combination and begin twirling the lock.
“Sure thing. I know how overwhelming it can be. I only came here last year when Dad got transferred.”
I put away my backpack and jacket, and together we thread across the main courtyard. There are students sitting on stone benches chatting, while others are clumped under the shade of an old oak tree studying. The whole setting feels so different from my old, crappy high school. There you would never see anyone cracking open a book, and most students would be separated into gangs. The Academy is spread out in a U shape, our lockers being on one end of it. I see now why Bailey says History is so far away, since it’s on the other end of the U shape. She takes me over to a fire escape door that’s been propped open and we slip through. I’m glad that she’s here showing me around that’s for sure, otherwise she’s right, I would have been late.
The classroom itself is different too. My old classrooms only had two windows, one on either end of a wall, and they’re high up, so we can’t see anything. I guess it’s to keep kids from getting distracted. To me though, it almost felt like a prison. The classrooms here at Rosewood are completely different. Sunlight streams in, and nobody’s written all over the desks and walls. They have a state of the art board too, and each student has the ability to connect via iPad. It’s incredible. I’ve never even held a tablet in my hand, but Bailey quickly shows me how to work it.
The rest of the day unfolds almost like a dream. Bailey introduces me to her friends, who accept me just as readily as she does. I’m still hesitant, ready for them to say ‘just kidding! Find your own friends’, but they never do. Even when I had study period without Bailey, one of her friends took me over to their table. I couldn’t believe how nice they were being.
Our final class of the day is Trig, and I’m nervous. It seems like a lot of the classes are much more advanced than my previous ones, and Trig is difficult enough when I haven’t missed any of the concepts. And I’m right. Rosewood seems to be a few chapters ahead, and I’m completely lost. The teachers here though, aren’t burnt out from teaching students who don’t want to learn, and halfway through the work problems, the teacher kindly steps up to my desk to speak to me.
“It’s Isabelle right? I notice that you’re having a bit of difficulty,” he says.
“I don’t think we’re quite as far along in my old school,” I tell him. “But I think I can catch up if I really study.”
“We have tutors who can help,” he says. “Like Eric.”
He nods over to a guy two rows over. He’s got sandy blonde hair that curls around his ears, and he’s wiry and lean.
“That would be fantastic,” I tell him. “I have a study period.”
“I’ll talk to him then and arrange it,” the teacher says. “After all, we want all of our students to excel here.”
He moves off, and Bailey leans over.
“Lucky you,” she says. “Eric’s cute.”
I glance over at him again. I suppose he is, in a sort of boyish way. But I don’t feel anything, not even a twinge of interest. Not like with Wyatt. Now there are some serious sparks. The kind that make me shift uncomfortably in my seat just thinking about it. Bailey winks at me, mistaking it for interest.
“We’ll go shopping on the weekend for something nice,” she says. “Something that’ll really impress him.”
I nod. I never really found a need for beautiful clothes, at least not until now. I’m not worried about impressing a boy like Eric. But I could use Bailey’s expertise on impressing a man.
********
I come home to an empty house. First thing I do is let Charlie out the back so he can do his business, then I poke my head into the living room. The
elegant room has been taken over by my dad’s stuff. All of it is still here, but he’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s actually working for once? That’s the only explanation I have for why he’d be gone so much. I think that I’ve seen him for almost two hours total all weekend. You’d think that dumping your daughter with a near stranger would be reason enough to stick around a little, but it’s like he thinks that finding me a place to stay is enough fathering for him. Ugh. At least Wyatt’s not some creep. He’s genuine and warm and so protective, like an uncle or something.
A really hot uncle.
I feel that heat between my legs again, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help it. I need some release. My hormones have been in overdrive ever since I laid eyes on Wyatt. I really should do my homework instead, but I can’t focus on anything like this. I head to my room and take off my uniform, carefully folding it against the armchair placed near the window. I’d normally do this in bed, but Wyatt’s house has such a nice ensuite that makes the experience so much better. And who wouldn’t want to luxuriate in a big soaker tub after a tiring day of school?
Once I’ve stripped off my clothes, I head into the bathroom. It’s all marble everywhere, a beautiful white oasis of glass and stone and heated floors that make me feel like I’m in a spa. First thing’s first, I have to get the bubble bath going. I squirt some into the tub, turn on the water full blast, and let the magic happen. I stand in front of the mirror so I can tie up my hair into a knot. I pause, really looking at my body for the first time in a while. I’d always been small, that hasn’t changed, but I’m a late bloomer for sure. I cup my breasts, creamy white tipped in pink, and let them bounce a little bit. There’s definitely more heft there than before. In fact, I might just have to get some new lingerie when I go shopping this weekend.
