All I can say is that it doesn’t hurt.
“I can’t believe you bought us a G-wagon!” Austin crows, echoing my thoughts exactly, before whipping out his phone and snapping a few pics to add to his Insta story.
“Thanks,” I say, rushing toward my parents before throwing my arms around them.
They squeeze me tight before Mom whispers, “All right, you two better get moving. We don’t want you to be late for your first day.”
Since Austin is already sliding behind the wheel with the keys in hand, I head for the passenger side door before settling onto the buttery soft leather seat.
Mom bites her lip before waving a hand at us. “Should I come with and make sure there aren’t any problems with your registration?”
Good Lord, no. Sometimes Mom forgets that we’re not in kindergarten anymore.
“Nah,” Austin says, dumping his backpack into the backseat, “we’re good.”
My brother and I grin at each other as he slips the key into the ignition. The engine purrs to life, smooth as silk. That new car smell inundates me, making me almost dizzy. It’s all sumptuous leather, smooth natural grain wood trim, and expensive additions. I can’t even imagine what this vehicle costs. Or that my dad bought it. He’s been driving our Volvo for at least ten years. Austin turns on the radio and cranks up the music as we roll to the end of the driveway. Mom and Dad wave before heading inside the house.
As we’re about to leave, a red convertible flies past us going way over the subdivision speed limit. My brother slams on the brake and grumbles under his breath as I whip forward against the seat belt. If Austin had pulled out a couple seconds sooner, we would have been T-boned.
I stare at the red taillights and wonder if that was the neighbor I heard having a party last night. My assumption is that anyone who lives in a fancy subdivision probably attends Hawthorne Prep rather than the public school. As long as it’s not those nasty girls from the store, I don’t give a damn who it is.
“Sweet Mustang,” Austin mutters, begrudgingly admiring the car as I try to get a look at the driver.
As soon as the sports car is a couple hundred feet away, Austin’s lips pull up into an impish grin as he presses his foot against the gas pedal and the Mercedes shoots onto the road. When the Strokes come on, he cranks up the volume until its eardrum splitting as we belt out the lyrics. It’s doubtful Julian Casablancas has anything to worry about as far as us taking over the band.
Twenty minutes later, we turn onto the paved drive that leads to the school parking lot. There’s a line of traffic waiting to get in. With wide eyes, I stare at the elaborately gated property. On either side of the driveway are ornate stone pillars. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but nothing this fancy in the middle of nowhere.
“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” my brother murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.
I almost snort.
No, we most certainly are not.
I notice the red Mustang that had whizzed past earlier is a few cars ahead of us. The top is down and all I can make out is that it’s a boy with short dark hair. As intrigued as I am by our neighbor, I’m more concerned about how the next couple of hours will play out.
Austin drives through a sea of high-priced sports cars and SUVs. He crows in disbelief, rattling off the price tags of vehicles as we pass them. It takes a few minutes for us to find an empty spot and park. These people are in a league all of their own and I don’t understand how we’re going to fit in with them. As if in a dream, I turn and fumble around in the backseat for my bag before hauling it onto my lap. Not making a move to exit the Mercedes, I glance at my twin who stares silently out the windshield.
“Austin?”
My gaze slides from him to the sprawling gray stone building looming in front of us that looks like it could belong on a vast estate in England. There’s something charming and idyllic about the ivy that clings to the walls.
“Why are they staring?” Austin mutters from beside me.
“Huh?” I rip my gaze away from the three-story building and realize there are pockets of students watching us. If it were simply curiosity on their faces, it would be one thing. Their expressions remind me of the girls from the store last night. A shiver of unease slithers down my spine.
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t get a lot of new people here.” Let’s hope that’s all it is. I glance at my phone and realize that we need to get moving. “We’re supposed to be in the office already. It took us longer than expected to get here and the first bell rings in fifteen minutes.”