The Help (Kings of Linwood Academy, #1)(2)

She’s the only real reason I’m sad to leave Bayard behind. Everything else, I could pretty much take or leave.

We watch my mom pull the truck away and head down the street, and I twirl the key ring around one finger. When the large U-Haul disappears around a corner, Hunter turns to face me.

“So when do you start at your new richy-rich school?”

I shrug. “I dunno. About a week, I think?”

“I can’t believe she got you enrolled in some private school as part of her contract. These people must be richer than fucking God.”

“Yeah, I think they are.” I scrunch up my nose. “But I’ll have to work for it too. I’m basically gonna be my mom’s assistant. I won’t work full-time because of classes, but it’s not like I’ll be lounging around eating bon-bons or anything.”

We’re just making lame conversation at this point, delaying the inevitable. I only found out I was leaving two weeks ago, and everything has moved so fast since then it almost gives me whiplash. Hunter and I did our tearful goodbye early, the day I told her I was leaving. Every day since then, it’s started to seem a little more real, and now we both just feel resigned.

“Oh, hey!” She perks up suddenly, digging into her back pocket. “I almost forgot. This is for you.” She grabs my hand and presses a worn poker chip into my palm, then folds my fingers around it. “For good luck.”

Fuck. I thought I was done crying, but tears prick at the corners of my eyes as my fist closes around the chip. It just reminds me how well Hunter knows me, which reminds me how damn much I’m going to miss her.

I don’t say anything, just wrap my arms around her in another hug, still clutching the poker chip in my hand. She hugs me back, and I hear her voice whisper from somewhere near my armpit, “Gonna miss the fuck out of you, Low.”

“You too, Dummy.”

She finally pulls away, pursing her lips and blinking hard. Then she punches me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t fall in love with any rich boys. They’re trouble.”

A grin tilts my lips, and it feels way better than crying. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“You never know. They’re sneaky.”

I laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

If I don’t hurry up, Mom’s probably going to circle back around the block to make sure she didn’t lose me, so I head to the car. Hunter remains on the sidewalk, hands on her hips and eyes squinted against the Arizona sun.

“And don’t accept rides from strangers!”

“Thanks, Mother.”

“Look both ways before crossing the street!”

I climb into the car and roll down the passenger window, ducking my head to peer out at her. “Get it all out while you still can.”

She grins at me, her pixie face lighting up. “Don’t eat yellow snow!”

I’m laughing as I pull the rust-red Nissan away from the curb, and Hunter keeps shouting life advice at me as I roll away down the street. She really is such a dummy.

God, I miss her already.





It’s a thirty-eight hour drive from Bayard, Arizona to Fox Hill, Connecticut. We break the trip up into four extremely long, extremely boring days. I’ve listened to every song on my playlist several dozen times when we finally drive past a sign welcoming us to Connecticut, but the nerves don’t really kick in until we hit the Fox Hill city limits. It’s a smallish city—population 140,000, according to a road sign we pass—but big enough to have a real downtown and a little bit of sprawl.

The houses range from huge to massive, and I almost rear-end the moving truck twice as I crane my neck to peer at the buildings we pass by. A lot of them are brick and covered in creeping ivy.

“Holy fuck,” I mutter, even though there’s no one to hear me. This shit is bonkers, and I have a feeling the biggest, fanciest houses are tucked away from the road, so I haven’t even seen those ones.

My suspicion turns out to be correct. A few miles later, Mom veers right onto a wide, gated driveway. After a short wait, the gate slides open, and I follow her through. Tall trees and a perfectly manicured lawn spread on either side of us, and the long driveway curves slightly before looping in a tight circle in front of a sweeping, two story house.

There’s a huge garage attached to the west side of the house, but we just stop in the driveway. We need to unpack the truck, and I have no idea what the protocol is for where the housekeepers should park their car.

Mom hops out of the truck ahead of me, stretching her back. I haul my stiff body out from behind the wheel too, and when I walk over to her, she grabs my hands, her eyes wide.

“Holy crap!” she whispers.

“Is this place for fucking real?” The truck is between us and the mansion, but I can still see it looming on the other side.

“I know! I don’t know how I’m supposed to clean it if I’m afraid to touch anything.”

“Well, I hope it won’t come to that,” a smooth, deep voice says, and we both jump.

A man walks around the front of the U-Haul. He’s dressed in a suit that probably cost more than the Nissan, and his dark, almost black hair is trimmed short and carefully styled. Tiny streaks of silver rest at his temples, one of the only signs of age on him. He’s gotta be in his late forties or early fifties, but he’s lean and muscular, with broad shoulders and a trim waist.