The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(6)

2





SILVER





For the most hated girl at school, my home life is surprisingly normal. My parents are still together—increasingly rare—and I have a younger brother, who interferes in my shit twenty-four seven, as little brothers like to do. Mom works at a local accounting firm, and Dad is an architectural engineer. We have some money. Not a lot, but enough. We live in a good neighborhood. Our house is a beautiful old Colonial with a wraparound porch and painted blue shutters. Every Sunday, we visit my grandmother at the Regency Park Retirement Community, and she feeds me baked ziti and tells me stories about ‘The Old Country,’ otherwise known as Italy.

Between the hours of eight in the morning and two thirty in the afternoon, I might be a social pariah, scorned, laughed at, shoved and tripped. But at home, I’m just Sil: much-loved daughter, goofy older sister, and doted on granddaughter. One more year and I’ll be able to get the hell out of Raleigh and start at a college where no one knows my name. I don’t even care which college I end up going to, so long as I don’t know a single fucking soul there.

Saturday morning brings an early acceptance letter that has my mom dancing around the kitchen, singing my praises before we’ve even eaten breakfast. I get back from my morning run, and she’s still in her pinstriped pajamas, her hair all ruffled and sticking up from her pillow, and the smile on her face makes me want to hurl myself up the stairs and lock myself in my bedroom for the rest of time. She doesn’t know. I haven’t told her a thing about what’s been happening with me for the past nine months, and I’m not planning on telling her, either. She has enough on her plate with work and with Max, and I don’t want to add to her troubles.

The signs are all there, though. I used to go out on the weekends. I used to hang out at my friends’ houses. Every now and again, a cute boy used to wait out front for me in a pick-up every morning to take me to school. Now I spend my weekends studying, playing guitar, and reading books. Now, I drive myself to school in the beaten-up old Nova dad bought for me at the beginning of summer. Now, I don’t smile anywhere near as often as I used to.

A part of me is angry that she hasn’t noticed.

“Jesus, Sil. You didn’t tell us you were applying to Dartmouth.” Mom holds up a torn open envelope and a sheet of paper, waving it in my face. “Can you believe this? I can’t believe this.” She clears her throat. “Dear Ms. Parisi. Upon reviewing your application, we are pleased to announce that we have chosen to confer a ‘likely’ status upon you. Please note, our final acceptance of your application will not be confirmed until March of next year, but you can assume your ‘likely’ status will ensure your entrance to Dartmouth, should you maintain your current record of achievement and personal integrity!”

She speaks normally to begin with but then slips into an English accent part way through. By the end of the statement, she’s talking like Kate Middleton and screaming with excitement. “Silver!” She grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me. “I can’t believe you got a ‘likely’ letter from fucking Dartmouth.”

“Mom! No swearing!” Max’s high, reedy voice calls from the living room.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that is a bad word,” she calls. “I got carried away. Did you know that your sister’s a genius?”

“I did begin to suspect when she walked into that glass door at Olive Garden,” he replies flatly. Little bastard. I’m gonna have to tickle the crap out of him later. For an eleven-year-old, he really does possess a surprisingly accurate understanding of sarcasm.

I take the paper from Mom’s hand, scanning the words there, printed in black and white, plain as day. I wait for the wave of triumph that should wash over me (this is a seriously big deal, after all) but it doesn’t come. Somehow, I feel even emptier than I did before I walked in through the front door.

“Aren’t you happy, Honey?” Mom asks, tucking a rogue strand of hair back behind my ear. “I thought there was going to be more…I don’t know, hysterical jumping around?” She turns, heading for the kitchen counter, where it looks like she was in the process of making pancake batter.

“You shouldn’t have opened it,” I say quietly.

“Hmm?”

“It was addressed to me, right? The letter? You shouldn’t have opened it.”

Her head whips up, and I see her instant guilt. Her eyes are the same color as mine, blue as cornflowers and spring skies. The excitement in them fades, and it’s as if her entire face has clouded over. “God, you’re right. I just went out of my head when I saw the address stamp. I’ve been opening mail for you your entire life. I forget sometimes that you’re almost an adult now. I’m sorry, Sil. I won’t do that again.”

Damn. I feel shitty now. I didn’t mean to make her feel bad. It’s not a big deal, and I wouldn’t have usually even said anything, but the twisted, gnarled knot of anxiety that I woke up with this morning only worsened while I was out on my run, and I feel like I’m edging toward a complete nervous break right now. I don’t say any of this to Mom, naturally. I give her a tight-lipped smile, placing the letter from Dartmouth down on the kitchen counter, and I head for the stairs.

“Where are you off to, sweetheart?”