Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(8)

Ha, right.

She looks tiny when she sits in the huge antique chair behind her huge antique battleship of a desk, but somehow the room doesn't swallow her, she fills it like it's choking on her aura. I sit in one of the guest chairs and wring my hands.

"Well? What's got you so nervous?"

I take the letters out and lean over to rest them on the leather panel in the middle of her desk. She keeps her work area completely neat and organized, like no one is ever in here at all. It's amazing, sometimes, and a little scary. I feel sacrilegious profaning the clean space with the letters. Mom picks them up, and flicks through them one by one, like a card sharp arranging her hand. She pulls one letter from its envelope, smoothes it on the desk with a nervous intensity, and looks up at me after scanning the contents.

"You've been applying to other schools."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I've been offered scholarships-"

"I've already secured a scholarship and a grant for you."

"Yes, to major in history at the school you picked for me. I'm not sure I want to do that."

She removes her hands from the letter and it lifts up a little, folding along the lines where it was creased and stuffed into the envelope.

"Why?" she says, a peculiar tone in her voice.

"Um," I say, in all my eloquence.

I've been worrying over this conversation for days and all I can come up with is um. This is going well.

"I don't want to work in a museum," I add, quickly.

You know, I wasn't expecting the look on her face. I expected righteous fury, to be matched by my own. The look of shock on her face twists in my chest. It's not disappointment or even anger.

"I don't understand. I thought you loved it here?"

"Loved it here? I'm trapped here. I can't stand the idea of spending the rest of my life cooped up here. All I want to do is get away."

"You'll have a chance to spread your wings at school."

"Right, then come right back here to work as your intern or whatever. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in this place. I'm not interested in any of this stuff. I could care less about some old painting."

She bites her lip and sneers. She does that when she's really, really mad.

"You could have said something before I prostrated myself and begged and, borrowed, and stole to get you appointments and grants. I call in all my favors. I thought you wanted this. Why have you never brought this to me before?"

"I…" I trail off. "I can't talk to you. I can talk at you, but you don't hear what I have to say, you hear what you think I should be saying. You dismiss me and if I want to do anything I want, I have to beg and plead and if you don't like it, your word is final. I've never had any say about anything in my life. You pick my friends, you picked my school, you've even been trying to push that jackass Lucas on me."

"Lucas is a fine young man, and he likes you quite a bit."

"He likes what's in my bra. The rest of me is just annoying."

She's flushed red now, and if she bits her lip any harder she'd draw blood.

"Out. Take those and go. We'll talk about this later."

"I'm going to pick my own…"

"Go ahead," she says, her tones dripping with acid. "Go ahead and pick whichever one you like, and you'll be on your own. No financial support from me."

"Didn't you hear me? I've been offered scholarships…"

"Good. I hope they include a budget for food."

"Um. I think they do. There's a meal plan…"

"Out," she snaps. “The new wing opens in two months and I have mountains of work to do. I don't have time for this. We'll talk about this tomorrow. By then I expect you'll have gotten this out of your system."

I just stare at her for a few seconds, and then collect my letters when the weight of her own gaze all but shoves me out the door. I close it behind me and trudge up to my bedroom.

Once inside, I lock the door, flop the bag on my desk chair and drop onto the bed, exhausted and defeated. She does have a point. I could live on the meal plan alone, but it would be tough. I think they don't even pay for all three meals on weekends, and there's more than just meals, there's all the little things. I could look into getting a job, but what if I can't find anything? Depending on where I go, there might not be any work, no matter how hard I look.

I'd take whatever I could get, but to keep the scholarships I'm being offered I'd need to maintain an exceptional average in very rigorous programs. Still, I wouldn't need much, and once I put some time in on it, I'm sure Mom will turn herself around and support me.

Right?

Even if she doesn't, I'm sure I can find something part time, like a grocery store or something. A weekend job with a full ride on the room and board would be more than enough.

Sleep comes fitfully to me, in bursts, and I spend half the night staring at the walls and worrying. This room has been my home since Mom took her position here, two years after Dad left us. I haven't seen him since. He remarried and lives in Texas now. I have a half-sister I've never met; her name is Sarah. I would like to meet her, someday. She is my blood, after all.