Mortal Danger (Page 20)

Don’t trust anyone but me. I’ll contact you soon.

Maybe he was trying to spook me into asking for another favor? Protection against his psychotic bosses, perhaps. I wasn’t entirely sure I should trust Kian either, regardless of how beautiful or tortured he might be. It didn’t hurt to be wary.

And I had to plan, now, for the life I hadn’t expected to possess, come fall. Not every kid would receive a magical lifeline, though. As I walked toward the brownstone, I wondered whether I could volunteer at a hotline or something, share my experiences with people who weren’t as lucky. Probably I had to be at least eighteen or receive some special training, so I deferred the idea. I could make time during my freshman year of college to pay it forward.

Nerves crept up from my stomach as I got closer to home. I’d only talked to my parents twice this summer, plus a flurry of e-mails and text messages. To preserve my independence, they’d set up an it’s-really-you code word that I used to close all my texts. That way, they didn’t have to worry that I’d been kidnapped and my captor was using my phone. My parents watched too much Criminal Minds, maybe, but the system worked without a lot of phone chatter, and it was easier for them to respond on the road. Last time I heard from them, they said they’d be back a couple of days before me.

Wonder how they’ll react to the new me.

They’d be surprised … for so many reasons. I told myself it wouldn’t help to put it off, so I climbed the stairs to the apartment. After taking a deep breath, I got out my keys and unlocked the door. They weren’t in the front room, so they must’ve slept in … and were lingering over their oatmeal in the kitchen.

“I’m home!” I called.

Both my parents came to the kitchen doorway, then drew up short. Their faces reflected pure shock—and in my dad’s case, it rapidly faded to horror. “Edith…?”

“How was your summer?” I asked, playing it like I didn’t notice their reactions.

“Busy.” My dad listed all of the conferences, and it was mind-boggling. It sounded like they’d put a lot of miles behind them. If I had been in the city, I would’ve been lucky to see them once in two months.

My parents did their brain-sharing thing, trading a look laden with information, and then my mom said, “You look good, honey.”

“Thanks. My roomie was kind of fitness buff, and she got me to work out with her.” I spoke the lie with a mental apology to Vi. “We fit in a trip to the salon, too.”

Results like this couldn’t come from a simple summer regimen alone or a cut and color, but my parents, being utterly unconcerned with personal appearance, didn’t know that. They fumbled for a few seconds, murmuring incoherent words of support and approval. It was kind of cute how much they didn’t know how to react; clearly, they’d never discussed this, as they’d raised me to be a brainy overachiever.

“Well, as long as you’re happy,” my dad finally said, as if I’d gotten a tattoo or dyed my hair fuchsia. “How was the SSP?”

I could tell they were both eager to get back on familiar footing, so I took them through the syllabus and what I’d learned, which put them at ease. Having good hair hadn’t rotted my brain, at least. After I finished my summary, I said, “I’ve gotta unpack, if that’s okay. Then I need to do some shopping before school.” At their mutually alarmed look, I added, “Just uniforms. And normal supplies.”

I still had to wear the green-and-navy plaid skirt, white blouse, and navy blazer that made up the Blackbriar dress code. There were ways to make the getup seem stylish, though, and if you were one of the beautiful people, the teachers let you get away with infractions, like too much jewelry or makeup, skirt hiked up, platform Mary Janes, that sort of thing. Most of the popular chicks looked like they belonged in a schoolgirls-gone-wild video. I had just over a week to put together my own look without copying them.

“Of course,” my mom said. “I’ll give you the Visa.”

I nodded. “After I put my stuff away, okay?”

“You look perky after being at the airport,” my dad said.

They were smart people. If I slipped up, they’d start wondering, and I couldn’t afford questions. “Yeah, I took the red-eye, slept all night.”

“The only way to travel.”

Before they could ask anything else, I grabbed my bags and ran to my room. Once I closed the door, I felt a little safer. Thankfully, we didn’t have a close relationship or they’d wonder at how eager I was to get away. But I’d always spent my time alone in my room, so this didn’t change anything at all.

First thing, I did as I’d claimed, then I sent quick e-mails to Vi and Ryu. I didn’t expect an answer anytime soon as they had lives to get back to, but I considered them my only real friends, which was kind of sad. But at least I had some, now. Just knowing they existed—and that they liked me—helped me gear up for the showdown to come. Which totally made me sound like I was strapping on six-shooters and challenging Cameron Dean to a shootout at high noon. The truth was way more devious.

For the remainder of the day, I spent time online, learning different ways to style my hair, methods of using shadow, eyeliner, bronzer, and other products I’d only heard of vaguely before this summer. This was stuff my mother never taught me; I didn’t think she knew. If I’d asked, I was positive I’d receive a lecture on the dangers of vanity versus the value of feminism, but this wasn’t strictly for the sake of appearances. No, this was a disguise for my undercover work at Blackbriar. To infiltrate the inner circle, the beautiful people needed to think I’d changed enough to become one of them. Hence, the camouflage. I’d always been an overachiever in the academic world, now it was time to apply that trait to my social life.

My mom knocked on the door around nine. She waited for me to open it before she spoke. “You said you needed some things before school starts?”

“I thought I’d go shopping tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Her tone said she’d rather be summoned to jury duty, but that she felt like she needed to make the offer.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Then here’s the card. Save your receipts, please.” That was Mom, always concerned about making the numbers in all columns tally up; she must drive her grad students crazy.

God knew what she’d say if I confessed the true explanation for my transformation. Best guess? She’d decide I had taken some dangerous, highly illegal weight-loss drug and ship me off to rehab. And from there, I couldn’t accomplish the one goal I’d set myself this summer—to make Cameron Dean pay, along with the rest of the Teflon ass**les in his group.