Stealing Infinity, page 5
I open my mouth, about to totally lose it on him, when my stomach betrays me by howling with hunger, and I realize it’s been almost twenty-four hours since my last meal.
“So much for the I’m not hungry excuse,” he says, back to being an asshole again.
He offers his arm, but I shove right past him.
Making a show of rolling my eyes, I head for the diner.
13
“Nothing like a sticky plastic menu featuring mouthwatering pictures of food.” He taps a finger against a photo of two fried eggs and a sausage arranged to make a smiley face.
I stare pointedly at my backpack, which so far has stayed on his side of the booth.
When the waitress comes by, I order coffee, juice, scrambled eggs, and pancakes. He wants only coffee.
“You know, you could’ve just handed over the backpack and stopped by a Starbucks on your way to…” I make a looping gesture with my hand. “Wherever it is you spend your day.”
“And miss this sparkling conversation? Not a chance.”
I frown and toss a glance out the window. There’s a man stumbling around, talking to someone known only to him. He’s so immersed in his invisible world, he’s completely unaware of the number of people veering out of their way to avoid him.
When my food arrives, I dig in. I’ve never been one of those girls who’s dainty with food or apologizes for having to eat to stay alive. I’m making a second pass with the syrup when Braxton says, “I’m sorry.”
I continue eating. Refusing to so much as acknowledge him. He knows what I want, and now it’s just a game of waiting until he gives in.
“I— Can you look at me, please?”
I take another bite, finish chewing, then say, “Can you take off your sunglasses? It’s really unnerving how you’re always hiding your eyes behind something.”
“This is only the second time we’ve met. I’m not sure the word always applies.”
I shake my head and continue to eat and stare out the window. The old man is now picking through a trash can. My heart breaks for him.
Braxton’s sunglasses drop onto the table, and I glance up to find a seriously remarkable pair of blue eyes the color of gathering storms and wind-whipped seas splashing up against the sky.
He removes his knit hat and runs a hand through his hair.
I slide my gaze over him, then force a bored shrug, wanting him to think I’m left completely unimpressed by the final reveal.
“First, I want to assure you that nothing untoward happened last night.”
“Untoward? Seriously?” I roll my eyes, stab a wedge of pancake, and angle it into my mouth.
“For one thing, you didn’t drink. And even if you had, it was only water with green food coloring. Also, I have proof.”
He’s got my attention now.
“I’m a little off protocol here, but…”
He hands over my bag and, after a quick inventory, I determine it’s all there, with the addition of a large white envelope I’ve never seen before. The front has a picture of the Wheel of Fortune tarot card I pulled from the deck.
“How does this prove anything?” I ask.
Braxton nods toward the envelope. “It’s exactly like I told you. You’ve been released to me—or rather, to Arthur Blackstone, though I work as his proxy.”
I peer at Braxton, remembering how the jailer mentioned a rich friend. At the time, it was so weird, I chose to ignore it. But now, even though he’s given me zero reasons to trust him, there’s a part of me that wonders if Braxton might actually be telling the truth. Or at least about this.
Still, I don’t even try to hide my skepticism when I say, “Seriously. Arthur Blackstone?”
Braxton nods as though that’s all the confirmation I need. But it’s not. Not by a long shot.
“You mean the legendary, art collecting, tech trillionaire who just after claiming the top spot on the World’s Wealthiest list went totally off the grid and hasn’t been seen or heard from in years? That Arthur Blackstone?”
Again, Braxton nods.
“And this”—I wave the envelope before him—“is supposed to provide some kind of proof that not only is the great man still alive, but that he actually gives such a big shit about me that he sent you on a mission to deliver this personally?”
He drums his fingers against the base of his mug. “You should probably open it,” he says.
I drop the envelope onto the table. “And you should probably just tell me what’s really going on here.”
Braxton pauses to sip from his coffee. It’s the equivalent of a slow, monotonous drumroll, only it doesn’t work. I’d just as soon finish my breakfast and leave without ever knowing what he’s about to reveal.
Replacing his mug on the table, he says, “You’ve been accepted into Gray Wolf Academy.” He waits, like he’s expecting me to be grateful or something.
“Yeah, no thanks.” I stab another forkful of buttermilk pancake and lift it to my mouth. Taking great satisfaction in the way Braxton stares at me in shock.
“Why would you say that when you don’t know the first thing about it?” he asks.
I chew thoughtfully, as though I’m giving the question my full consideration. Dabbing my lips with a paper napkin, I say, “Because I’m not interested.” I slide the envelope toward him and watch as he blinks in confusion. Like I’m the one who’s wandered off script and he’s not sure how to get the scene back on track. “Sounds like a school for nerds.”
He stares at me, incredulous, speechless. I decide I like him better that way.
“Well, okay then,” he finally says. “While the choice is ultimately yours, before you make the sort of decision that can’t be undone, would you at least hear me out?”
“And if I don’t?” I place my fork on my plate, curl my napkin into a ball, and drop it there, too. “If I just get up from this table, walk right out of here, and pretend I never heard of you, Arthur, or your ridiculous Wolf academy—then what?”
Not missing a beat, he says, “Then you’d be exercising your right to free will.” His navy-blue gaze sweeps over mine. “But, as you’ve so recently learned, there are consequences to your choices. And if you walk out now, you risk missing out on the kind of opportunity that can change your whole life. Not to mention, your mum already said yes.”
14
“You spoke to my mom?” My voice screeches so high, some of the other diners turn away from their pancakes to stare disapprovingly at us. Still, it’s pretty much the last thing I expected to hear.
“Arthur did.” Braxton lifts his chin and narrows his gaze in the self-satisfied way of a boxer who just delivered the knockout punch. “She signed the papers. Your copy’s inside.”
He nudges the envelope back toward me, but no way am I going anywhere near it.
“Mr. Blackstone knows what it’s like to come from humble beginnings, and so he started the academy to help other kids who are facing similar challenges. Natasha, you’re bright, sharp, witty, pretty, and most importantly, you’re not afraid to take a few risks. Arthur recognizes your potential and wants to help you live up to whatever dream you have for yourself. Your current problems will disappear. The past will be erased, as though it never existed. The only thing required is your attendance.”
Sharp, witty, pretty, and most importantly, you’re not afraid to take a few risks. It reminds me of how Elodie once chose to describe me, but I’m not sure I’d agree.
Risk-taking involves careful, calculated thinking.
My life choices would best be described as impulsive, self-defeating, and wildly reckless.
Still, what I say is, “If this wolf school is so great, then why go to all the trouble of drugging me and framing me so I’ll agree?”
Braxton doesn’t even flinch when he says, “First of all, if we had approached you with an offer, chances are you would’ve said no. You don’t really strike me as the type to willingly choose a path that’ll benefit you. And second, no one drugged you. Can we move past that already?”
“Maybe I didn’t drink,” I say. “But I know for a fact I didn’t faint. Something happened at Arcana. Something you’re purposely keeping from me. And what I really want to know is what’s Elodie’s part in all this?” I study Braxton’s face, haunted by a vague recollection of him saying Elodie was right about me seconds before I blacked out. He also called me darling, but I’d rather not think about that. “Whether you admit it or not, I know you two are working together.”
Braxton fidgets with the gold signet ring on his middle finger. And, since it’s the second time he’s done that when I veered too close to the truth, it’s all the proof I need to know I’m on the right track.
When he finally looks at me, he says, “Thing is, Natasha, from the moment you agreed to ditch school, you were a willing participant. Way I see it, you’re not really in a position to turn down an offer like this.”
When he ends with a shrug, it’s all I can do not to toss whatever’s left of my coffee at his ridiculously handsome, smug face.
“Look—” I lean toward him. “I don’t know who you are or why you’ve decided to go after me, but I do know this whole thing disappears if I can find a way to prove I was framed. And I will prove it.”
Braxton leans back, idly stretching his arm across the vinyl banquette. “If you ask me,” he says, “your life was a mess way before you were busted for theft.” His gaze lights on mine, and just like that, the tenuous balance of power shifts yet again.
Clearly, he’s right. But I’m also right about him and Elodie plotting against me. My proof: he didn’t so much as blink, much less try to deny it.
“Does it really matter how you arrived when I’m offering you the chance of a lifetime? Natasha, this is the moment you get to decide between death or rebirth. The choice is entirely yours.”
Choice.
It reminds me of how he found me laughing at my own tombstone. The clothes, the club, the tarot card, the drink, all of it was leading me here.
And now that I’m here, I guess it can’t hurt to at least take a look at whatever it is that he’s offering.
I mean, it’s not like my life can get any worse.
I tear into the envelope to find an official-looking document tucked inside. But, since it’s written in the sort of language only law school grads understand, I skip ahead to where my mom’s signature hugs the very last line.
A sob builds in my chest as I trace the tight loops with my finger. The hollow feel of her arms, her look of despair as she said, I’d hoped for better, replays on an infinite loop in my head.
Maybe this is my chance to do better for her.
Or at least give her one less thing to worry about.
But still…can I really leave her?
I mean, who’ll take care of her if I’m not around?
“I have a job,” I say, but Braxton’s already shaking his head.
“Not anymore.”
I stare at the paper, biting my lip as I struggle to keep it together. “If there’s tuition, I can’t—” I saved my best excuse for last, but Braxton cuts me off.
“Gray Wolf offers a full ride. Room, board, clothing, miscellaneous, it’s all covered. In addition, Arthur will provide for your mom. He knows how important it is to maintain a stable family home.”
“So it’s a boarding school? Because I should warn you, I don’t play lacrosse.”
For the first time since we met, a ghost of a grin tugs at his lips. A second later, it’s gone. “I don’t think anyone will notice,” he says.
I stare at the wreckage of my breakfast. There’s a stubborn part of me that wants to lash out, rail against an unfair system and a bad friend I never should’ve trusted. But what would be the point?
Sure, I can go back to school, back to the life I’ve been living. But after years of dreaming of something better, shouldn’t I at least take a chance?
Follow my own Wheel of Fortune?
I turn back toward Braxton. “What’s expected of me? You know, in return for Arthur’s generosity. What does he get out of all this?”
Braxton adopts a serious look that matches his tone. “Arthur gets the satisfaction of seeing you succeed beyond your wildest expectations.”
I glance out the window again. The old man from before has moved on. Maybe it’s time for me to move on as well.
“What happens now?” I ask, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. I can hardly believe I’m actually choosing this path.
He tosses a twenty onto the table. “We head for the airport.”
I look past the window toward the curb.
The black Mercedes has returned.
15
I don’t get in the car.
I’m not new.
“What are you doing?” Braxton calls from somewhere behind me.
I imagine his face is still astonishingly beautiful even in a state of outrage, but I don’t turn around to confirm it.
What I’m doing is heading home. I need to see my mom. Need to know for sure that it wasn’t a forgery, that she really did sign my life away to the world’s richest recluse.
My sneakers pound hard against the pavement. It’s getting warm, but that doesn’t prevent me from lifting my hood and burying my hands deep in my pockets.
When I pass a building I recognize as Arcana, I veer toward it. Only to find the entry is shuttered and a For Lease sign hangs in the window. I squint at the black concrete box of a structure, wondering if I’m mistaken but sure that I’m not.
Then the bus rolls up and I break into a run, managing to catch it just before it pulls away from the curb. A lucky omen if there ever was one.
The bus lurches onto the street, causing me to teeter and reach for something to regain my footing.
“Watch yourself.” A woman scowls, offended by the sight of my hand clutching the back of her seat. She holds her breath in her cheeks, waiting for me to move on.
I make my way down the aisle, find an empty seat, and rest my gaze outside my window. Preferring to lose myself in the view outside, so I won’t have to think about the disquieting pitch and roll of my belly, or the five-alarm panic going off in my head. The one that screams, What have you done? No, seriously, what the hell have you done? What is your life about to become?
I shake the thought away and steer my focus to the crowds of people, bumping along the downtown sidewalks. All of them so hypnotized by their phones, they routinely bang into one another with barely a notice.
Once we hit the suburbs, it’s a whole other story. Aside from the occasional jogger or dog walker, the sidewalks are mostly unused.
My mom and I live halfway up a hill, in the same house where my dad left us. Inside, it’s like a time capsule; not a single thing has been replaced since the day he walked out. Mainly because we can’t afford any upgrades. Over the years, the roof has begun to leak, electrical sockets no longer work, and in one of the bathrooms it takes an entire bucket of water to get the toilet to flush.
We really should sell and move on, but my mom insists on clinging to the dream of the life she once had. Moving from room to room like a shadow of her former self.
Mine is the next stop, so I pull the cable and make for the door. It’s a few blocks to my house, and when I reach my street, I stop cold. There’re a bunch of delivery trucks lined up outside, along with a team of men taking measurements, assessing the windows, the roof, the rain gutters, the bed of weeds that used to be a lawn.
In the driveway sits a brand-new luxury SUV. The woman standing next to it looks so happy that at first, I don’t even recognize her.
Mom.
“It’s all courtesy of Arthur Blackstone.”
I take in the scene, not at all surprised to find Braxton has followed me.
“New roof, updated bathrooms and kitchen, new appliances, a new car, a generous monthly stipend…and that’s just the beginning.”
My vision blurs. I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand. I need to hear it for myself. Need her to look me in the eye when she explains why she chose an easier life over one spent with me.
I’m halfway across the street when Braxton’s voice sounds from behind. “The choice is still yours. You can shred that document and pretend we never met. Your mom won’t receive the monthly stipend, but Arthur will still cover your court costs and see that your record gets expunged. But what then? Do you really want to go back to the lives you both had? Or are you willing to take a chance on something brighter, better, for both of you?”
My chest squeezes too tight, catching and holding my breath like a butterfly caught in a net. I watch my mom run her hand across the molded curves of her shiny new car as though she just can’t believe her good luck. Last time she looked so dreamy was at the end of that sex-worker-in-a-limo movie.
I want her to see me and beg me to stay. But she’s surrounded by so much glimmer and promise, she doesn’t even notice I’m here.
Your life is about to change. Nothing will ever be the same, the tarot reader told me.
Hoping with all my heart that it’s true, I turn my back on the past, and slide inside the Mercedes.
16
It’s my second time on a plane, though definitely my first time flying private.
So far, it’s pretty much the opposite of my experience in coach class.
I make my way across the tarmac and up a short flight of steps where a pretty flight attendant greets me at the door and motions for me to sit anywhere.
There’s a white leather chair by a window, and I sink onto its plush bucket seat, swivel toward the aisle, look at Braxton, and say, “How long is the flight?”
“Quite long. But exactly how long, depends on the winds.” He claims the seat across from mine.
