I look away, toward the pretentious white marble floor.
“We're ordering dinner in, Mi—” Tess pauses again, and I glance up to see both Parrish and Maxx staring at her. “Dakota,” she corrects, like the word is foreign and sticky in her mouth.
You can do this, Dakota, I tell myself, thinking of my grandmother’s anguished face, of my grandfather’s broken ankle, of my sister hugging me so tightly that I forgot how to breathe.
“Come look at the menu and pick something out.”
“Usually, you just click our saved order,” Kimber says, her voice more caustic and biting than Parrish’s even. Honestly, if I were forced to choose between them for an arena battle, I’d pick Parrish as my opponent. Kimber is harboring so much resentment for me, it makes Parrish’s feel like a drop in the ocean. “We order from there all the time; we have a saved family order.” She sounds furious about it.
“Well, we have a new family member to add to our order,” Tess says, her voice halfway between understanding and angry. “Besides, Maxx is here—”
“Maxx’s order is saved in your phone, too,” Kimber interjects, turning her matching raven eyes over to me. “You're the only person here who doesn't belong.”
“Kimber Celeste!” Tess snaps, finally losing that tentative control on her cool. “I have a deadline this week, your father has five surgeries scheduled, and your sister is trying to adjust to her new life. Have some compassion.” She hands me her phone as I feel a small surge of triumph beneath my ribs. You go, Tess! But the outburst fades as quick as it came when Kimber’s eyes tear up and she turns on her heel to race down the hall toward the stairs. With a sigh, Tess follows after her. “You can go ahead and place the order once you’ve chosen,” she tells me, reaching up to cup the side of my face and then pausing at the last second, like she’s thought better of it.
Tess disappears after her daughter—her real daughter—and I’m left to float there in the middle of the cavernous living room like a boat with no sails. The sadness comes roaring back with a vengeance, and my arms pebble with goose bumps.
“Hey,” Maxx says softly, drawing my attention back over to him. His shoulders are a bit broader than Parrish’s, like he doesn’t work out just for his physique, but like it’s a part of who he is. Maxine did describe him as some sort of up-and-coming motocross star, so I suppose that makes sense. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn't she be?” Parrish scoffs dismissively, wincing as he turns the sink on and begins to wash his tattoo with some orange Dial soap. He watches me, rather than his tattoo. I ignore him as best I can. I try, I really do, but I’ve only got so much in me.
Without really looking at the menu on Tess’ phone, I click the most appealing thing I see—it just so happens we’re ordering Mexican food, and I’ve chosen street tacos—and submit the order.
“Because her entire life has been upended,” X says, his voice patient but verging on frustration. He gives his friend a look that Parrish doesn’t notice because he’s still staring at me. “Your mom can’t even call her by the right name.”
“Mia is her name,” Parrish snaps back, finally deigning to glance Maxx's way. “It’s printed right there on her birth certificate, the one that’s fucking framed and hung on the wall in the entryway.” He turns back to me, his expression less cruel but somehow harder to look at. Resolute, is what it is. He delivers the next words to me, not like an insult, but like a fact that I damn well better get used to. “Tess is your mother—your real mother. She picked the name Mia. She raised you until you were taken from her, and then she ran herself into the ground looking for you. Fight it all you want, but you’re Mia Patterson. Dakota is just the name given to you by some filthy fucking drug addict. You know why she picked you, right? They told you that part?”
“Parrish, stop,” Maxx growls out at him, taking a step in his direction. “She's been through enough.”
“No,” I interject, my voice almost too loud for the sterile space. It echoes just a bit. That’s how empty and cold and weird this house is. Back home, there was no such thing as an echo. Not with the antique furniture strewn about, the old but faithful rugs, the oil paintings on the walls. There was too much love, too many people, for that house to echo. “I want to hear this. Apparently, Parrish knows something that I don't.”
He doesn't smile at me this time. I don’t think I could handle it if he did. Instead, he continues on in that no-nonsense, matter-of-fact voice of his, like he needs to deliver this information to me so that I can understand. So that I can conform. So that I can fit in here and stop fucking up his perfect life.
“Saffron Banks, the meth addicted junkie who snatched you from the daycare?” He phrases this like a question. I don't know why. I knew all about Saffron. My grandparents never tried to hide the fact that their daughter was a sad, broken person searching for something they couldn’t understand. “Her own baby died just a few weeks before she kidnapped you. She picked you because you looked like her dead kid. That’s it. Chance and circumstance. There’s nothing more to it. You are not a member of the Banks family, just a coincidence. Dakota Banks is dead and buried. You are Mia Patterson.”
Parrish pauses as Tess’ footsteps sound on the staircase. Despite his faults, I know that he—with the exception of the school incident last week—goes out of his way not to hurt Tess.
I’m staggered. Fucking staggered by his words.
My mind spins with this new information. Why didn’t anyone tell me that about Saffron? Why keep it hidden? Then again, it doesn’t change anything, does it? It doesn't really matter why she kidnapped me, only that she did.
Except … somehow knowing there was a real Dakota Banks, a girl who was a member of that family in her blood, who was Maxine’s real little sister, that’s a hard pill to swallow. How can I be Dakota Banks if my identity belongs to someone else?
Shit, shit, shit. I’m spiraling. I feel my energy leaking out through my feet, my spirit being sucked into the dark underworld of depression.
“Shall we set the table?” Tess asks, sweeping into the room and smiling at me.
I just don’t have the energy in me to smile back.
Not this time.
Guess there really is a limit to how many forced smiles a person gets before they break.
Crack, Dakota Banks. Crack, crack, crack.
I trace the metal heart brooch with my fingertip. I’ve decided to pin it to the strap of my book bag. According to the rulebook for Whitehall Prep, I’m allowed exactly three pins, patches, or other decorative items on my bag at any given time. Guess this will be one of them. It should make Tess happy, at the very least. I’ve decided to put it next to a button that reads Dump Your Pornsick Boyfriend and a metal book-shaped pin with a 24K gold backing that Maxine got me for Christmas last year.
I’ve got one day left until I start school and to be quite honest, I’m counting down the seconds. Anything to get out of this house. The only bright spot at dinner earlier was Maxx. He was the only person who easily and willingly called me Dakota without it sounding like a curse. I ate my street tacos across from Parrish—whose order I’d apparently copied without even meaning to—with a fork and a knife.
A fork and a knife.
For street tacos.
There’s a soft knock on my door, and I resist the urge to sigh, setting aside the book bag before moving over to answer it.
It’s Maxx.
“I’m heading out,” he says, right hand tucked into his pocket. He looks so casual and comfortable in his own skin, like he doesn’t owe an apology to anyone for existing. That’s what I like most about him. He seems to be able to placate every corner of the room without sacrificing himself in the process. That’s what I need to learn to do—keep other’s needs in mind but also take care of myself.
“To the party, I’m guessing?” I ask as Parrish’s door opens, and he steps out looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen him. He’s got on what just has to be an ultra-pricey jacket, some khak
i-colored preppy thing that screams rich-boy-walking, along with a black t-shirt, a silver pendant of—is that Baphomet?!—and loose-fitting jeans.
He levels a look on me that is very clearly a challenge.
Both my body and my rage respond in equal measures.
How the hell do I find him so attractive when it’s clear that his mission in life is to piss me off? And why do I care? Why can’t I just say ‘hot but rude, no thanks’ and move the fuck on. Instead, I stand there and I stare at him as his eyes go hooded, his mouth quirks up at the corner, and my scalp tingles with the promise of an incoming insult.
Parrish pushes the sleeves of his jacket up to reveal his sea of colorful tattoos.
“Gamer Girl, you’re staring at me again,” he says, leaving me to choke and sputter in my Pokémon sweats, my oversized anime hoodie, and my lime green headset. My heart thunders, and my throat feels tight and scratchy all of a sudden. Between the two of them, Maxx and Parrish could start their own world-crushing influencer brand. Tack Chasm into the deal, and they could rule every social media platform known to man. “I already warned you: don’t fall in love with me.”
Maxx lets out a tired sigh, but I’m unfazed. That ember in my belly burns and burns and burns, drawing the dark smoke of my anger out.
“If I’m staring, it’s only because I can’t believe anyone under the age of sixty wears khaki. Maybe it’s just a ‘young republican, country club’ sort of a thing.”
Parrish smirks at me and steps closer, leaning his forearm on the wall above my head so he can stare down at me with that stupid Insta-worthy face of his. I beg the universe to send a horde of pimples his way, anything to mar that perfect skin and steal the cocksureness from his face.
“And what about your outfit, Gamer Girl?” he taunts, when he damn well knows my real name. “Did you get lost on your way to a subreddit about first person shooters?”
“Let me kick your ass on one, and we’ll see,” I retort, looking past Parrish to Maxx. He’s watching the interaction between the two of us with an expression that I can’t quite puzzle out. He looks irritated, but when he speaks, he doesn’t sound like it.
“Gamer Girl?” he queries, because unlike Parrish, he hasn’t heard me up in my room gaming on my computer until four in the morning. Sometimes, I leave the door cracked, just to see how many times my new stepbrother gets up for snacks. I counted a dozen just last night. Also, I noticed that he sometimes glances in my room to see what I’m doing. I pretend like I’m not aware of any of that.
“If the label fits.” I shrug my shoulders as Parrish lets out a harsh, derisive sort of laugh.
“Oh, it fits,” he says, looking me over yet again, like there’s something wrong with a girl who enjoys video games.
I was thinking of working on my Twitch channel tonight, but I’m not sure if I can handle trolls and misogynists and pervs right now. I considered starting a brand-new channel to try to disguise my identity, but nothing stays secret on the internet for long. By the end of the week, it’ll be just like my original channel: filled with people asking about the kidnapping, about Saffron, about Tess the crime novelist, about my Princess Diaries-esque rise in class.
My stomach roils and I slip the headset down to rest against the back of my neck.
Maxx’s mouth twitches with a genuine smile as Parrish frowns even harder, like something about me is just bugging the ever-living crap out of him.
“Do you want to go with us?” Maxx asks, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of Tess’ office. Her door is closed, and I can hear the Killers’ song Mr. Brightside playing on repeat. We have that in common, playing songs on a loop. I’ve listened to RADWIMPS’ Sparkle about thirty times today. “If you turn your lights off and lock the door, Tess will usually leave you alone.”
Parrish gives Maxx a scathing sort of look, like he can’t believe his friend is passing on such valuable tips to an intruder.
I think for a moment; my natural inclination, of course, is to stay here. Like I said, I’m a great indoors person. And an introvert. But … this house, it isn’t home. I’m not entirely sure a party would feel anymore alienating or uncomfortable than this sterile room with its pretty lake view. I did, at least, take it upon myself to shove the bed into one corner. No offense but people who put their beds dead center in the middle of the room are weird AF. I’d rather do the teenager/single person thing and shove it into a corner with only a single nightstand. It’s preferable than free floating in such a large space; I need to feel grounded.
Parrish looks past me and notices before glancing back in the direction of Tess’ office door.
“We need to get going. Make up your damn mind.”
“I’ll go,” I say, addressing X rather than Parrish. “Let me slip my shoes on.”
“Don’t you need to change?” Parrish asks, his voice this lofty, annoying condescension that makes me want to scream. I look back at him in his stupid khaki-colored jacket and his designer slip-on sneakers.
“Don’t you?” I retort, because I long ago decided that any friends who can’t accept me because of the clothes I wear are not friends that I’d want in the first place. I slip on a mismatched pair of Converse—one green, one black to match my hair, much to Parrish’s chagrin—and off we go.
I leave my lights off, locking my door before I close it. It’s got one of those little knobs with a hole in it that you can pick from the outside. Once again, I feel a pang of guilt at sneaking out on Tess, and her distraught face flashes in my memory again, but I push it aside. I feel trapped here, suffocated. And there’s always a chance I might see Danyella or Lumen at the party. It’d be nice to have friends here considering my own friends from back home have hardly bothered responding to my texts.
Parrish’s father is in his own office downstairs, while the youngest kids are already asleep. Kimber emerges from the living room as we pause in the entryway, her eyes lifting from her phone to stare at us. As soon as she sees me, her entire demeanor changes.
“You’ll take her to the party, but not me?” she hisses, giving Parrish a dirty look. “Are you insane? I should go ask Mom what she thinks about that.”
“If you rat me out, I will drown you in the pool,” Parrish snaps right back, doing that eye-narrowing thing he likes so much. It’s nice to see it directed at someone who isn’t me. “You’re fucking fourteen. Nobody wants a fourteen-year-old at a party. Go upstairs and play with your dolls.”
“Eat shit, Parrish,” Kimber whispers back at him, her eyes flashing over to me. She almost immediately turns her attention back to her brother, picking up a handful of gold-foil candies from a decorative bowl nearby and chucking them our way. They scatter to the floor, but Parrish ignores them. Of course, he does: because Delphine will likely be the person who has to pick them up.
I pause briefly to bend down and gather the candies up, dumping them back in the bowl while Parrish and Kimber stare at me like I’ve lost my mind and X gives me that mysterious but charming smile of his.
“Come on, Kota,” he says, clearly borrowing my nickname from my sister’s vocabulary. “You can ride shotgun. Parrish, you get the back,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the backseat after kicking the door to the garage open. He gives his friend a meaningful look as I scramble into the front seat of the Jeep Gladiator, gloating and smirking and watching Parrish’s glare follow along for the ride. “Come on, don’t piss me off tonight. I’m your only chance to get out of here without having to walk.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Parrish murmurs back, but he takes the backseat without further complaint.
With a grin, I close the door behind me, the expression fading away as the garage door begins to open behind us and I tense for the crush of reporters. Only … there’s nobody there. I let out a sigh of relief. People move on quick, right? I mean, my kidnapping should be old news already.
“You really don’t like the attention, do you?” X asks, turning the truck around and then heading down the driveway as the ga
te slides open into blissful darkness. No flashing cameras, no recording phones, no shouting people. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Not at all. Who wants to be famous for being kidnapped?” I ask, leaning back in the quiet shadows of the cab. It’s almost like Parrish isn’t there at all. Except … I can almost feel him behind me, pretending to be engrossed in his phone when he’s actually listening to every word. Probably filing them away to use against me later, no doubt.
“Fair point,” X agrees, glancing my way again. He quickly turns his attention back to the road, but not before my mind flickers with his words from the coffee shop. “I’ve got a girlfriend, and she’s pretty awesome so …” Ugh. I ignore that, burying it deep down where it belongs, locked away tight. My sister is the single most important person in the world to me, and I won’t compromise that relationship for anything.
Instead, I turn around so I can look at Parrish.
“Why did you tell me that stuff about Saffron?” I ask, my heart aching for the woman I grew up believing to be my mother. She lost her baby? How? When? Was the child a similar age to me? I never really liked Saffron—Maxine never liked her either for that matter and she really is her kid—but I also felt empathy toward her. She just seemed so fucking sad every time we saw her.
“Because keeping the truth from you is only making things worse,” Parrish snaps back, like I’ve supremely annoyed the shit out of him. He turns away from me toward the window, shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket.
“Just ignore him,” Maxx offers, his words dragging a scoff from Parrish’s perfect lips. “The fact that you were kidnapped as a baby shouldn’t affect your OnlyFans subscriber count.”
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