Last Will and Testament Page 3

  Fortunately, John Burton is the get-down-to-business type. “You’ll be glad to know your parents were in good standing, financially. As per their will, equal shares have been placed in trusts for each of you, which Nancy will control, and which you’ll receive upon turning twenty-one. Your tuition is paid through the semester, and your scholarships and life insurance should help with the rest.”

  At the word scholarships, my stomach clenches, and I instinctively let go of my mug as if even thinking about consuming coffee will make my insides erupt. The merit-based scholarships I’d busted my ass for in high school aren’t going to be renewed next semester, not with my GPA as it stands. If those are necessary for me to continue at Radleigh, I am fucked.

  Then the deeper meaning of the discussion hits me. “Wait, I’m going to back to school? What about…?” I glance at Tyler, who hasn’t said a word, who isn’t even making eye contact with anyone.

  “Your parents would want you to finish, more than anything,” Nancy says quietly. I know she’s right, because when we had this discussion about my becoming the boys’ guardian—this conversation I thought was a joke—they said as much. But still….

  “Ultimately, it’s up to you,” says John.

  “What would happen to my brothers if I went back?”

  “If you agreed to remain their guardian, at least until the hearing determining whether a judge sees you fit, then they would come with you. Nancy’s already spoken to their principal here; she’s been very accommodating.”

  “She says she’s ready to transfer their records to the schools closest to Radleigh as soon as we give her the word,” Nancy adds.

  They go back and forth, sharing more information, but my eyes are strictly on Tyler. He isn’t saying a word, isn’t looking up, isn’t anything. I have no idea what he wants me to do. What I should do. I can barely even take care of myself. What the hell would I do with my brothers? Where would they even sleep? On Cait’s and my floor? Using a pile of shoes as a pillow?

  “What happens if I can’t…if I’m not…you know.” I nod at Tyler.

  “Then we’ll look into alternatives,” says John, but his voice is wholly lacking in confidence. It’s obvious to me as I watch him exchange glances with Nancy that they’ve already done this. There are no real alternatives. There isn’t really a question here.

  Well, just one. “And if I don’t go back? I just…move in here?”

  “Then you’d lose your deposit for the semester, lose your scholarships, and honestly, it’s unlikely you’d ever be able to go back, sweetie,” says Nancy. “You’d get a job, I suppose.”

  It’s both easy and impossible to picture the rest of my life if I choose door number two. With all of a year under my belt, I’d probably end up going back to my old retail job at Banana Republic, at best. Not exactly what Kendall High had anticipated for their former valedictorian, I imagine.

  Or my parents, either.

  “This is so massively fucked-up,” I say without thinking, then immediately regret it when I hear John suck in a breath, and see Nancy’s lips press into a thin line. Then I see the corners of Ty’s lips turn up in a little grin. Totally worth it.

  I take a deep breath, his tiny nothing of a smile giving me confidence. “Okay. So, let’s say we do this. I go back up to school to finish out the semester, and Ty and Max come with me and finish their semester up there?”

  “Exactly,” says John. “You’d have to get an apartment, and a social worker will come and interview you, check out the place, and make sure you have suitable arrangements for the boys.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then it depends on the court. And it depends on Ty.”

  Ty’s head jerks up. “What depends on me?”

  “Well, you’ll be fourteen in December, right?” Ty nods. Our birthdays are a week apart, but I’m the one who has to share with Jesus. “Once you turn fourteen, you’ll have the opportunity to voice your opinion regarding your guardian. If you don’t want your sister as your guardian, you’ll be able to tell the court as such, and your preference will be considered, even though she was named in your parents’ will.”

  “But I don’t get any say now?”

  Ouch. “I’m listening to you, Ty,” I say, fiddling with a strand of long black hair that’s escaped my half-assed ponytail. “I swear. If you don’t want to come up with me, I won’t make you. We’ll figure something out.” It’s an empty, bullshit statement, but I have to say it. We’ve had enough taken from us this week; I can’t take this choice away from him too.

  “Nah, I’ll go. Whatever,” he mutters. “Not like I really wanna stay in this place now.”

  I just nod, but in reality, I’m shocked to hear it. Ty’s a sullen teenager, same as I was—am—but I thought he’d put up more of a fight. He’s got friends, he’s always trying to start a band…he’s got roots here. And unlike me, he’s not trying to yank them out of the ground as swiftly as possible.

  Or maybe he’s more like me than I think.

  We let Ty bike over to his best friend’s house to tell him the news. Then it takes another few hours to discuss bank accounts, the house, and a million other things that require multiple cups of coffee and frown-inducing smoke breaks. John leaves just as it’s time to serve Max lunch—casserole, obviously—and then I get the dubious honor of explaining to Max that in another day or two, he’s going to have a new home.

  “Are we living in your room?” he asks, not sounding concerned. God bless seven-year-olds.

  “I’m gonna get us our own apartment,” I tell him. “Isn’t that fun?”

  He shrugs and takes another bite of his casserole. “Am I gonna have my own room?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie.”

  “Will—”

  “I don’t know,” I say, more forcefully this time. I can’t take any more questions. I can’t take any more unknowns. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know how to make anyone else feel better about my ability to do this when I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail at it as hard as I’m failing at everything else.

  I have to do something. I need to fix my life up at Radleigh, or it’s over. If I lose my scholarships, or my brothers, or both…. I just can’t.

  I need help.

  And there’s only one person I can think of right now who can provide it.

  Two soul-sucking days later, I’m back at Radleigh with my dad’s car and two underage kids in tow. Thanks to Nancy, Max and Ty are enrolled in Sweetwater Elementary and Edmund J. Barrington Junior High, respectively. What used to be my emergency credit card is now my for-everything credit card, with Nancy setting the budget and paying the bills. It’s what I’m using to put the boys and me up in a motel until I can find something more permanent. All of our crap is filling my side of my dorm room, but Cait’s such a pack rat she probably doesn’t even notice.

  All that’s left to take care of right now is making sure I don’t fail out. Which brings me here.

  “You did ask if there was anything you could do,” I remind him.

  Connor Lawson nods, a world of regret etched on his face that almost makes me laugh, except I’m here to ask a rather big favor, and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy who enjoys laughter. Or impertinence. Or much of anything, really. “I did,” he says slowly. “What kind of tutoring did you have in mind?”

  “What kinds of tutoring are there?”

  “Well, are you just looking for some guidance with the research papers, or….” He trails off, obviously hoping I’ll pick door number one.

  “I’ll take whatever will make me not fail this class and lose my scholarship.” Bluntness has always been a strong suit of mine. “And obviously I’ll pay you and stuff. I have money. My parents, they left me money.”

  Connor furrows his brows, drawing attention to the dark-blue eyes beneath them. They’re actually sort of gorgeous, which just gets me annoyed at Frankie for making me contemplate his fuckability. Thankfully, his atrocious corduroy pants are qui
te the ladyboner-killer. “I can’t take payment for any assistance. But I will help you, as I’m able, provided you’re willing to do the work.”

  “I am.” My head bobs up and down as if on marionette strings. “I promise.” My palms are itching for a cigarette, but something tells me Connor won’t appreciate me lighting up in his office. “And I’m pretty flexible. I mean, I’ve got other classes, and I’ve gotta get my brothers home from school and make them dinner and stuff, but, ya know, otherwise.”

  What might be sympathy flashes through his eyes and then is gone. “Why don’t you give me your schedule, and we’ll figure something out.”

  I do, and we make an appointment to meet back in his office on Friday. I used to reserve Fridays for sleeping off hangovers, but I have a feeling I won’t be going to any more Sigma Psi parties anytime soon.

  I’m just about to walk out when Connor calls my name and I turn around. “Where are they? Your brothers, I mean.”

  “Hotel. Well, motel. Looking for a place.” I smile sweetly. “Are you offering to let us move in with you?”

  “I have a friend who’s been trying to sublet a two bedroom for a while now. I’ve been there; it’s decent. If you want his number—”

  “Yes,” I say, far more eagerly than I intend. The thought of potentially not having to go on an actual house hunt is just about the most tempting thing I’ve heard in forfuckingever. “I mean, sure. Please. That’d be great.”

  There’s a hint of a smile on Connor’s lips as he pulls out his cell phone to look up a number, then jots it down for me, along with a name—Alan. “Here you go.” He hands me the note, and I tuck it into my purse. “Hope everything works out for you.”

  “I hope so too. I’ll see you Friday.”

  “Thursday,” says Connor.

  “Didn’t we say Friday?”

  “We did, but you have class tomorrow. Step one to picking your grades up is actually starting to show up. Regularly,” he adds.

  A million snide retorts creep up my tongue but I swallow them down. He’s tutoring me, and he might have found me an apartment; the least I can do is show up to his stupid class when he tells me to. “See you tomorrow, then,” I amend.

  He nods, and turns back to the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing me. Whatever. I got what I came for. Now I just need to see a guy about getting an apartment.

  • • •

  “And this is the bathroom.” Connor’s friend steps aside to gesture into a decent-size space in desperate need of a cleaning and a non-erotic shower curtain. As if I didn’t feel dirty enough from the way he keeps checking out my tits. Next to me, Cait shudders.

  “Who even makes nude Wonder Woman bath accessories?” she murmurs into my ear.

  “I’m guessing the same company that makes the inflatable doll that was poking out from under his bed,” I whisper back as I watch him glance at Cait’s ass. I’m relieved the boys are at school right now, getting tours and introductions and missing out on this fantastic display of male role-model-dom. “Ignoring that, what do you think?”

  “I think your TA has shady friends.”

  It is impossible to imagine that this guy and uptight, fussy Connor Lawson have ever shared airspace. I’m dying to know how they met, but given Connor’s love for personal conversation, I suspect I won’t be learning that anytime soon. “About the apartment. Do you think my brothers will like it?”

  Cait shrugs. “What do boys that age even care about?”

  I try to size up the apartment from my brothers’ perspectives, but Cait has a point—there’s room for a TV and a couch, and plenty enough floor space for Max’s toys. The kitchen’s outdated, but it’ll certainly hold chicken nuggets, hot dogs, and pizza. Having only two bedrooms is a definite downside, but we’re on a strict budget right now while we wait for life insurance to kick in. Plus, it’s a ground-floor garden apartment, and I suspect all of us will appreciate the little patio that’s just through the sliding doors in the living room.

  Speaking of…. “Okay if I smoke on your patio?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Need a light?”

  “I’m good.” I walk outside with Cait and pointedly close the door firmly behind us. “God, he is gross. But I think I’m gonna take it.” I light up, then blow out a stream of smoke, away from Cait. She’s convinced my secondhand smoke is going to destroy her lacrosse skills or something. “They want to send the social worker out as soon as possible, and this place still beats a motel.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re really moving out,” she says glumly, leaning against the brick exterior. “I thought we were gonna be roomies all four years.”

  “I did too, but I’m pretty sure we’ve established that you guys don’t want my brothers as roommates,” I remind her.

  “At least Tyler’s more subtle about checking out my ass than this guy.”

  “This guy’s not living here.” I roll my eyes and take another puff. “It’s a sublet.”

  “He’s keeping a key, though, right?” She wrinkles her nose as I exhale. “What if he randomly stops by and lets himself in?”

  “That’s not gonna happen.” I glance back through the glass doors. Alan’s leering at us. We both shudder and turn back. “Is it?”

  Cait shrugs.

  I inhale once more and grind my cigarette into the flagstone, then push the door open and walk back inside. “I’ll take it,” I announce to Alan. “If you give Connor your set of keys.”

  “But—”

  “Only way I’m making the deal,” I say flatly. “I’ll even let you keep your shower curtain.”

  He grumbles for a bit but goes to get the paperwork while I try to hide my repulsion and pull out my phone.

  Thanks again for the apartment tip, I text Connor. I’m taking it. Though it could use some major de-perving.

  If Connor’s at all amused or even comprehends my message, it doesn’t show in his response. Glad it worked out.

  Rolling my eyes, I tuck my phone back into my jeans pocket.

  I wonder how he’ll feel about having to babysit the keys.

  • • •

  “Elizabeta! Povtoritye, pazhaluysta!”

  I blink. The Russian words are so familiar, but my sleep-deprived brain is having trouble processing them. I was up moving stuff from the motel and dorm into the apartment until 3:00 a.m., and then had to force myself up only four hours later to get the boys fed and over to school.

  Four hours of sleep does not allow for ideal Russian comprehension conditions.

  I’m about to ask her to please repeat when I finally realize that’s exactly what Professor Ivanova was commanding me to do. Unfortunately, now that I understand her actual words, I have no idea what it is I’m supposed to repeat.

  And then, because I was dumb enough to think this was the worst it could get, my phone starts ringing.

  Fucking Cait, I think immediately, but of course, it’s not Cait; it’s Ty’s school, because obviously.

  “Elizabeta!”

  “Izvenitye!” I blurt, dashing outside the classroom even as I excuse myself. I pick up the call with a smooth “Privyet, eta Elizabeta,” because of course now my Russian comes back to me. “Sorry, hi, this is Lizzie. Is Ty okay?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to need you to come in,” a cool, female voice that grates on me instantly declares. “Tyler’s been suspended for the rest of the day.”

  Oh. Come. On.

  “Miss Brandt, there’s no need for yelling.”

  Oh, shit. I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. “Sorry,” I mumble like a scolded teenager, which, oh right, I am. “I’m in the middle of class. Can’t you just keep him in detention or something?”

  “We don’t have detention at this school,” she says, impatience creeping into her voice. “And we have a zero-tolerance policy for fighting.”

  “Tyler was fighting?”

  “Yes, with another boy.”

  “You suspended two boys?”

  She’s
quiet for a moment, and then says, “Miss Brandt, please come pick up your brother. He’ll be waiting for you in the principal’s office.” Then she hangs up.

  “Oh, for….” I shove my phone in my pocket and storm back into my classroom to gather my things. “Izvinitye,” I say again, because I don’t even know what else to say. “Eto moy braht.”

  Thankfully, my teacher, Irina, nods with understanding when I tell her “it’s my brother”—she’s been informed of my situation—and I bolt out with nothing more than a bunch of whispers and stares in my direction.

  Ty’s school is a seven-minute drive from my new apartment. I get there in four.

  “Lizzie.” I can tell Ty’s not sure whether to be panicked or relieved at the sight of me. Honestly, I’m not sure which one he should be either.

  “What happened here, Tyler?” When I get closer, I can see some dried blood under his nose. His cheekbone’s not looking great either. “Where’s the other kid?”

  “In class,” Tyler says with a sniff. “Are we going home?”

  “Not yet.” I push past him and see an icy blonde sitting behind the desk. “Are you the one who called me?”

  “You are…?” She gives me a onceover, taking in my ripped jeans, faded Foo Fighters T-shirt, and, judging by the way she wrinkles her nose, the smoke undoubtedly clinging to every inch of me after my manic post-call chain smoking. I’m guessing my brown skin isn’t winning any points with her, either, especially since Ty and I are totally mismatched in that department; there’s no telling we’re siblings by looking at us.

  “Lizzie Brandt—Tyler Brandt’s sister and guardian,” I say firmly. “I’m going to talk to the principal now.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Oh, please, of course I can.” I storm into the office, but there’s no one inside. I return to the blond bitch’s desk, slamming the door behind me. “Where is he?”

  “If you would have some patience—”

  “No. I have literally none,” I inform her in a voice of steel. “I am eighteen, acting like a single parent while in school, and you have the nerve to pull me out of class to have me pick up my brother when the kid he got into a fight with isn’t even in trouble? What happened to your zero tolerance policy? Or is it just zero tolerance for the kids who don’t have parents to fight their battles?”