place. He can barely manage his own life, much less an entire empire.
It threw Houston’s philanthropic community into a tailspin and created enough uncertainty to send the Rivers family’s business, Kingdom, stock value into free fall.
Fortunes have been lost or greatly reduced in the last few weeks, and my mother is viewed as the person who knocked over the first domino.
I came back to campus after the funeral and learned the hard way that being her son, too small, and way too smart for my age, was a triple curse.
Life at Blackwell turned into a game of survival. During the day, I had to be on constant alert for pranks and traps my bullies set. I couldn’t focus enough to study. I got a C on the first exam I took after the funeral and it scared the hell out of me.
The school had been hesitant to admit a student as young as me. Despite my test scores and performance on the assessments they gave me, it took funding the library’s endowment and my stepfather’s clout to convince them. With him gone, I'm afraid they’ll kick me out of here so fast, my head will spin.
I can’t afford to let that happen. Not just for my sake. But for my two younger brothers as well. I’m the only responsible person in their lives now. My mother will ruin them, just like she ruins everything else she touches. The sooner I graduate, the sooner I can take care of them. When I walk into the kitchen, she’s sitting at the counter with a plate full of biscuits and two glasses of milk in front of her.
“Come on, sit down. I want you to try these. I created the recipe myself.”
“Okay...” I wasn’t expecting her to feed me, but I’m glad. I’m too busy watching my back to actually eat anything at mealtime.
Most of the kids come back to school with care packages or get them regularly from home. I don’t have anything like that, and I usually go to bed hungry. I sit down and pick up one of the tender, golden biscuit looking things and examine it.
“Looks weird. What is it?”
“It’s a scone.” She says scone like she’s saying diamond.
I frown at her. “Looks like a biscuit.”
She presses a finger to my lips, her eyes wide with alarm “Hush, before you hurt its feelings. Taste what it’s made of, then you’ll know why it’s special.”
I cast her a skeptical look but bite the biscuit thing before she starts talking about it like it's a human being again. It’s as light as air, and practically melts on my tongue. I groan, my eyes roll heavenward. The butter, ginger, lemon and sugar are like biting into sunshine.
“I knoooow,” she croons.
I nearly choke on my biscuit. She’s smiling wide, even though she’d said she couldn’t. But yesterday when I said it, she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. So, I keep the thought to myself and take another bite of scone, intending to play it cool this time.
But I can’t.
It’s just too delicious.
“These flavors together -this is alchemy,” I exclaim and then bite my tongue. I know how my vocabulary annoys people.
Her eyebrows raise up and she smiles down at me, something like pride shining in her eyes.
“Alchemy? That’s a great word. How does it feel to be so incredibly smart?”
My stomach knots and I don’t want to talk about this, not with her. I shrug. “I’m only kinda smart, but mainly I read a whole lot.”
She smiles “I know you don’t think it’s great now but when you’re older, you’ll be so glad--”
“Yeah, obviously.” I hate how people seem to like telling how much I’ll love being me when I’m an adult. But that doesn’t make it feel better right now. I want to be normal.
Embarrassed by attention and not wanting to say anything else, I grab the glass of milk and wash down the rest of the scone.
She hops off the stool she’s perched on and walks over to the huge cabinet and starts taking out bowls and baking sheets. “It’s not so bad to be misunderstood and ahead of your time …Jesus, Jane Austen, Malcolm X, Winnie Mandela - they were all revolutionaries who were ahead of their time. People thought they were weird, chased them, teased them, rejected them. But they didn’t stop. And neither will you.”
“I won’t?” I ask absently. I’m mesmerized by the economy and precision of her movements as she lays out