The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,14
My test scores were barely above average, and my grades weren’t good enough, the headmaster said, and they couldn’t make exceptions. My community theater accolades and national youth screenwriting awards weren’t enough to gain admission.
Clyde Hill was nearly one hundred and fifty years old and a feeder into all the Ivys. At night, Clyde Hill looked majestic and impressive, like Hogwarts, but without the magic.
But back to the wig.
Damn it.
“You want it back?” Nate dangled the wig enclosed in a gallon-size ziplock bag. Wincing hard, he added, “My little sister messed with it. I’m so sorry. She was trying to give it bangs. I can pay for it if you want.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” I chirped. “Thanks for bringing it today. Sorry if it scared you.” I unsealed the bag and airlifted the tangled wad of hair. Holy hell, it was so matted and hacked up that I couldn’t tell which way was the front anymore. “I like the glitter, and the, um, chunks of missing hair.” I smiled. “Very grotesque, in a good way.” Peering closer, I saw that the avant-garde hairstylist had tried to make bangs for the front and the back. “Glittery pink doesn’t go with my camo look, but maybe I’ll wear it next time. How old is she, by the way?”
“My sister? She’s five. There’s an eleven-year gap.” He paused. “She was an accident.”
“Five’s a cute age. I bet she’s a cute accident.” I remembered kindergarten as being one of the best times of my life: new school, new backpack, new outfits. Both parents hugging me and sending me off to class.
He snorted. “Lucy’s stubborn and throws tantrums like it’s a requirement for survival, but yeah, when she’s not a pain in the ass, she’s pretty cute.” Nate nibbled his bottom lip. “Um, in case this happens again, maybe you can give me your phone number so I can consult you about which glitter glue color she uses next time?”
He took a step closer and focused his gaze on my face. He had these magnetic, dark-brown eyes that made my knees go wobbly.
How could I explain to him that the phone my dad gave me was collecting dust on my desk because it was the property of his company? Dad could (and did) monitor my location and recorded my calls, so I stopped carrying the phone around. He was more overprotective now than ever before. The iron security gates, surveillance cameras, the GPS tracking. A teenager raised by a single, career-obsessed father who was CEO at a security technology company. Lucky me.
“Um, let me get your number instead.” Think of something, think of something. “I’m getting a new phone. We’ve moved around a lot because of my dad’s work, and I wanted to get a 206 Seattle number. I swear I’ll input your number into my phone once I buy it. It’s on my to-do list this week.” With a stammer, I added, “Y-you’ll be the first new number I enter, so congratulations.” My plan was to get one of those burner phones that drug dealers and pimps used. One that Dad couldn’t trace. I’d seen it in movies.
Nate pulled a business card from his back pocket. “Cool. Here’s my number and email.” A matte black card with sans serif font on the front. Nate Kim, Entrepreneur. His contact info was on the back.
“How many of these have you given out?”
He shrugged. “Uh, you’re the only one. I won them as part of the grand prize of the city’s Young Inventors contest.”
My eyes bulged. “You’re an inventor? Wow!”
A wide grin spread across his face. “Well, sort of. I like to take ideas and make them better. Like, you know how toilet seats are heated in Japan and Korea?”
I shook my head.
“Okay, maybe it’s not a well-known fact. Anyway, I invented one for the U.S. market, and it uses a long-lasting, partial-solar-powered battery that you can charge outside. It’s still glitchy with limited variable heating functionality. By that I mean, it has an on-and-off switch, and that’s it. You can choose between a heated or not-heated bottom.”
“I didn’t know you had so much passion for toilets,” I teased.