behind the wheel?” She peers over my shoulder. Her tone is light, but I know she knows who he is. She’s a damn good liar.
“My cousin Antony. He’s a complete pain.” I glare at him, and he drives away. I know he’s just going to circle the block and sit outside, but George doesn’t.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulls me inside. “When you called I was worried something had happened with Alec.”
I force a smile. “No. Not Alec. That bastard has been sent to reform school in Poland. He’s out of our lives forever.”
“And nothing else is up?”
“Nope.” Except that I need you and Eli to stop whatever you’re up to so I can protect you from whatever the fuck Antony and Nero have planned. “I’m just missing my girl time.”
“Yay, me too. I feel like we haven’t hung out much lately. So, this is our place. I’ve lived here all my life. It doesn’t have a turret or an indoor bowling alley like Malloy Manor, but I like it.” George bounds up the steps onto a small patio crowded with flowering plants and dangling crystals. She holds open the kitchen screen door for me. “I dug out some more clothes from the thrift store to show you.”
As I enter the kitchen, a woman glances up from wiping down the counters. She looks like she could be George’s older, less-wacky sister, with the same pixie-shaped face, cropped hairstyle, and brilliant green eyes. She wears a cream-colored maxi dress and leather sandals, a feather necklace, and a frown that deepens when she recognizes me.
“Hi, Mackenzie.” She leans over the counter and sizes me up. “I’m Anne-Maree. It’s nice to see you again.”
That look gets my back up, and I’m ready to snap back at her before I realize what’s happening here. Mackenzie used to be friends with Cleo, and the two of them bullied George in junior prep. Of course we did. That’s what girls like us do to girls like George.
I assume that all kids keep their problems locked away in heart-shaped boxes the way I do. But not George. George is an open book, the pages covered in bold scribbles. Her mother knows Mackenzie bullied her daughter because George would have spilled her guts every day after school, and now that same girl is back in her daughter’s life as a so-called friend. George may have decided she’s forgiven me, but that didn’t mean Anne-Maree Fisher had.
Okay, wow. So that’s what parental love looks like.
I’d forgotten.
Daddy always says that love will be your boldest strength and your greatest weakness. Anne-Maree Fisher wears her love with all the ferociousness of a lioness. My heart aches as I shove back memories of my parents that threaten to overwhelm me. I need to focus on George tonight. This might be my last chance.
“Hi, Anne-Maree.” I look around the faded kitchen with the crystals and rattan planters hanging in the window, the large spice rack shaped like a tree and filled with ingredients I’d never heard of, and the bright-blue refrigerator bulging under the weight of concert posters and sketches and takeout menus and tarot cards stuck to it with magnets shaped like David Bowie’s head. “I love your house.”
Anne-Maree nods, but I can tell from her eyes that she thinks I’m bullshitting. I’m not. I’ve only a foot in the kitchen door and already their house feels warmer, more comfortable, more homely, than anywhere I’ve ever lived. And that’s with Anne-Maree’s frosty reception.
“So… Mackenzie, George is telling me you started at Stonehurst this year. It must be hard to catch up at a new school after so much time away.”
George shoots her mom a look, and a wordless exchange indicates that I’ve been a topic of conversation in this house before. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that kids sure can be monsters, but George is safe now that the biggest monster of them all is on her side.
“I’m managing. I’m working with a tutor, and my friend Noah is helping me.”
“Mom, are there any snacks?” George opens the fridge. I peer over her shoulder, noticing a lot of kale and microgreens.
“Sure. There are buckwheat muffins and activated cashew nut bites in the cupboard.” Anne-Maree slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’m off. I’ll be staying over at Paul’s tonight. There’s money on the counter for pizza – remember, Raphael’s does that great cauliflower crust you love. Call me if you have any problems.” She shoots me a