Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Harriet sweeps me. “Go home, Friend.” She says it rather unconvincingly.
I smile at her, then draw my gaze back to my phone as Audrey lets out a breathy whine. “Ben. It’s so very unfair. They’re all together in New York. They didn’t need to take you too.”
“They haven’t kidnapped me, Audrey. Hey, look at this.” I flip the camera and crane over toward Breakfast at Tiffany’s on the projector screen just as Audrey Hepburn sits in a cab while rain splashes the windows. “Isn’t that cool? It’s like you’re here with me.”
“She looks as forlorn as I feel.” Audrey Hepburn is seconds away from crying, and as I frame the camera back on my face, I realize my sister Audrey is too.
“Audrey—”
“I hate being the youngest,” she cries into a hiccup like she’s trying to suppress the waterworks. She wipes them fast, but it’s gutting me seeing them stream more silently down her cheeks. “The house is too quiet without you.”
You’ll be okay without me. She has to be.
“I’ll be back for a Wednesday Night Dinner,” I promise. I wasn’t planning on skipping those, even if the idea of facing our parents twists my stomach. It’s better to stay the course and act like nothing is wrong. If I skip a bunch of Wednesdays, it’ll sound the alarms. Ben isn’t okay! What’s going on with Ben?!
Don’t need that.
I typically always go to these dinners for Audrey, so that can’t change yet.
Keeping anything from our parents takes mental gymnastics none of us can land for too long. They’re certified geniuses with high IQs, and they consume knowledge like it’s the foundation of the food pyramid.
They know how to pull truths out of us—or they already see the answers before we’ve confessed. I’ve wondered if my parents already know I’m broke, but they don’t have access to my bank accounts. They believe in our autonomy and independence, and they wouldn’t invade our privacy in that way.
“I hope so,” Audrey says with a breathy sigh. “Theodore!” She calls out for the cockatiel, then sighs heavier. “He never listens to me.”
“He loves you.”
“No, I think he misses you most of all.”
A weight sinks in my lungs. “You’ll take care of him,” I assure her.
“Of course I will.” She lifts her chin. “I am the world’s best bird-sitter.”
“He’s yours now,” I remind her. “It’s more than just bird-sitting.”
She looks away, trying to control the sudden brimming tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for crying.”
“I’m not trying to make this harder on you—well, actually I am,” she says, and I laugh while she continues, “I just really miss you, Ben. And it’s been days.”
“A day,” I correct.
Her chin trembles. “I will be okay.” She blows her nose in a monogrammed handkerchief. “Because I’m a Cobalt, and we are built to withstand everything.”
I give her a few big nods, that statement not sitting as confidently inside me as it is within her. After we say our goodbyes in French, we hang up, and I shove my phone in my pocket.
Harriet has questions in her eyes. She shifts the Jolly Rancher slowly in her mouth with her tongue, then says, “Wishing you never transferred to MVU?”
It’s not what I thought she’d ask. “Going back to Philly didn’t even cross my mind,” I say honestly. “So I’d say no.” Then I nod to her, “What’s going on with the forehead, Friend?” It’s still red as fuck, and I didn’t forget where our conversation ended.
She bites down on the hard candy and rotates her bracelet on her wrist. “I busted my ass in that class, and now I have to retake it.” Her eyes tighten, more upset. “Which could set me back for applying to med school if I can’t stack certain courses together or if some aren’t offered in the right semesters. It’s just another roadblock, and I’m tired of those.”
Pre-med. I can’t imagine how intense and arduous the path to becoming a doctor is. I haven’t even declared my major yet. I’m not striving for a specific career. It’s not like I’ve been great at anything other than hockey.
“You don’t want to pack it all up and become a drummer?”
“Like that’s any easier,” she mutters, pulling a bracelet off her wrist, just to put it on the other.
I scrape my hand across the back of my neck, then bow toward her. “Maybe there’s a bright side to this.”
She looks interested. “I’m listening.”
“I have the same core requirements for humanities,” I tell her. “Why don’t we take the same class?”
“Take…the same class?” she repeats like I’m speaking French.
“Yeah,” I nod. “If the course you need is filled, I’ll go to the dean and get us in it. They’ll usually pull strings for Cobalts.”
Her face draws into a confused wince. “What the hell do you get out of it?”
“I don’t have to suffer through a humanities course alone. I like taking classes with friends.” I tip my head in thought. “And I get to help you.”