Very Bad Things (A Briarcrest Academy Novel)

He chuckled, escorting me to the double glass doors. “Ah, the little bambina is fine, very good. Goes everywhere,” he said, waving his arms around. He dug in the front pocket of his maroon uniform and pulled out a small picture. “See, she is getting big.”

“Oh, she’s such a cutie!” I said, gazing down at the smiling little baby that had tons of glossy black curls. She had a mischievous smile, and I could even see a little tooth poking through on the bottom of her gums. I looked back at Geno’s proud face inquisitively, my eyes searching for what happy looked like, felt like. I gave the photo back, and he smiled shyly and bowed, leaving me at the hostess stand.

“Miss Blakely, please follow me,” said the young girl at the podium.

I followed her into the black-and-silver themed dining area. Yeah, this place was swanky, but I loved it, mostly because it wasn’t a quiet place like most ritzy restaurants. No, at Ricardo’s not only could you hear the pots and pans clanging in the back and the loud Italian’s yelling at each other, but it smelled divine, like warm bread and garlic butter. Sure, I’d much rather be kicking it at Aunt Portia’s, helping her ice some cupcakes, but eating at Ricardo’s was a heavenly experience if Mother was in a good mood. Which I doubted she would be.

She was sitting at a round table by the window, gazing down at the menu, and with the combination of the sun warming her light brown hair and her cream suit, she looked almost angelic. She glanced up as we approached, and I automatically focused on holding my shoulders up and back, gliding over to my seat, despising myself for trying to please her.

The white-gloved waiter pulled out my chair for me, and I sat as fluidly as I could, thinking of myself as a flowing waterfall. If there’d been any posture judges in the place, I would have gotten a ten out of ten.

She’d already ordered me the usual glass of ice water and lime. I took a sip and waited.

She sat her menu down and arched her brow. “You’re ten minutes late which means we’ll have to rush this, Nora.”

I sighed. “Sorry, Mother.”

“I already ordered for you, of course. Chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side,” she said.

I swallowed, thinking about lasagna, spaghetti bolognaise, and fried eggplant. Well, at least the salad came with parmesan cheese. “Sounds wonderful.”

She smiled. “So, how was your time at Portia’s?”

“Perfectly boring,” I replied, staring her straight in the face. Eye contact is a must when telling a lie.

She nodded. “Good. But, when school starts, you’ll have to stay at the house with Mona. Can’t have you slacking on homework and piano.”

“Of course,” I said as the waiter came and sat down our naked salads.

I looked down at my plate and then back at her. “Style of eating?”

She pursed her lips. “Let’s do American today. I believe we did European last time,” she said, picking up her knife and fork.

She watched me as I cut into my grilled chicken and romaine lettuce with my knife in my right hand and the fork on my left. Once I had a piece ready to eat, I carefully sat my knife down horizontally in the twelve o’clock position on the bowl, then switched my fork to my right hand and took a bite, elbows close to the table. Perfection.

She smiled. “Did Lina pick out your dress?”

I looked down at my Tory Burch green maxi dress. It was a bit more risqué than I usually wore. “Yes, she emailed me a list of new outfits to get for school. Mila and I picked this one up at Nordstrom’s.” I rubbed the jersey knit. “Lina said you’d approved the list. Is . . . is it okay?”

“It’s tasteful although more low-cut than I like. Either way, it’s much better than that horrible yellow thing you wore to registration, but we aren’t going to talk about that.” She delicately wiped her mouth.

“Of course.” I took a sip of water.

We spent the next few minutes in silence with our only sounds being our utensils as they scraped against the fine china. I knew she was finished when she sat down her silverware in the 10:20 position. I did the same.

She took a deep breath. “Now, about Princeton. Your application needs to be mailed by October first. I hope you’ve started your essays?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Your father scheduled your admissions interview the first week of November, so you’ll need to clear your schedule of commitments two weeks before so you can practice. Lina will be arranging for a coach to come to the house to help.”

I nodded. With only 7.9% of applicants being accepted each fall, even with my exemplary SAT scores, I’d need an edge. That’s where she came in, pulling strings to get me an unheard of interview. It didn’t hurt that my father had attended Princeton as well.

Mother said, “I’ll be staying downtown this weekend but once the new station director gets settled in, I’ll be home more.” She smiled. “Mona will be there, and Lina will pop in to check on you this weekend.”

I sighed. A housekeeper and a personal assistant. “What about Dad?”

“No, he’s busy,” she said, not elaborating.

The smell of a fried cannoli drifted across to us as a waiter walked by. I inhaled deeply.

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