Bastards and Scapegoats Page 11

  “See you tomorrow, Vera,” Hamilton called, loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear. It was like he wanted people to know.

  I nodded politely, my lips fixed in a tight smile.

  Just before we got to the front table where a positively political Joseph was politely smiling, Mom pulled me off to the side. “Are you trying to punish me? Is that what’s going on, Vera?” she asked in a hysterical whisper while side-eyeing the room. “I know that I hurt your delicate feelings last weekend, but I thought you were going to stay away from Hamilton, not disappear with him for forty-five minutes doing God knows what. I raised you better than this. You start college next week. Now is not the time to start going crazy and sleeping around. You cannot seriously be this selfish.”

  She didn’t look at me as she spoke, her gaze too busy watching the room to make sure that no one was eavesdropping on us. “I was doing nothing. I seriously don’t understand why you’re upset,” I lied.

  Mom exhaled and parted her mouth, giving me a determined, speculative glare. She then reached up and spun one of my fallen strands of hair on her finger, her expression turning scarily calm. “I wasn’t going to tell you this. I know how sensitive you are, dear, but you must know. Hamilton has been trying to ruin this family ever since his mother died.” Her voice was a gossipy whisper.

  “What?” I sputtered.

  “You heard me. He planted drugs in Joseph’s locker in high school and got him suspended. He also tries to ruin every public event with some sort of scandal. I mean, he had an orgy at our wedding, Vera.” She looked around. “He’s got some sort of vendetta. Joseph thinks he’s just jealous. Jack’s always been close to Joseph. They have more in common, you know? Hamilton is a selfish, self-absorbed asshole. You need to be careful.”

  “Why would he try to ruin his family? What did Joseph and Jack do?” I asked.

  Mom tilted her chin up and inhaled. “My husband and Jack have done nothing to deserve this behavior.” Her haughty tone made me pause. “Apparently poor Jack has spent his entire life covering up Hamilton’s mistakes.”

  I absorbed her words and shook my head absentmindedly. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem—”

  “You’re so naïve, Vera.” Mom rolled her eyes, making me cringe. “Maybe I’ve done you a disservice by protecting you from the evils of the world all these years. I didn’t want you to grow up too fast. I wanted you to enjoy being a child, something I wasn’t allowed. But you can’t live in la la land anymore, baby. Hamilton is bad news. He wants to bring down our family, and he sees you as the weakest link. You don’t think he actually likes you, do you? He’s ten years older than you, and according to Joseph, he could have any woman he wants. You’re just a stepping stone.”

  There was a lot of cruelty to unpack in her statement. I might not have had a difficult childhood, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t exposed to the horrors of the world. What about all the times we had to split meals off the dollar menu because we were afraid that we wouldn’t make rent? What about Child Services constantly dropping in unexpectedly to check in on us?

  And as far as being wanted by Hamilton, that was already an insecurity I was dealing with. I knew in my gut that someone like him couldn’t possibly want me. And hearing it from my mother made that wound fester deep in my soul.

  “Do not talk to him anymore, Vera. I’ve asked you nicely, but now I’m telling you. I’m still your mother, and my husband is the one paying for your college. Joseph doesn’t like it when we associate with his brother. I mean, gosh, he works on an oil rig. He’s going nowhere in life. Jack resents him. Why would you want to spend time with such a loser?”

  “Jack invites Hamilton to dinner every week,” I replied, my voice too loud. “That doesn’t sound like a man who resents his son.”

  “Jack is too soft,” Mom replied. It didn’t sound like her, though. It felt like regurgitated words she was brainwashed to repeat.

  “Is there a problem here?” Joseph asked. I hadn’t even noticed him approach. Mom rolled her shoulders back and held her stomach with her hand, smiling blindingly at him.

  “Not at all, honey. Vera and I were just talking about your brother. I just think it would be wise for her to stay away from him, you know?”

  Joseph nodded while tugging at the lapels of his jacket. He looked bright and handsome, his green eyes glimmering under the lights of the chandelier. My stepfather was put together, his suit tailored to perfection. But all that perfection didn’t feel authentic. It felt like a mask. “Ah. Yes. Hamilton is somewhat of a problem in our family. It’s sad, really. But it’s not a conversation for right now.” Joseph eyed me, his cold gaze sending shivers through my body. “I just want you to be safe. I’m glad your mother told you. Trouble follows Hamilton wherever he goes.” I felt it in my gut, that this didn’t feel right. It felt like a politician’s lie, a tool used to make his opponent look bad. But what was Joseph’s platform? What was he fighting for? Joseph let out a shaky exhale, then forced his face into a smile.

  “I never got to tell you congratulations, Joseph,” I said, changing the subject. Mom beamed, happy to be discussing how fucking wonderful her husband was. I was starting to get a Stepford wives vibe from her, and I was not liking it.

  He preened. “Well, thank you. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I’m very excited for this new role. I hope I can do it justice. Also, good luck with school next week. I looked at your schedule. I had some of the same professors as you. Be sure to sit in the front row of Doctor Bhavsar’s class and she’ll love you forever.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Why the fuck had he been looking at my schedule? It wasn’t really his business, was it?

  “Also, I used to work at the library. I can put in a good word for you. Dad mentioned you didn’t like the internship opportunity,” he continued. I pinned my lips shut, thankful that Jack didn’t tell Joseph about our argument. “It’s a great job to have. I basically got paid to study. You wouldn’t imagine the things I saw on the night shift.”

  I nodded and swallowed. “That would actually be great. I’d like to work for some spending money. I appreciate the apartment and everything else, but I still want to work.”

  “I knew I liked you,” Joseph said with a grin. “You’re definitely a Beauregard. You could easily have everything handed to you, and yet you want to work. It’s admirable. This country was built by men and women like us.”

  His words made me feel icky. I couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe I just didn’t like politicians.

  I knew that I needed to make more of an effort with Joseph. I still had a lot of questions and concerns, but it was important that I try. I took a step forward, my arms stretched open for a congratulatory hug, but Joseph held his hand up. “Hold that thought, can you hug me over there by the flag so we can have a photo taken? It’ll look great for the press release.”

  “Oh. Um. Sure,” I whispered before swallowing anxiously. This was the problem with Joseph; his life was a stage, and everyone had a role to play. Something told me that Hamilton was cast as the villain to make Joseph look better. I just couldn’t prove it—yet.

  12

  I smoothed my skirt and twisted my long hair into a bun. Little Mama was snoring and snoozing in her brand new, plush dog bed in the corner of my bedroom. She liked her beauty sleep early in the morning; otherwise, I would have made her go on a jog with me to work off the anxious energy in my veins. I didn’t even like running, but I had all this anxiety with nowhere to go.

  Today was the first day of school.

  Babysitting Little Mama was good for dulling my nerves. Hamilton ended up catching an earlier flight to work, so Jess brought her by and gave me the rundown on all Little Mama’s quirks and needs. I probably took the poor dog on five walks yesterday just so I could get the buzz out of my bones.

  I couldn’t quite figure out the source of my turmoil. Was it from my mistake with Hamilton in the storage closet, or was it from the fear of not fitting in
at my new university?

  Something told me it was both.

  Everything about Greenwich University contradicted my vision for college. It felt like a fancy prep school with elite expectations.

  My morning class was Philosophy, and I kept anxiously checking my messenger bag to make sure I had all the right textbooks for the day. I loved the feel of a fresh start. I loved the idea of being somewhere new and exciting, but this was tainted with the Beauregard legacy. Joseph jokingly reminded me that everyone who was worth knowing was well-informed that a Beauregard was now attending Greenwich. He made it sound like he expected me to wear the privilege like a fine fur coat. I wanted to blend, not be held to standards I didn’t understand yet. I was still Vera Garner—not Vera Beauregard. And I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to carry the burden of his name.

  I laced up my combat boots and tugged at my black skinny jeans. My white shirt was simple and crisp. I tucked it into my jeans and finished off the outfit with a Gucci belt. I tied my hair up in a bun and swiped some mascara and blush on before deciding that it didn’t matter how I looked today.

  My phone pinged.

  Hamilton: Testing. Am I still blocked?

  Me: No. I unblocked you this morning.

  Hamilton: How is my favorite girl doing?

  I blushed and hovered my fingers over the keys.

  Me: I’m fine. Nervous about the first day of school.

  Hamilton’s response was immediate.

  Hamilton: I was asking about Little Mama…

  I giggled to myself and rolled my eyes as another text came through.

  Hamilton: You’re going to be amazing.

  Hamilton: What are you wearing?

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment while staring at his message. I knew he was just taunting me—distracting me for his own selfish benefit. I turned on the camera and took a quick mirror selfie before sending it to him.

  My phone started ringing as soon as my message said delivered.

  “You’re way too beautiful, you know that?” he said the moment I answered.

  “You’re way too obnoxious, you know that?” I replied. I was finding it hard not to smile.

  “Have you ever genuinely accepted a compliment, Vera?” Hamilton whispered. “I mean really basked in the fact that someone truly found you to be painfully beautiful and wonderful and fucking perfect?”

  I thought over his question. “No,” I admitted. “I’m not good at compliments.”

  “Let’s practice then, hmm? Vera Garner, you are the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. You have the most kissable lips, and I could devour them all day. You just sent me a fully clothed photo, and I’m hard as a rock. You’ve got me fisting my cock at eight in the morning on a Monday, Petal.” I breathed out, too stunned for words. “Now I want you to say thank you. And then go kick today’s ass.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Bye, Petal.”

  “Goodbye, Hamilton.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before shaking my head free of the spell Hamilton had put on me. What was it about Hamilton that managed to ease my worries while causing them at the same time?

  The lecture hall was large and intimidating. The moment I strolled through the imposing double doors, my heart felt like it had crawled up my throat.

  Greenwich University was very overwhelming. Every person on campus was designer. Designer bag, designer clothes, shoes. Hell, even designer breeding. There wasn’t a single flaw. It was like an entire race of supermodel humans roamed the grounds, clutching their expensive cell phones and chatting about taking the private jet to their daddy’s private island. Symmetrical faces. Slim bodies. Smooth skin. Many of them looked like they got plastic surgery as a gift for their high school graduation.

  I felt so incredibly out of place that it made me sick. Even though Jack’s team of personal stylists made sure I looked the part of a Greenwich University freshman with more money than God, I still felt like an outsider. This wasn’t me.

  I eyed an open seat at the front of the room and made my way over to it. This was the class Joseph warned me about. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that was informed of Dr. Bhavsar’s preference for students who sit in the front, because the last rows in the auditorium were completely empty, and there was barely any room in the first two. It looked like a few students were debating whether or not to sit on the floor at her podium. I was surprised I managed to find a spot at all.

  I sat down, then pulled out my journal and a pen before shoving my new designer tote on the floor at my feet. There were still ten minutes before class was set to start, so I took the time to look around. Some groups of students were gossiping. Most were playing on their phone or their laptop. I realized that I was the only person in the room who didn’t have a MacBook on their desk. Was it a requirement? I didn’t even own a fucking MacBook.

  “A traditionalist, yeah?” a smooth masculine voice asked beside me. I twisted in my seat to look at him and licked my lips. He was handsome. Polished. Tall. He barely fit in the auditorium seat, the fold out desk pressing against his muscular thighs. He had to be over six feet tall, though I couldn’t really tell since he was sitting down. His torso was long and built. His eyes were a deep blue, and his clean-shaven face was chiseled and strong.

  “Huh?” I asked, feeling lame.

  “You handwrite your notes? Too cool for modern technology?” he asked.

  I chuckled. “No. Just unprepared. I have a desktop at my apartment, but I didn’t think to bring a laptop to class. I already get distracted easily, so it hadn’t even occurred to me to bring one. I’d probably end up surfing the internet during lecture.”

  The guy looked around. “What do you think all these people are doing?” he asked before nodding at a guy toward the back. “He’s probably looking at porn.” He then stared at a girl chewing on the edge of her pencil and scrolling through web pages. “She’s shopping with her daddy’s credit card for some new shoes—and I don’t mean her real daddy. I mean the guy she’s fucking.”

  “Kinky,” I replied with a laugh. “And what about you?”

  He pulled out his MacBook and opened it up, revealing a Word document. “I’m transcribing the lecture with my dictation tool. This program records the professor’s voice and writes the notes for me. I’m in a frat, and a lot of my brothers like to skip class. We sometimes take turns transcribing so we all have the notes. Sometimes this program sucks though because it picks up everything that’s said. You have to weed through the useless bullshit, but it works well enough.”

  “Do you sell your notes to your fellow frat brothers?” I asked with a smirk.

  “I cannot confirm nor deny that I charge for my services. I’m not necessarily hurting for money, but I do like to make them squirm. Especially around midterm season. I will never understand why they think cramming for a test is going to work.”

  I grinned before holding out my hand. “I’m Vera,” I said with a smile.

  He took my hand, and I felt small in his warm grip. “Jared,” he replied. “Are you a freshman?”

  “Yep. First day of school. It’s a little intimidating. I’m not even sure where my next class is.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I have a weakness for pretty girls that like to handwrite their notes. What’s your next class?”

  I blushed before tucking a hair behind my ear. Was he flirting with me or just being nice? “Feminism and Social Justice with Dr. Eva Yanukovich.” I pulled out my planner to double-check that was actually where I was supposed to go. “I’m going to school for social work,” I then quickly explained. My schedule was full of unique classes that I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into. One of my favorite things about college was getting to learn more about the subjects that genuinely interested me, and I loved studying people and society.

  “Yanukovich also teaches my Paradoxes of War class,” Jared replied excitedly. “She’s seriously a genius.”

  My mouth dropped
open. “Lucky! I was waitlisted for that class! I swear her thesis on Classical Sociological Theory changed my life.”

  Jared grinned. “Sociology minor?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Nah. I’m fascinated by sociology, though. I’ve pretty much filled up all my electives with Yanukovich lectures.”

  Jared nodded and licked his lips. “I think we’re going to get along very well, Vera.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek and shifted in my seat. Jared was handsome and intellectually on my level. It was rare I found someone as excited about class as me. He tossed smoldering looks my way, rendering me nearly speechless.

  But I couldn’t help the little thought in my mind that he wasn’t Hamilton. Not even close.

  The front door opened, and in walked a woman wearing kitten heels, a cheetah print skirt, and a button-down black blouse. She had black hair tied up in a bun and round glasses. “Okay, class. Let’s get started.” She pulled down the projector screen and flipped off the lights. Jared shifted in his seat, brushing his arm against mine. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence by going over the syllabus. You’re more than capable of reading the thorough description of my expectations in the packet I emailed last week. We’re going to dive right into one of my favorite philosophical topics.”

  The screen flickered on to a single quote. “You,” Dr. Bhavsar said to a slender brunette girl seated four chairs away from me. “Read it.”

  The girl cleared her throat before speaking. “Those who tell the stories rule society.”

  “You,” Dr. Bhavsar said while nodding at another student. “Tell me what this quote means.”

  He looked around the room nervously before answering her. “The stories we tell have the power to control our realities,” he answered.

  “What a beautiful textbook answer. I believe you read that on page fourteen, did you not?” He nervously nodded. “Stories are essential to building perception, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot function as a society without them. And he who tells the story, controls the narrative.” She licked her lips and clicked the next slide. “Stories help us make sense of the world around us, but they can also be dangerous. In many ways, stereotypes were created by irresponsible storytelling. Tell me a quality about yourself, and I can tell you a story that the world has assigned you. Most of the time, they aren’t even true. But again, those who tell the stories rule society. And there are many people in positions of power who profit off irresponsible narratives.