I sigh in relief. “That was close.”
When his car becomes a tiny dot in the rearview, I finally consider it safe to loosen my tie and undo the top two buttons of my blouse. Despite it being the twenty-first century, the academy still requires us to wear a uniform, which Mia deems an infringement of our human rights. For girls, it’s a gray skirt with black thigh-high stockings, a purple tartan tie, and a matching gray blazer with the Stonybridge logo emblazoned on the right breast pocket. Everyone takes liberties with their uniform, though. When your parents are paying eye-watering fees, the administration can’t complain. Mia’s skirt barely skimsher ass, and she’s sewn bright patches onto her blazer jacket to give it extra pops of color. My parents prefer that I stick to the strict requirements.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but your dad seriously gives me the creeps,” Mia says. She’s not the only one. “Maybe it’s because of what he does. What do you think it’s like spending all day with psychopaths?”
Dad is the lead psychiatrist at Sunnycrest Asylum. Contrary to the name, the place is anything but sunny. It houses the most unstable under twenty-fives in the country. There was an uproar when he first opened the facility. People were terrified that the patients would break out and cause carnage. However, he’s since won the respect of the community by making generous donations to the mayor’s office, school, and hospital, to name a few. As long as the money keeps flowing, everyone is happy to ignore how we’re living so close to violent criminals.
“He enjoys his job,” I reply impassively.
“Anyway, the party…” Mia changes the subject.
I groan. When she has an idea in her head, she’s relentless.
“I already told you I can’t go,” I say. “What if my parents find out? They’ll never let me leave the house again.”
“They don’t have to find out,” she says. “Look, I have it all planned out. You can tell them that you’re studying late at mine and stay over. You can even say my mom is helping by giving you tips for the concert.”
Mia’s mom is a world-famous pianist and also one of the nicest women I’ve ever met. She’s warm, open, and friendly, just like her daughter. She doesn’t yell when the bed isn’t made right or the laundry isn’t put away, and doesn’t believe that eating a whole tub of ice cream is a cardinal sin.
“What if my dad finds out I lied?”
“He won’t,” she says. “It’ll be so much fun.”
I wish I shared her confidence. Dad has an uncanny way of finding out things you try to hide—probably because he spends all day raking through the darkest depths of people’s minds.
“Even if your plan did work, I have nothing to wear.”
“Puh-lease!” She laughs. “I have enough clothes to fill an entire shopping mall. You can borrow something. It’ll be fun. You haven’t stayed over in ages!”
“Your clothes are a little…” I struggle to find the right word. I love her, but Mia’s outfits consist of an obscene amount of sequins and neon. They complement her gorgeous black skin, but against my pale Casper-like complexion, I’ll look like a washed-out zombie. “Bright?”
“I’m sure I have something in the back of my closet that gives off a tortured poet vibe,” she teases.
“I’m not a tortured poet!”
“Whatever you say, Mrs. Poe.” She winks. “People are intrigued by you. You go to school, go to classes, and go home. Do you know how many people ask me about you?”
“People already know the most interesting thing about me. My sister’s missing,” I say. “That’s all anyone is curious about.”
“Not Nate,” she says. “Didn’t you see how he looked at you?”
Nate’s popular. He can’t seriously be showing an interest in someone like me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as my mind wanders to what it would feel like to kiss him. Aside from a few games of spin the bottle in seventh grade, I’ve never kissed a boy—let alone had a boyfriend. Sarah was the one who all the guys flocked to.
I bite my lip, weighing up Mia’s plan. “I don’t know about this.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll get grounded?” she asks. “That’s no different from usual. You hardly left the house all summer. The party will be so much more fun if you come along. I need you!”
“You go to parties on your own all the time,” I point out.
“But I don’t want to.” She pouts. “I want you to be there. And if you’re not having fun, then I promise we can leave, okay? Pinkie swear.”
“I’m not sure my dad will buy the excuse,” I say.
“Oh, he will!” she says, then puts on her best British accent. While she hasn’t inherited her mom’s innate musical ability, Mia’s a budding actress and can impersonate her mother perfectly. “I’m teaching Erin everything I know. She’ll be the best pianist at the concert, after she’s had a night of partying and sucking face with?—”
I laugh. “I’m not sucking face with anyone.”
“So, you’re in?”
