As soon as she left, I jumped onto the bed and let out a strangulated cry into the pillow. I’d been so dumb, so outstandingly brainless. Here I was thinking I’d outfoxed my father and the school, but all I’d proved was my incompetence. In a state of numbness, I did as Mrs. Pritchard instructed and packed up my belongings, too scared to turn on my phone. I could only imagine a barrage of messages and missed calls from my parents.
I released my hair from the messy bun I’d tied it in, hoping for a shield to hide behind. I figured there was no time to apply makeup and make myself presentable; my natural look would have to do.
I sat on the edge of the bed in dreaded anticipation, fiddling with the strap on my white Chanel handbag.
But not for long.
Mrs. Pritchard returned, glowing with good news. While a luggage porter whisked my suitcase away, she took me aside.
“Well, that was entirely fortuitous,” Mrs. Pritchard said, guiding me to the elevator. “I happened to meet up with Laura Caversham. She was hosting an event in the piano bar. She has a spare room and Fi is away overnight, so she’s thrilled she can help.”
I blinked mindlessly. There was a cheerleader called Phoebe, one of the cool crowd, and a girl called Fiesta in junior year, but I was already descending into a dark tunnel. My own naivety dismayed me, how I thought I’d concocted the perfect plan, executed it brilliantly, only to be foiled by technology. Of course my parents would track my credit card spending! Of course they would vet the Holbruns, and worst of all, Bianca would know about my sham. And in no time at all, Elisha Sakkari-Millar, new girl and ice queen, would also be known as liar and phoney.
Maybe my parents were totally right in sending me to Covington Prep. Perhaps I was so guileless and immature that I needed to be here. For someone so worldly, I was frighteningly unworldly.
Laura Caversham was a thin woman who looked like she’d missed out on the Thanksgiving feast, maybe too busy working. With her defined cheekbones and sleek blond bob, she could probably have been a model in her younger years, but in my mind, I pictured a lifetime battling an eating disorder.
But Laura’s dark sunken eyes shone with brightness when she saw me. “I’m more than happy to help, Barb,” she said to Mrs. Pritchard. “Elisha?” She addressed me warmly, “La Maison is a beautiful hotel, but we can’t have you staying here on your own.”
I returned a terse smile even though there was something about her I liked.
“Barb, you go back to your family,” Laura urged. “I can take care of Elisha.” She smiled, a deluge of guilt crashing over me. Poor Mrs. Pritchard had told us about her extended family coming to stay, including her elderly parents.
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Pritchard asked. “You’ll be okay?”
“Of course,” Laura waved her off breezily. “I’ll just finish off here and then get Elisha home.” There was that warm, genuine smile again as if hosting me was akin to winning first prize in the lottery.
I waited in the lobby while Laura completed whatever it was she’d been working on. Dressed in a cream blazer over a navy dress and high heels, she seemed to have some corporate role. I flicked through a glossy home magazine knowing that if I did turn on my phone I would only develop more angst and sulkiness.
“You’re new to Covington Prep?” Laura asked as I buckled into the passenger seat of her Range Rover which had that brand new smell to it.
I nodded, having decided to reveal as little as I could, embarrassed by the situation I’d put myself in. I was pretty sure Mrs. Pritchard would have told her about my rule-breaking, my deception and the trouble I’d caused.
Perhaps my lack of verbal response was the instigator Laura needed, because she didn’t say anything for the rest of the journey, her hands clenched on the steering wheel and her eyes focused on the road ahead. It was only a ten minute drive through the suburbs of Covington where she pulled up to a sprawling, two level house. I lifted my suitcase out of the trunk, pulling it behind me.
The interior was modern, minimalistic style, quite different from my family home which was full—some may say cluttered—with furnishings from around the globe. My mother loved things for sentimental reasons—rugs from Turkey, art from Morocco, glassware from Venice.
“Are you okay with that?” Laura asked as she guided me to the staircase.
“Of course,” I said, attempting to push the extended handle back down so I could carry the suitcase upstairs. Only, it wouldn’t go down, no matter how hard I pushed, and in fact, in completely the opposite motion, I lengthened the handle.
Noticing my struggle, Laura stepped in. “Let me help you,” she said kindly, and with ease she pushed the button in the center of the handle, immediately popping it down. Duh! Why was I so useless?
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
Laura led me into a spacious bedroom, which was as luxurious as the suite at La Maison. An inviting mountain of green and orange pillows sat atop the smooth, black bedcover.
“Make yourself at home,” Laura said, pointing out the window that overlooked the backyard, showing a pool and tennis court below.
“I think I’ll just rest,” I said, making myself sound as if I was an eighty year old needing an afternoon nap.
Laura was unfazed. “I’ll be downstairs,” she said, “and if you need anything, just ask.” She stopped in the doorway. “And it might be a good idea to text your family and let them know you’re okay,” she said with a wry smile.
I nodded, but as soon as she closed the door, I fell onto the bed. Sinking into it and falling asleep under the covers would be amazing. If I was unconscious, I wouldn’t have to face up to the mess I was in. Would it be possible to sleep for the next three straight days?
Staring up at the ceiling lasted about twenty seconds. I jumped up and rummaged in my bag for my phone, pressing multiple buttons before it turned on.
With a heavy heart I read the messages from Mom and Dad. It was obvious they’d endured hours of worry and I regretted that. My own immaturity had caused it and for what purpose? I was here in a strange family’s homestay anyway. I’d achieved nothing.
