The Bad Boy's Good Baby

Brooklyn Summer break is only seven weeks away, and I still haven't heard anything about my scholarship. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. And it's really freaking me out. Normally, by this time, I would've gotten some kind of hint that my scholarship was going to be renewed. An email. A letter. Anything. But so far? Radio silence. What if they aren't going to renew it? What if they realize I'm not worth it? What if I'm just not good enough? The annoying voice in my head keeps going. Shut up, brain, I think. Okay. What can I do? Maybe I should sign up for more extracurricular activities. Or volunteer more. Or I could do mo— "Honey." Mum's voice cuts through my thoughts as she walks into my room. "Are you still worrying about the scholarship?" She sits beside me on my bed. "No," I reply quickly. She gives me a knowing look. "Maybe," I correct, joining her on the bed. "It's just...I...I can't lose this." I lower my voice. "Oh, baby." She pulls me into her arms, and the familiar scent of her perfume fills my nostrils. She smells like cookies. Like home. "They'd be fools not to let you stay," she says, pulling back so she can look at me. "I mean, look at you. You're a smart, independent, diligent, hardworking, and beautiful young woman. You're perfect." She strokes my hair, gazing into my eyes. It's moments like this that make me marvel at how much I look like her. People sometimes mistake us for sisters. We have the same brown hair, although hers is a shade darker. The same green eyes, full of fire. Even our skin tone is almost identical—a warm golden brown. "Look, even if they don't let you stay, it'd be their loss." She taps my nose gently. "Remember, 'Nothing they can take from you was ever worth keeping.'" I stare at her for a second before smiling. "Are you seriously quoting The Hunger Games right now?" I playfully swat her hand away. "Maybe." She shrugs. "But I am right, though." I laugh softly and lay my head on her shoulder. I don't bother correcting her. I don't tell her that I need this scholarship. I don't tell her that Queen's Academy is my only shot at getting into an Ivy League college. I don't tell her that it's my only escape from this hellhole. I don't bother telling her anything because that'll only worry her. And I can't do that to her. Not again. The next day is pretty much the same as the previous one. Me waiting for a message. The school authorities ghosting me. It's getting pretty annoying. "You're going to c***k a hole in the screen if you keep glaring at your phone like that." A familiar voice makes me look up, and I feel my muscles relax. "That's pretty much the goal." I raise my head and find my friend Mason Skye walking toward me. Mason is basically the school's golden boy. Captain of the swim team. Captain of the debate team. Member of the student council. He's the definition of perfect. Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Dazzling smile. Plus, he's one of the only real friends I have at this school. Most of the other students are snotty rich kids who look down their noses at everyone else. "Is something wrong?" he asks, settling into the seat opposite mine. I smile. "No. Nothing's wrong." Then I glance at him. "So, what are you doing here? I thought you guys had practice." I set my phone down, surprised. The swim team is usually at practice around this time. "Yeah, we did." He sighs. "But some genius thought it'd be funny to dye the pool red." I grimace. "Oh." This isn't the first time someone has pulled a prank at school, but somehow, they always manage to make them even more ridiculous than the last. "Do you know who did it?" I ask. "I have an idea." His expression darkens, and I decide not to continue on that subject. "So, are you busy later?" I raise an eyebrow. "I need your help explaining some things to me." "Yeah, sure. No problem." I give him a smile, which he returns. "Really? I'll message you the time and address. Thank you for agreeing." "That's what friends are for." I check the time and realize I have to get to class. "I've got to go." I stand up and grab my bag. "Yeah, sure. See ya." He gives me a little wave. I return it before leaving the cafeteria. As I walk down the hallway, I glance at my phone one more time. Still nothing. No email. No message. No scholarship decision. I sigh and shove my phone back into my pocket. I have no idea that by the end of the day, my scholarship won't be the only thing I'm worrying about. And it will all start with one name. Asher Carlson.