Page 135 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
I just stare back at him without blinking for a minute.
Nobody can protect Heather better than I can. Nobody. The thought comes to me unbidden. It feels true though. Thus far, it has been true. I don’t want to be separated from my little sister. Not now, not until she’s old enough to move out and start a life of her own. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? For us to be together.
No, the whole point of this is to keep her safe—regardless of how it makes you feel.
“Oak River …” There could be monsters hiding behind those walls. I know for a fact that there are—or at least were—monsters there. Donald Asher was only one of a million spoiled rich kids with the devil crouching on his shoulder. But just because I prefer the brutal honestly and bloodshed of Prescott to the sneaking deviance of the wealthy, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some advantages to Heather attending that school.
Everybody knows—whether they admit or not—that privilege starts early. The parents who can afford to send their kids to wealthy schools always say things like, I’m not putting my child at a disadvantage to make a point! if you confront them about equally funding public schools and sending their kid to one.
There’s a meme about it, with one of the main characters from the movie Mean Girls. Regina George is leaning forward, and she says something to the effect of, “So you agree then? You agree that private schools give the wealthy an advantage over the lower classes?” It ensures that the best and the brightest don’t always succeed. Because how can you if you have to work an extra job after school to help pay rent while someone else is given private violin lessons? The system does not ensure the smartest or most capable become doctors or scientists or politicians; it favors the rich.
So.
Will I send Heather to a private school the way so many wealthy people do? To give her an advantage that I know she’d never have if she worked her way through Springfield’s poverty-stricken school system?
Before I can answer that question—for myself or anyone else—Aaron gears himself up to say whatever it is that’s on his mind.
“Bernadette,” he begins, giving me a look that says I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “We have our crew all over the city; you know that.” He pauses and glances away for a moment before turning his attention back to me. “Pamela was seen with Ophelia this morning.”
I just stare back at him, but my knees feel suddenly weak and I put a hand on the wall to brace myself.
“Okay,” I reply, because my stomach has already hollowed out and I feel sick to the point of vomiting. I don’t have custody over Heather. That’s one of the things that’s been bugging me, eating at my brain like a parasite. I might be emancipated, but my sister is not. Challenging Pamela through the court system won’t work either. Actually, it might make things worse. I have no idea what Neil’s brother or father might do if they find out about a legal battle. What if, now that Neil is gone, they get involved?
“We can get the girls into the school to start on Monday. Actually, they can move in today.” Aaron’s face is pinched. He looks like he wants to punch something. This is where we understand each other best, as sibling-parents who never wanted the job of raising little girls, who resent it, but who would give their lives to keep working that job forever.
“How?” I ask, because I already know what I’m going to say now. I have to agree to this. I have to. Because it isn’t about me and my wants. It’s about keeping the girls safe. Here, with us, might be the safest place in the world, but we can’t always be with them. And we can’t keep them locked up like they’re in prison.
“You know those two contacts Oscar got out of Coraleigh?” Aaron asks, and it takes me a second to remember. Oh. The day he tied me up and fucked me. That day. “Both of them have wives on the schoolboard for Oak River.”
“Oh, that makes me feel so much fucking better,” I snap back at him. “Pedophiles on the schoolboard.”
“Wives on the schoolboard,” Aaron corrects, but his voice is hollow, like he’s trying his hardest to convince me of something he also doesn’t want. “We can get them in with fake names. Bernie, we can hide them from the GMP and Ophelia. One of our crew works at the library there; he can keep an eye on them.” He pauses for a moment and sighs heavily. “Look, I don’t like this any better than you do, but we make hard choices in this life. You know that.”
