However, I’ve been spending most of my time with Mum and it’s hardly fun.
When I’m with Helen, we talk and bake — or more like, she bakes. I continue to suck at it. Yet Helen has never given up on me and keeps teaching me.
We meditate together and she still does my hair and tells me I’m the perfect daughter she never had. Maybe hearing those words my own mother rarely says to me is what keeps me coming back here.
It’s certainly not because of her arsehole son.
I hate Cole Nash.
I despise him from the bottom of my heart.
He’s levelled up from pulling my hair and taunting me to playing games. He loves those a lot — games, I mean. The belief that he has control over someone.
And he’s becoming popular, too — he and that other wanker, Aiden. I don’t know what girls see in them. They’re both yuck.
Xander and Ronan make sense. At least they’re charming.
Oh, wait. Everyone thinks Cole is charming as well. He smiles at them and offers to help with their homework, like he’s the prince from their favourite fairy tales.
Idiots.
They don’t know that everything is a game to Cole. If he compliments someone or acts nice to them, it’s usually because of a dare he has with Aiden on who gets whose favour.
While Aiden does it the brooding way, Cole charms himself into it. It’s about who wins, but it’s also about the process.
Cole thrives on games and he’s been playing them for years. He likes to think everyone is a piece on his chessboard and that he can control their fate.
Aiden likes playing the king who comes out a winner, but Cole strives to be the player who controls not only the king but also every piece on the board.
We mostly avoid each other. The more I see his true self, the more he sees mine. I hate that.
We can go days not speaking to each other, not even when Helen or Papa is around. Then he’ll come out of nowhere and provoke me — or challenge me. It can be as simple as a biology test, or a piano competition, or even who holds their breath underwater the longest.
I rise up to every one of them.
I’m Sebastian Queens and Cynthia Davis’s daughter and I’m as tenacious as my parents. No one gets past me.
No one.
He usually wins and laughs at me, though. I swear he only keeps being the first in class just to piss me off and call me Miss Number Two. Sometimes, even Aiden will push me off the second place simply to prove he can.
Both of them are major wankers.
They have football practice right now, which means I can spend time with his mother in peace.
Couldn’t she have a different son? Ronan or Xander would do. Hell, even Levi, Aiden’s cousin, would be fine.
It had to be the one I hate the most.
The one who makes me feel fake whenever he looks in my direction at school.
Helen stands in front of the refrigerator with her back facing me. She’s wearing chic trousers and a pressed shirt. Her light chestnut hair is tied in a neat bun that shows off her soft cheekbones and enhances the size of her hazel eyes.
Helen is a bestselling crime thriller novelist, so she doesn’t usually dress up at home. She only does that when she has to meet her agent or something.
I sneak up behind her and hide her vision with my hands. “Guess who?”
She hums. “A beautiful girl with baby blue eyes and the shiniest blonde hair who’s wearing pink?”
I laugh, removing my hand. “Uniform, Helen. Colours aren’t allowed, but hey, my watch is pink.”
She turns around and hugs me. She smells of strawberries and spring. If I had to pick a part that I love about Helen the most, it would be, without a doubt, the way she hugs. It’s like she engulfs you and saturates you with her warmth.
Papa rarely hugs me ever since Mum told him he’s the reason I’ll stay a little girl. Mum seldom does it, so Helen is basically my only source.
She pulls away. “Are you ready for baking?”
“Weren’t you on a deadline?”
“I finished early. So we get to bake all the cakes.”
“All?”
She nods.
“Can we make a Snickers cake?”
“You and that chocolate.” She smothers a soft laugh. “Yes, we can make that.”
“Yes! You’re the best.” I kiss her cheek and she laughs again.
Helen and I get to work, and as always, I’m her sous-chef. She has a way of mixing ingredients that makes her fit to be a chef if she ever considers changing careers.
“You look beautiful, Helen,” I tell her as we mix up eggs with butter.
Her warm smile makes an appearance. “I do?”
“Of course you do. If you go out there, you’ll come back with ten men.”
“Silver! Where have you heard things like that, honey?”
“The girls at school.”
“Wow. Kids these days are unpredictable.”
“I mean it, Helen. You’re still young and beautiful. Oh, and rich. Mum says that’s what matters the most.”
Helen’s eyes cast downwards. “Not in all cases, honey.”
Ever since her husband’s death six years ago, Helen has dedicated her life to her wanker son and her work. She became a bestselling novelist and built a name for herself, but I can sense how lonely she is.
Like Papa.
Oh. Like Papa.
A wicked idea comes to mind. I can tell Papa to come pick me up early and then pretend to be asleep so he can spend some time with Helen.
I gave up trying to patch things between him and Mum some time ago. All they do is fight, so maybe it’s better for both their sakes to see other people.
I get into action before I can even think about it. I text Papa, and when he doesn’t reply, I text Derek so that he passes on the message.
By the time Helen and I are finished with baking, I pretend I’m sleepy. Helen tells me to use any room down the hall to take a nap until my Snickers cake is ready.
I’m definitely taking that home with me. I don’t have to tell Mum about it.
The moment I lie on the bed and place my head on the soft pillow, I somehow fall asleep.
I dream of Helen and Papa’s wedding. I’m smiling, happy even, and I’m wearing a princess dress like the one from that Cinderella remake, but pink.
Then I see who’s standing beside me at their wedding.
Cole.
Cole becomes my brother.
He’s laughing so loud that I wake up with a start.
Damn it. Why didn’t I think of that before I came up with the plan?
I was too focused on Papa’s and Helen’s loneliness that I forgot the small but horrible detail of Cole becoming my brother.
No. Nope.
I’ll have to find other people for Helen and Papa. I’ll never live under the same roof as that crude, stupid —
“Bad dream?”
I gasp and almost jump off the mattress. Cole is sitting beside me, leaning against the headboard and reading from a book called Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. His hair is damp and falls on his forehead. He’s wearing cotton trousers and a simple white T-shirt, which means he just got out of the shower.
I can’t help inhaling the scent of his shower gel. It’s like cinnamon and spice and I’ve become so used to it in a weird way lately.
I wipe my mouth in case there’s drool or something. “W-what are you doing here?”