Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Mum bent down to kiss Harry’s head. “Hi, baby boy. How was school?”
“It was fine. I wish they’d stop giving us homework now. School’s nearly ending and then we’re not even going back there after summer. Why do we still have homework?” Harry complained.
“Just humor your teacher and do it. Like you said, it’ll be vacation time soon. Do you want a snack?”
“Aye, please.” He tapped on his iPad to start whatever exercise his teacher had given. I did think it a bit cruel he was still getting homework this close to the end of term. I couldn’t remember our teacher doing that at the end of primary school. Truthfully, I couldn’t remember much about primary seven. I’d gone from anticipating the jump to middle school back in the US to suddenly still being in primary school here in the UK and then immediately going into high school at twelve, per the way the Scottish school system worked.
“Got any grand plans for the holidays?” I asked, leaning on an empty dining table chair, attempting conversation.
Harry looked up at me. Except for his eyes and hair, he really was the spitting image of Dad. He could pass for fourteen, he was so tall and broad for his age. “This is Ardnoch, not Paris,” he said with attitude. “Not much to do around here.”
Mum turned from making Harry a sandwich in the kitchen and met my gaze. She frowned, having heard his tone. “I told you so,” my expression said. Sighing inwardly, I tried again. “Maybe we could go for a run in the car this summer. Just you and me.”
“You don’t have a car,” he said to his iPad.
“I’m getting one.”
“Mum and Dad buying that for you too?”
“Harry,” Mum scolded. “That’s unfair.”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Everyone says it.”
My stomach dropped. “Says what?”
“That you’re mooching off Mum and Dad. That they paid for Paris only so you could come back and take the bakery from Mum because you’re too lazy to build something for yourself. That you think you’re something special because you stayed in Paris, even though you’re mooching off Mum and Dad again by moving back in with us. Everyone thinks you’re pathetic.”
I gaped at him, stunned, not only by his words but the contempt with which he said it. So much contempt for an eleven-year-old. Was that really what he thought? What everyone apparently thought? I mean, they had to be saying it a lot for it to get back to a kid.
“Harry Ironside, don’t you ever speak to your sister like that again,” Mum warned, approaching the dining table. “Apologize, now.”
He shoved away from the table, grabbing his things. “I’ll do this in my room.”
“Harry—”
“And she’s not my sister. She’s my half sister. Her dad is a psychopath, which is probably why everyone hates her. You should go back to Paris. No one wants you here.” He marched out of the room, ignoring Mum calling his name in fury.
I knew he was only a kid and probably unaware of how deeply his words cut, but I felt shattered by them. Not merely the words themselves—hitting right at my greatest fear about myself—but that Harry seemed to hate me so much. Maybe going to Paris really had been a mistake.
“Callie …”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Callie, he didn’t mean it.”
“No, he meant it. And people are clearly gossiping about me.”
“Your brother should not be one of them. And there will be consequences for what he said to you.”
“What did he say?”
We turned to find Dad standing in the doorway. So engrossed in the horrible moment with Harry, I hadn’t even heard his car pull into the drive. I glanced at Mum and gave a slight shake of my head. If Dad found out, Harry would be in for it.
Mum ignored me. “Our son said terrible things to his sister and I’m frankly baffled and too upset to even …” She threw her hands up, tears gleaming in her eyes. “I can’t believe one of my kids could be that cruel.”
“Mum.” I shook my head at her. “He’s just a kid.”
“And you would never have said anything so nasty to anyone when you were his age.”
“Because I wasn’t a coddled eleven-year-old who’s never had a hard day in his life. Harry has grown up with two loving parents in a financially secure home. You can’t compare us. Circumstances made me more empathetic.”
“Are you really defending what he said?”
“Wee yin?”
I turned at that. Even after all these years, Dad still called me wee yin.
“What did he say?” Dad repeated, striding into the room. He bristled with tension and even though he’d cut me to the quick, I suddenly felt a bit sorry for Harry. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Dad.
Mum repeated his words verbatim.
Dad’s expression darkened and he marched toward the hallway.