The Runaway Sister

seven | a saint and a boy

Today is my first day of school.

I have to wake up before the sun rises. One of my brothers' maids have ironed my uniform and laid it out in my closet. It's a black skirt with pleats that drops to my lower thigh, a white blouse, a black neck tie, and a blazer with Saint Mary's school crest.

It reeks of money. This uniform is nicer than my plain one in England. I can smell rich people on this one.

Someone knocks on the door. Luke enters as I'm brushing out my brown hair, putting it into a half-up, half-down style. I secure it with a black bow. "Who knew you could do something nice with your hair?" Luke teases.

He's wearing the same uniform as me, but instead of a skirt, he wears trousers, which also cover the white, knee-high socks I am required to wear.

"I knew, for one. And Mum knew," I snap. Mum taught me how to do my hair. Everyday, before school, she did something fancy with it. It could have been two simple plaits, or a wrap-around French braid.

Luke holds his arms up in defense. "Mom died before you could toddle. How does she know you can braid your hair?"

"Not your Mum, my Mum."

"Last time I checked, we have the same Mom."

"I have lived a life without you in it."

Luke rolls his eyes playfully, he approaches me. I tense when he reaches his hand out. But then he ruffles my hair. I gasp, shocked, eyes wide in disgust at his actions. Immediately, I slap him. "Out you go!" I scold, and his laughs, walking off.

I groan in annoyance, smoothing my hair down with my hands. I leave my bathroom, grab my book bag, and head downstairs. I can't hide the spring in my step. School! Friends! Freedom! It's everything I thought I had left behind the moment I boarded the plane to this place.

Luke and Logan stand by the counter, wolfing down bagels and cream cheese. I turn my nose up, and take an apple. Luke's mouth hangs open when he sees. "Only an apple?! Alexander will kill me if you drop dead from malnutrition!"

"He'll kill me worse!" Logan retorts.

"I'm used to a small breakfast. At the children's home, we were always under a tight budget. Food was sparse, so the little ones were given more—for development and all."

The twins frown. "No wonder you're a stick," Luke says.

I roll my eyes. "No, I'm not. I'm a healthy weight." Truth be told, I had never stepped on a scale once in my life. Well, besides mandatory government-issued trips to the doctor for annual check-ups. But I just remember the nurse frowning upon seeing the number.

Sullivan strolls into the kitchen. "You kids better get going," He says, glancing at the clock on the wall. Luke nearly chokes on his bagel, and runs out the door. Logan smirks at the comical scene.

"C'mon, baby sis. I'll take you to school. Besides, my driving is better than that... thing."

"Your twin?"

"No, no. He's just a simple fellow who stole my nutrients in the womb."

"Right. Sure." I laugh. Why am I so comfortable all of a sudden? Perhaps it's because of the absence of my scariest brothers—Alexander, Cassian, and Zachary. I removed the twins because they're young and odd, and Sullivan because of the other night.

Sullivan smiles at me. "Have fun, Ev!" Before we head out the door. Logan leads me to his sports car. Luke has already left.

I sit beside Logan, still getting used to the change in cars in the States. He turns on the radio and blasts music until we roll into Saint Mary's gated car park. The school is made of brick and it has white columns.

The grass is lush and green, even though it's nearly November. Behind the school, I see a basketball court, baseball field, a tennis court, a football field and a track. I also notice a stadium farther off for American football.

Students enter the school, all wearing either Logan's uniform or mine. "You have your schedule and locker code?" Logan asks. I nod. I found everything I need in my backpack earlier in the morning. Logan seems pleased, and leads me inside.

He peels off the moment we enter. I see him approach a group of boys. I shrug to myself, and glance at my schedule—all 11th grade classes. According to America, a fifteen-year-old, going on sixteen-year-old, should by in 10th grade, but Alexander saw my school records and bumped me up a level.

I wander to my locker, shove my belongings into it, clasp my hands behind my back, and wander up the stairs to classroom #305: world history. I enter, and see that around fifteen students occupy the seats.

"Are you Evelyn Rhodes?" The teacher, Mr. De Vries, asks. I nod. He smiles. "Wonderful. Go sit next to Warren." The desks are set up to two per. A dark-haired boy with tan skin, gleaming green eyes, and a sharp jawline smirks at me.

He looks so familiar for some reason.

I figure he's Warren, so I sit next to him. For the entire class, he doesn't speak to me, but I feel his eyes on me. One time I end up glancing over, but he smirks and moves his gaze back to Mr. De Vries, who's busy gushing over spices in 1905.

Who knows how that conversation started.

The bell rings, and I quickly exit, finding Room #319. Warren seems to be following me, and enters the same physics class. I sit down next to the window, my gaze fixed onto the fields of sports courts.

A girl falls into the chair next to mine. Warren frowns deeply, and occupies the desk behind us. The girl has soft features—baby blue eyes, rosy cheeks, a small nose—and she is grinning at me. "I'm Daphne," She greets. "You're Evelyn Rhodes, right?"

I blink in surprise. News travels quickly in this expensive school. "Yes..." I say hesitantly.

"Neat! Let me see your schedule." I take the sheet out of my binder, and pass it to her reluctantly. This Daphne is too energized. "We have every class together besides first and sixth hour!" She exclaims excitedly.

I'm not sure I'm too excited about such a revelation.

"Nice..." What am I supposed to say to this girl?

"You'll sit with me and my friends at lunch, okay? You'll just have to tell us why the Rhodes finally brought their sister in public eye."

I'm not telling this girl anything. But I just politely smile.

Daphne keeps chattering for the entire class. She tells me about her friends—Aria, Lavender, Silas, Porter—and how their table is the best, seeing as it's a circle at the west end of the cafeteria.

"It matters?" I ask, confused.

"Of course! It shows our social status," Daphne explains.

"Which is?"

"Powerful! Wealthy! Just like yours. Our families know each other, you know. I'm the Saint family's second daughter, my older sister is off and married now."

I know that will be my fate—forced marriage—if I stick around here.

"Oh. Of course." I've never heard of the Saints in my life. But one fact rests in my mind: Daphne is certainly from the Mafia, and I am starting to believe Warren is, too.

During the entirety of class, I feel green eyes bore into the back of my head.

I'm supposed to be freaked out, right?

Then why do I get goosebumps when I assume he's the one looking at me?