Crown of Thorns by E.M. Snow
1
I open the door and,instantly, the air is sucked out of my body.
As hot as it is outside—and trust me, Atlanta in July is hell on earth—the inside of the condo is stifling. No stiff breeze to give the illusion of airflow. Everything is still and stale and unbearable, like much of my life. I should be used to it by now. After all, Carley’s place is a palace compared to all the living situations Mom had put us in over the years.
Still, palace or not, it blows living in an oven.
“Carley,” I holler as I walk inside and drop my purse on the glass table by the front door. I grab a copy of Us Weekly from the edge and fan my face with it, but it’s pointless against the inferno. Tossing the magazine back to the table, I mimic the fake-ass, porcelain-veneered smile of the newest Bachelorette on the cover, pretend to barf, then yell for Carley again.
“Hmm?” She sounds like she’s got a mouth full of something, and my stomach clenches with hunger.
“Please, can we just say screw the landlord and get the AC fixed ourselves?”
“Nope, because he’ll never reimburse me if I do that.”
Snorting, I trudge into the kitchen, where I know she’ll be. Sure enough, she’s leaning against the counter next to the fridge, eating Bunny Tracks ice cream right out of the container and wearing a purple sports bra and cutoff shorts, with her blond hair piled in a loose bun. Carley is barely old enough to pass as my mom, just like my actual mother, who had popped me out her senior year of high school. Unlike my actual mother, Carley is enough of a responsible adult that I don’t have to worry about coming home to find her passed out in the bathroom in the middle of the day, high or drunk. Or both.
And usually with some random guy passed out right next to her with his naked, pimply ass exposed.
Carley peeks up at me as I enter the room, her blue eyes flashing with guilt for a second, but it’s gone as fast as it appeared. “How was work?”
“I cleaned a shitty tipper’s shit off a toilet seat.” I nod at the ice cream, my irritation spiking. “That’s mine.”
“Sorry, Mal, it’s just so hot,” she replies with a sheepish shrug, digging her spoon into the creamy heaven of caramel, chocolate, and peanuts as she watches me stalk toward her.
“Hopefully it’ll be so hot the next time you go to Walmart. That way you won’t forget to replace it.” I snatch a spoon from the utensil drawer by her hip, hop up onto the counter, then pluck the carton from her hands.
“Didn’t your momma ever tell you that sharing is caring?”
“Nope,” I mutter, making a show of eating the ice cream with relish, smacking my lips as I hold eye contact with Carley. “Jenn was too busy selling our EBT card for methadone and Xanax or trying to find me a new daddy at the Flying J.”
Folding her arms across her ample chest, she swishes her head from side to side. “You’re in a mood and a half, girl.”
“It’s fucking hot. No shit I’m in a mood.”
Her lips flatten in a tight line of disapproval. “Language, young lady.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
As I eat, I ignore her glares. I know I’m being a huge bitch, but I can’t help it. Work was awful today. Some asshole really did puke out of both ends all over the restroom of the dumpy diner I drag myself to every morning just to put up with godawful tips and a dick boss who gets handsy whenever he thinks no one’s watching. Coming home to no AC for the fifth day in a row did jack shit for my terrible mood.
“Mallory…” Releasing a sigh, Carley drops her arms to her sides, and when I glance up at her from beneath my lashes, my chest clenches. She looks … tired. Which, of course, causes guilt to swarm me like angry bees. She had willingly upended her entire life so that she could take in her best friend’s teenage daughter when all hell broke loose last winter. It’s not Carley’s fault my job sucks. It’s not her fault there’s no AC. She’s called her sketchy landlord several times, and he has yet to respond.
It’s also not Carley’s fault my mom’s a skanky bitch who had ruined my life.
That’s not entirely true, my inner voice reminds me, it’s tone viciously cruel. You ruined your own life. In fact, you killed it.
The chill that races down my spine is painful. Uninvited. I’ll take the sweltering heat over it all day, every day.
“Look, Mal,” Carley continues, pinching the bridge of her nose and clamping her eyes shut. “I know this situation isn’t ideal, but you have to know I’m trying. Really, I am.”
“I know.” God, I’m such a dick. Resting the ice cream container on the counter, I slide to the floor. Standing on the tips of my toes—because everyone is taller than me—I wrap my arms around her and lay my head on her shoulder, nuzzling my nose into her shirt. She smells like lavender fabric softener and Dove soap. “I’m sorry, Carley. I’m the worst. You’re the best.”
She hugs me back, stroking her fingers down the long braid that I always put my dark brown hair in when I go to work. “You’re just saying that so I won’t kick you out,” she teases.
“Mean ass woman,” I whisper but I clutch her tighter for a moment. Carley has been a lifesaver. My rock.
Every person has moments in their life that are turning points, and after those moments, nothing is ever the same again. I only have one turning point of note. It happened last December. The accident. There was my life before the accident, and then my life after. Before, I was living with my mom in Rayfort, excited about my junior year of high school and avoiding the shit at home as much as I could by hanging out with my best friend, James, and wishing his older brother would notice me.
Now, Mom’s on the run, everyone in Rayfort wishes I’d step in front of a bus, and I’m practically in hiding in Atlanta with Carley.
Who doesn’t deserve an ounce of my shit because I don’t know how I could have gotten through the last seven months without her.
“Thanks, Carley. Seriously,” I murmur, a tiny smile tugging my lips as I draw away from her.
She brushes a stray strand of hair from my forehead, then cups my cheeks. It’s such a gentle, motherly gesture, it makes my heart ache. It’s something my mom would never have done. Jenn has never been big on showing affection—or being a mother in general—and I’ve always wondered how someone like Carley became friends with her.
Guess that old saying that opposites attract is true as fuck.
“All right, enough mushy stuff.” Giving my cheek a parting pat, Carley snatches the ice cream from the counter and stuffs it back in the freezer, between a frozen pizza and a stack of the icepacks she uses for her lunchbox. “There’s chicken salad in the fridge, the good stuff from Sophie’s and not that nasty crap I tried to make last week. I’m going to catch a nap before my shift tonight. Are you good?”
I nod. “Yeah. You go sleep. I’m going to have lunch and maybe take a nap myself.”
“Sounds good, baby girl. Anything happens later, you give me a call, okay?”
We go through this routine at least three times a week, but I accept the hand she holds out to me, linking my pinkie finger with hers. “Swear it.”
She gives me a soft smile and a lingering look, but I can read the concern in her eyes as clear as a newspaper headline. Carley’s a natural worrier, and she’s always casting me these long stares, as though she’s afraid I’ll bolt at any moment. I want to tell her she shouldn’t worry. I’m not a runner. I try to face my problems head on because, otherwise, they have a nasty habit of following you into places you don’t want them to be.
Leaving Rayfort was a notable exception, and I would argue that I didn’t technically run away. I was forced out of town. There was no other choice.
By the time I head to my bedroom, Carley’s passed out on the couch in the living room. She’s an ER nurse at Piedmont, and though I know she loves her job, it takes a lot out of her. Reaching my bedroom door, I open it carefully and slip into the small room without so much as a squeak. I release a small sigh of relief when I close the door, even though it’s not like I’m in a high-pressure situation. I found out months ago that she’s a heavy sleeper. A tornado could go tearing through the front yard and it wouldn’t disturb her.
Which is probably a good thing because if she knew about my nightmares, she’d worry even more.
Kicking off my scuffed white tennis shoes, I switch on the box fan and start to dive headfirst onto the mattress, but my forehead creases when I spot a thick yellow envelope sitting on top of my black comforter. Picking up the envelope, my whole-body tenses. I recognize the sloppy handwriting on the front. It’s from Jenn. She always made the M in my name look like a jagged, lowercase N and she draws a smiley face inside the O.
Jenn’s on the run. She’s not supposed to be contacting me. What the hell is so important that she’d send me mail and risk us both and Carley?
I tear open the envelope to find yet another envelope, though this one is far fancier than the first. It’s white and smooth, and my name and old address in Rayfort are written across the front in flowy black letters. The return address is stamped in the top corner with an elaborate crest of a knight with wings on either side of it.
It’s someplace called Angelview Academy.
In California.
Flipping the envelope over, I’m stunned to find that it’s secured shut with a wax seal. A real seal, with that same winged knight imprinted in the dark green wax. I’m almost afraid to break it, it looks so cool and expensive, but my curiosity is overwhelming.
There are several papers inside, and I unfold the top one first to find a printed letter with my name at the top. As I scan the contents of the letter, my eyes widen and my heart beats faster and faster, until I swear it’s about to burst right out of my chest.
Dear Miss Ellis,
It is our greatest pleasure to extend to you an invitation to attend Angelview Academy beginning this fall semester. Upon review of your transcripts and achievements from your current school, Rayfort High School, in Rayfort, Georgia, we believe your academic and athletic accomplishments meet the level of excellence we look for in all our students. We are excited to offer you the chance to join the AA family.
Angelview Academy is an elite preparatory boarding school beautifully located in Saint Teresa, California, near Malibu. The school has a long, proud history of producing some of the most elite and influential politicians, businessmen and women, and scientific minds this country has ever seen. To be listed among the impressive ranks of Angelview graduates is to be assured success in your life upon leaving our hallowed halls.
We understand, however, that the cost of our institution can prove burdensome to those with limited resources. We do not wish for the burden of cost to deter you from attending our prestigious institution, so in addition to your acceptance, we are also happy to inform you that you have qualified and been approved for a full-ride scholarship, room and board included.
It is our great hope that you view this invitation as a great opportunity and decide to join us for the coming fall semester. We have included the contact information for our Office of Admissions, as well as our Office of Academic Success, should you have any questions.
We look forward to your reply and wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
Angelview Academy Admissions Committee
I stare at the letter for what feels like hours, certain that this is an epic prank. I mean, how the hell can it not be? Up until five minutes ago, I had never even heard of Angelview Academy, let alone applied to attend. Picking up the crumpled yellow envelope the invitation came in, I study my mom’s shitty handwriting, suspicion narrowing my eyes to thin slits.
This is a Jenn move. Some elaborate scheme Mom has cooked up in her drug-addled brain to try and get in touch with me to demand money or god knows what else?
But what if it’s real?a hopeful little voice pipes up in the back of my head. What if this is your chance to leave it all behind for good?
I could be rid of the accident and its haunting consequences. I could shake off the stain of my mistakes and start fresh.
I’ve always wanted to go to California.
I’ve always wanted to leave Georgia, period.
What if it’s real?
I drop the envelopes and papers back on my comforter and turn for my little desk, where my laptop is sitting. Grabbing the nearly outdated brick, I fire it up and drop to the floor, my back pressed to my bed. Wisps of dark hair float around my face thanks to the fan, and I drink in the breeze as I wait for my screen to flicker to life. It takes a few minutes, but as soon as it does, I open Google and type Angelview Academy into the search bar.
The school’s official website is the first thing to pop up. I click on the link and explore some of the pages, oohing and ahhing because the place looks gorgeous. The buildings are like English manors surrounded by lush green gardens and brick and cobblestone walkways, and there are a few photos of student events on the beach. Dragging my focus back to the task at hand, I look up the phone numbers for the Office of Admissions and the Office of Academic Success.
Both match the numbers in the letter.
Once again, my heart is speeding out of control, and I take several deep breaths to calm myself.
This can’t be real. It just can’t be. Good things don’t happen to me. Not like this. Not out of the blue. Not at all.
I grab my phone and punch in the number for the admissions office with shaky fingers.
On the second ring, a woman with a syrupy voice answers, “Angelview Academy, Office of Admissions, how may I direct your call?”
“Um…” I scramble for what to say, overwhelmed by the possibility of what this call could mean for me. “I-I just received a letter saying I’ve been accepted to your school, but I didn’t apply, so I’m not sure—”
“Let me transfer you to an admissions representative. Just one moment, please.”
The line switches, and classical music with violins plays. Before I have a chance to gather my wits, another voice speaks into my ear, this one male and youthful and enthusiastic.
“This is Anthony, how can I help you?”
“Uh, hi, Anthony,” I stammer. “My name’s Mallory Ellis. I just received a letter saying I’ve been admitted to your school, but I didn’t—”
“Oh, Miss Ellis, we’ve been expecting your call.”
Holy shit. “You have?” I manage.
“Of course! We are very, very excited by your admission to the academy and were hoping you would accept.”
“But … I didn’t apply,” I say for the third time. “I didn’t even know Angelview existed before I received your letter.”
“As part of a new diversity initiative, we’ve started reaching out to high schools across the country for recommendations of students they believe could prove successful at our institution,” he explains. “Yours was one of the top names on our list.”
What the actual fuck? “Really?” I squeak, and he gives a soft chuckle.
“Yes, you came highly recommended.”
I want to ask by who, but I keep my mouth shut. I am a good student and I was a solid athlete, swimming and boxing as much as I could before the accident. But that was all by Rayfort standards and the only thing Rayfort High is really known for is its football team and marching band. Compared to other, better schools, I’m likely average at best. Since average usually doesn’t get recruited for anything—and the fact I completed the second half of my junior year online—there has got to be a major mistake.
But this mistake is my ticket out.
My fresh start.
And I’ll be an idiot if I don’t take it.
So, when Anthony’s cheerful voice interrupts my thoughts to ask if I’ll be attending, I speak without considering that I might be fucking up.
“Yes,” I say, too excited to flinch at the desperation in my voice. I am desperate. And this is my chance to take my life back. “Yes, I would like to accept your invitation.”