Chapter 2 - The Staged Intercession
The breakfast table the next morning was a tactical minefield.
Mom had prepared Talia’s favorites: blueberry buttermilk pancakes, freshly squeezed orange juice, and crisp thick-cut bacon. Beside Talia’s plate sat a brand-new boutique leather tote bag—an obvious consolation prize for her dismal mock-exam performance.
Talia sat with her eyes red-rimmed, picking at the crust of a pancake like a Victorian orphan facing exile. Brennan, home for the weekend from his sophomore year at Dartmouth, sat across from her, his varsity jacket slung over his chair. He glared at me the second I walked into the kitchen wearing my school uniform.
“Morning,” I said, pouring myself black coffee from the pot.
Mom didn't answer. She kept her back turned, aggressively scrubbing a skillet that was already clean.
“You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Brennan said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Making Talia cry so hard she couldn't sleep, then locking your door like an unhinged child?”
“Talia didn't sleep because she’s ranked seventy-third,” I replied smoothly, setting the mug down. “My door was locked because I value basic civil liberties.”
“Marlowe, stop it!” Talia gasped, dropping her fork with an exaggerated clatter. “I told Brennan it wasn't your fault! I told him you were just stressed about finals!”
She looked at Brennan with wide, doe-like eyes, tears brimming right on cue. It was the exact performance she had perfected since she was six years old: defend the person hurting you so everyone else feels obligated to destroy them on your behalf.
“Look at her,” Brennan barked, standing up. “She’s defending you, and you’re still taking cheap shots! What is your problem, Marlowe? You got first place. Congratulations. Do you need to stomp on her neck to feel good about it?”
“Brennan,” I said softly, “did you know that Talia didn’t study for the calculus mock exam because she spent three nights this week at a fraternity formal at your old prep school?”
Talia’s face went dead white.
Mom spun around from the sink. “What did you say?”
“Her location is shared on the family cloud,” I said, tapping my phone. “Or rather, it was until she disabled it Tuesday night. But Briarcrest’s automated parking pass records don't lie. She checked out of the dorm library at 6:15 PM on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Her car entered the parking lot of the River Club in Weston twenty minutes later.”
“You’re spying on your sister?” Brennan sputtered, momentarily off balance.
“No. I’m defending my right not to apologize for studying while someone else parties and calls it a learning disability.” I looked directly at Talia. “If you want to place in the top ten, Talia, you should try opening the textbook instead of crying to my brother.”
“Marlowe Keating!” Mom shrieked, slamming a spatula onto the counter. “You apologize to her this instant!”
“No,” I said. I picked up my backpack. “And Brennan? Before you play the noble white knight again, check the glove box of your beloved Audi. The late-payment notices for your spring tuition are sitting inside. Dad hasn't paid them. Want to guess whose trust fund he was planning to use to cover your fraternity dues?”
May you like
I walked out the back door, leaving the kitchen in dead, horrified silence.
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