The Inheritance Games

“What are we doing here?”

“Sighing melodramatically,”

If there’s any part of you that wants to find me

“Now.”

Mr. Altman stared at me. “Excuse me?”

Forget sounding meek. Forget being invisible. “I want to take the new exam right here, in your office, right now.”

I had no real desire to try one, but baking was Libby’s way of showing love.

I had no real desire to try one, but baking was Libby’s way of showing love.

“Rise and shine,” Alisa said, with the force and surety of a person making an argument in court.

“Go away.” Channeling my younger self, I pulled the covers over my head.

“My apologies,” Alisa said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “But you really do have to get up now.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” I muttered. “I’m a billionaire.”

“You and Jameson,” Thea continued, like she was chiding a child. “In Emily’s old room, no less. A bit uncouth, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t know about the attack. The realization shot through me. Rebecca must have seen Jameson come out of the bathroom. She must have heard us. Must have realized that we…

“Are people being uncouth without me again?” Xander asked, popping up between Thea and me and breaking Thea’s hold. “How rude.”

“Can I have one of the blueberry scones?” I asked—my version of a peace offering.

Xander handed me a lemon scone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What do you know about makeovers?” I grumbled. “If I were a guy, there’d be two racks of clothing in this room, max.”

“And if I were White,” Xander returned loftily, “people wouldn’t look at me like I’m half a Hawthorne. Scone?”

Beggars can’t be choosers, I thought, my head pounding and water droplets dripping down my back. Necessity is the mother of invention. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.