Page 10 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

Y ou know those action movies with all the explosions and the guys in sunglasses? Those blockbusters packed with car chases and hot people fighting on trains?

That’s gonna be my summer. Metaphorically, I mean. Because over the next few months, I’m gonna burn my whole life to ash.

I will sever every family tie; pour gasoline over all their excuses; carpet bomb the future career my father lined up for me.

And once everything is truly ruined, once there’s nothing left of my old life except scorch marks and smoking craters, I’ll stroll away like one of the action heroes in those movies, smirking behind my cool-guy shades. I swear I will.

An institution.

I can’t believe it.

My father is sending me to an institution , locking me away like a feral dog. And for what? ‘Behavioral issues.’

Bullshit, that’s what.

I’ve never done half the things he’s accused me of, but a tragic part of me really thought that maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d listen to me. He’d try to see my side. He’d think about this situation for more than twenty furious seconds.

The suitcase resting open on my double bed says: no. That was such a naive hope, and now what are my options? My father is a powerful man. You either cooperate, or things get much worse.

So I pack my case, stuffing it with crop tops and swimsuits and my To-Be-Read pile, like I really am going on vacation.

I go along with this stupid plan, throwing polite smiles at the bruiser in a suit and earpiece watching my every move, and I say my silent goodbyes to the bedroom I’ve lived in for the last twenty two years.

The peacock blue feature wall. The sparkling glass doors, opening onto my own balcony; those wrought iron railings threaded with ivy.

My walk-in closet and the desk I studied at for so many long nights over the years, finding solace in the sharp click of highlighter pen lids snapping back into place.

This room was my home. My only safe space. And you know what? It’s pretty damn nice.

But any minute now, I’ll be torn away and bundled off to some horrible doctor on the coast, sitting quietly in the back seat for the whole drive like a good little parcel.

Behavioral issues. Such bullshit.

So I won’t stay at that place; I won’t let him control me, and I won’t keep quiet about this, never mind my father’s political ambitions.

I will burn. It all. Down.

“Ready?” The head housekeeper Lilian bustles through the doorway, her painted lips pursed and the collar of her uniform ironed to vicious points. If she scrapes her red hair back into its bun any tighter, she’ll tear it out at the roots.

This woman has zero interest in arguing with her powerful employer on my behalf. I’m just another errand to her. Another mess to clean up.

“Born ready.” I flash Lilian my toothiest grin, yanking the zipper of my suitcase closed. I’ve probably forgotten a ton of stuff, but who cares? No doubt they’ll confiscate all my things at the institute anyway. Dress me in one of those white hospital gowns and try to force pills down my throat.

I hate them already.

“Do you think there’ll be WiFi? What about a mini-fridge in my room?

” I trail after Lilian through the halls, my glowering temporary bodyguard bringing up the rear to make sure I don’t run.

The brute’s dragging my suitcase, the wheels trundling over the expensive floors, and for his own sake, he’d better hope they don’t leave a scratch. My father is not a forgiving man.

Ask me how I know.

“You know how it is, Lilian. I’ve got a lot of trashy TV to catch up on. Big plans for this summer, big plans.”

That part’s true, actually. Not about the TV—though god knows I love a weekend binge-watch as much as the next girl—but about my summer plans.

I’m supposed to be backpacking around Europe from next week, starting in Oslo and working my way south.

Seeing the sights. Eating the food. Living , finally, out from beneath my father’s thumb.

I planned and paid for it all myself with the earnings from my secret proofreading jobs. I booked the tickets; read the guide books; learned please and thank you in a dozen languages. I even invented an elaborate cover story about an internship for my father, much good it did me.

Less than an hour after he discovers my plans, and the prison door is slamming shut. Cutting me off from that carefree life.

And maybe if Lilian knew these things about me, if she knew that my ‘behavioral issues’ boil down to a secret passport, she’d be less harsh—but the housekeeper thinks I’m the most vapid, irritating girl in existence, and there’s no hope of changing her mind.

I don’t even try anymore. I lean in, and challenge myself to draw out a loud huff from between those pursed lips.

“Oh, hey!” Clapping my hands together, I do a little skip to catch up. Lilian’s heels drum against the tiles: left, right, left, right. Marching to war. “Do you think the doctors will be dreamy?”

There it is! Victory. One angry huff to me.

“I think they will be strict.” The look the housekeeper throws me is withering, and I’m rattled enough by everything that I can’t hold her gaze, so I glance over her shoulder instead.

Framed paintings line the walls of this corridor—all modern artworks.

All priceless originals, naturally. “Lord knows you need some discipline, Miss Lennox. Perhaps with the right medication, you’ll prove a worthy daughter. ”

Ouch.

That one lands exactly where she aimed it: right in the squishy bit between my ribs.

It’s no use showing weakness, though. I’ve lived in this mansion my whole life; I know the drill. And Lilian’s so far up my father’s ass she probably never sees daylight anymore, so which of us really needs sympathy here?

“I bet there’s a hot doctor.” I jostle her pointy elbow, ignoring her harsh words altogether. Behind us, the bodyguard curses when the suitcase skids against his heel. “Guaranteed. Hey, maybe he’ll take my temperature, Lilian. You know: the French way.”

Is that a myth? Probably. Either way, Lilian flushes an angry red beneath her powdered cheeks.

“The Honey Cove Institute is a professional organization, Miss Lennox. The doctors there will have far better things to do than indulge your bad behavior.”

I hum loudly. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

And this is fun and all, tormenting Lilian, but I can’t hide the way my stomach drops when we file out through the front door, squinting through the sunshine at the black car already idling on the driveway.

Dear old Dad moves fast.

“Safe travels,” Lilian sing-songs, all victorious spite.

I stomp to the car and yank the rear door open. And if I were well-behaved like they all want me to be, I’d probably have waited for a staff member to open it for me. I’d be dressed in a crisp designer dress, not these frayed old jeans and a tight red t-shirt.

Is a secret summer trip truly such a crime? Is it really a reason to hate me?

I can’t wait to never see any of these bitches again. When I throw myself into the backseat, the air con is freezing against my heated cheeks.

“The journey will be five hours, Miss Lennox,” the driver says, his tone bored. The partition closes with a slow whir, leaving me in silence.

Guess we won’t be chatting, then. What would he say, anyway? Sorry your father is locking you away and I’m an accessory to his evil plans. Want to stop for a drive-thru coffee?

The trunk dips down behind me, settling under the weight of my suitcase, then slams shut. The echoing thump is so final. The bodyguard prowls back across the driveway, one hand to his ear as he gives an update, and I’m left all alone.

Fine by me. I stare out of the tinted window at the ivy climbing the front of my father’s mansion, pointedly ignoring the smugness radiating from Lilian as she waves us off.

There’s no time to be sad. No time to mourn my beloved bedroom, or the rest of my belongings, or the fact that my father didn’t even bother to say goodbye. No time to think about Oslo, and the whale watching tour I had planned.

I don’t want to chat with the driver anyway.

Vengeance is on my mind.