two.

Cora

Ugh, why do I feel like I was run over by a train? The whole left side of my body throbs.

My eyes flash open when it hits me. Alessandro Beckham’s party last night. The shooter. Alessandro nearly getting killed. My tackling him to the floor. His ungrateful behavior toward me.

It’s not like I saved his life or anything. Whatever.

Groaning through the pain, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stuff my feet into my slippers. Voices from outside carry into my open window, and when I wobble over and pull the curtain aside, I see a crowd gathered around my house. Cameramen and reporters.

“What…the hell?”

I rub my eyes. Nope, they’re still there.

My door bursts open and Mom rushes inside. “Cora, get dressed and come to the living room. Quickly.”

“What’s going on?”

“Get dressed. Now.”

“Why—”

She slams the door after her.

“Seriously, what on Earth?” I open the door and peek out, straining my ears. There’s a strange voice in the living room. Another reporter? Does this have anything to do with my saving Alessandro Beckham’s life?

“She’ll be here in a minute,” Mom says with a nervous laugh.

I shut the door and stare blankly at the spot in front of me. I’m in too much pain to sort any of this out. Dragging myself to my closet, I choose an outfit—jeans and a light purple top—and get dressed, make my hair decent and then open the door again. It’s strangely quiet now, as though the visitor isn’t doing anything but waiting for my arrival. I stop by the bathroom to pop two pills before making my way to the living room. And I freeze in place. Gray Hair is sitting there.

I step inside. Mom and Dad stand. “Cora.” Mom gestures to Gray Hair, who also gets to his feet. “This is Henry Miles. He works for Mr. Asher Beckham.”

“Yeah, we sort of met yesterday at the party. Hi.”

He shakes my hand. “Pleasure to see you again, Miss Williams.”

“Honey, please sit down,” Dad says.

“Okay,” I say unsurely as I lower myself on the sofa near Mom. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not, sweetie.” Mom motions toward Gray Hair. “Mr. Miles is here to talk to you.”

“Is Alessandro okay? I hope I didn’t hurt him.”

“Mr. Beckham is fine,” he assures me. “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Asher Beckham.”

“His father?”

“Yes. He’s very appreciative of your heroics last night and wishes to offer you his gratitude.” He reaches for a dark brown leather briefcase on the coffee table and flicks it open.

My eyes bug out and my chest tightens. I’ve never had so many one-hundred dollar bills shoved in my face before.

I tear my eyes away. “I didn’t save his life for money.”

“Of course not. But Mr. Beckham would like to compensate you nonetheless.”

My gaze slips to Mom and Dad, who desperately clutch each other’s hands. Money’s been very tight the past year, with Dad losing his job and Mom’s hours getting cut. We could really use…

I press my lips together and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept his money. It wouldn’t feel right.”

With a nod, Mr. Miles snaps the briefcase shut. “He thought you might react this way, which is why there’s another offer.”

I raise a brow.

“He would like to offer you admission to Royal Elite Academy this September.”

My jaw nearly sweeps the floor. “Qu…Royal Elite Academy?”

“He’s offering a full scholarship, including room and board, all expenses paid. Royal Elite Academy is ranked number one in the country…”

He continues praising the school, but all I hear is the blood rushing to my head. With an education at Royal Elite Academy, my future could be set. My life could change forever. College has always been an unattainable dream, since I figured I’d have to stay here and help keep my family afloat. But with this scholarship…

“Mr. Beckham would be very pleased if you were to accept his offer,” Mr. Miles concludes, a smile standing strong on his lips.

Mom squeals, grabbing my hands. “Cora. Cora. Cora!” She flings her arms around me, smashing my face to her chest. “This September. That’s only a few weeks away. We’ll need to buy uniforms, school supplies…”

“Mom, I haven’t even accepted yet.”

Mr. Miles nods kindly. “Your uniforms and school supplies and everything else you’ll need will be covered by Mr. Beckham as well.”

“Cora,” Mom hisses. “What are you waiting for? Accept the offer.”

My cheeks hurting from the large smile conquering my face, I say, “I accept!” 

------------

The boxes arrive within hours.

Six pairs of uniforms. Six. What do I need so many for? And every single school supply I can think of, even ones I know I’ll never use (what teenager uses a glue stick?). I have to admit I’m a mix of emotions. First, I’m not even sure my mind has actually grasped the reality. And then I feel excited, because I’ll be going to a prestigious school with the best of the best. I could have any future I want, any dream I want.

And then I feel like a charity case.

Mom tells me I shouldn’t feel this way, that opportunities like this come once in a lifetime—if ever at all. It’s not the time to be prideful. I’d be nuts to back out.

“How did they even know my measurements?” I ask as I lay the uniform on the table. It’s actually pretty decent, as far as academy uniforms go. A light blue shirt and dark blue tie, a plaid blue skirt, and a dark blue blazer. Blue is my favorite color, so I’m not complaining. Plus, gazing down at the uniform kind of makes me feel important.

“Someone from Mr. Beckham’s office called during your interview for the article and asked for your measurements,” Mom says. “See if it fits.”

It’s like I’m carrying porcelain. I’m worried any wrong move might damage the thing. It probably costs more than my whole wardrobe.

And oh wow, it fits perfectly. I turn from one side to the other as I study myself in the full-length mirror in my room. I look…I look like a million bucks. All my doubts about accepting the offer fly out the window and I’m overcome with anticipation. I can’t wait to start at my new school.

Mom and Dad are over the moon when they see me. Dad actually has tears in his eyes. I guess he’s been worrying about my future ever since he had to dip into my college fund to pay for expenses. I assured him many times that it was okay, that I didn’t need to go to college. But now I’ll be given opportunities he’s always dreamed of giving me. I walk over to him and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

I let them take a few pictures before shedding off the uniform so I don’t wreck it. Then we put the boxes aside. Preparing my backpack will be quite an experience.

I head to my room and flop down on the bed, my head still reeling from all of this. I’m still not sure if it’s fully settled in my mind. Maybe when I stand outside the academy gates?