The loud, annoying beeping of my alarm clock cuts through my strange dream, which features dancing strawberries and Warren tackling me. Groaning, I roll over and search my nightstand until I hit the snooze button. The blissful silence tries to lull me back to sleep, but I know I have to get up to get ready for the brunch.
Yawning, I force my eyes open, sit up in bed, and stretch my arms up. I freeze when the lifeless lump in bed next to me groans.
Oh. My. Gosh. I forgot about Warren, practically comatose in bed next to me sleeping off probably what is his worst hangover in his life. I lurch up from bed, grab my pillow, and smack his face as hard as I can.
"Warren. Warren!" I hiss, hitting him again, "Warren!"
He groans again, "What the-" He bats away my blows, still half asleep, "Mom, go-"
I know that he's horribly hungover and just woke up, but I take personal offence to being called mom and swat at him again with my pillow, "You're lucky I'm not your mom, or else she'd be beating your ass right now. Now get up!"
He sits up abruptly, squinting with bloodshot eyes, and clutches his head, "Oh God, my head."
"Serves you right." I hiss at him, turning towards my closet while flicking on the light to look in. It's the nicest luxury in the world to have a walk-in closet.
I know I have to pick the perfect outfit for this brunch. Even if Warren screws this up, I will not. I flick through my selections, trying to put an outfit together in my head. I decide on a breezy, long white dress and matching platform sandals. It's a pretty dress, lacy and flouncy at the bottom with off the shoulder ruffles.
When I come back out from the closet, Warren is sitting on the edge of my bed, staring bleary eyed around like he's never seen my room before. I cross my arms.
"Hello?" I snap my fingers under his nose, "Warren!"
He glares up at me, "Jesus, could you not be so loud?"
I want to smack him. I want to smack him so bad. My fingers twitch.
"I am going to go take a shower. And if you are not out of my room before I come back, I will tell your mom what you did last night." I say in a dangerously calm voice.
I don't give him time to answer, instead I spin on my heel and yank open my bedroom door. In the bathroom, I turn to water all the way up. I wash away all of last night, enjoying the steaming water.
Ugh. I hate him. I can't believe that he made me lie for him. I hate lying. He also put me at risk for getting in trouble for lying. And I can't believe he came home drunk. I haven't had much experience with alcohol. Dad will give me sips of his beer or wine he gets, but I don't have much of a taste for either. He definitely deserves the massive hangover he's dealing with right now.
I take my time in the shower, thoroughly washing my hair, shaving my legs, using the good body wash so I smell nice. The bathroom is steamy when I finally get out and dry off. I wrap my hair up, finish drying off, and wrap my robe around my freshly cleaned body.
When I open my bedroom door, Warren is gone and I feel a rush of relief. He isn't my problem anymore after all. Trying to him out of my mind, I start to get ready. I decide to put on some makeup today, since Charlotte bought all of this stuff for me and I wouldn't want to waste it. I'm not that good, but I scrape by and it actually turns out nice.
I'm slipping on my shoes when someone knocks on the door. It's Charlotte, in the process of putting on a dangling pearl earring.
"Oh, you look lovely, dear." She says with a smile, "Perfect choice. Almost ready? We'll be leaving soon."
I nod, "Just about done. I'll be down in a second."
"Good."
I spray some perfume on, then grab my purse and open my door. It's a little strange to be walking in heels, even if they are just platforms. I can't even remember the last time I wore heels. Warren is coming out of his room across the hall at the same time, looking slightly more alive than before.
And gosh dang it, even with a stupid hangover he looks great. He must've taken a quick shower after me because his hair is damp and I catch a faint whiff of his cologne. He glares daggers at me, but then his expression changes when he looks over my outfit. My face starts to warm, though I'm not sure why. I can't read the look in his eyes and it scares me a bit.
Without saying a word to each other, we head downstairs to the kitchen. Dad is trying to tie his tie, but is failing miserably. I chuckle, he's never been able to tie his tie correctly.
"Here Daddy, let me help you." I say, going over and moving his hands out of the way.
He sighs and smiles at me, "Thanks, bug. I was never any good at this. Your mother always..." He trails off.
Dad has never been able to tie his tie, so Mom would do it for him. And now that she's gone, I do it for him. Mom taught me. She never told me why exactly, but we both knew it was because Dad is helpless with that kind of stuff and I would have to take care of him without her.
I pat his chest once, his tie in shipshape form, and turn around before he notices my misty eyes. Charlotte and John enter, Sawyer behind them complaining about having to wear nice clothes. John's tie matches Charlotte's pretty blue floral dress.
"Why do I have to wear a tie but Warren doesn't?" Sawyer asks in a whining tone.
Warren ruffles Sawyer's hair, "Because I'm older, little bro."
"Everyone ready? Great, let's go."
We can't all fit in one car, so Dad and I follow behind the Prestons in our car. I'm feeling great about this whole brunch thing, thinking maybe it won't be bad at all, maybe I'll even have fun, but my raising hopes fall the minute I see the place this meal will take.
Oh good God.
I've never seen a hotel this nice or big. It's a monster of carefully groomed gardens and sparkling fountains, which is only the front of the huge building. The building itself isn't very tall, only about four or five stories, but it's sprawling and is bigger than all three school buildings combined at Clearwater.
I am not prepared for this kind of brunch. I don't even know if I'm dressed properly! Oh God, oh God, oh God.
We go up the drive and pull around to the front doors, where there's practically an army of valets waiting to open our doors and take the keys to the car. Dad and I glance at each other and I can tell he's trying not to laugh.
That's it. As soon as I step foot into this place, I'm going to be struck down for having the audacity to be somewhere that is more expensive than my life. We follow behind the Prestons through the huge double doors, which are held open by doormen of course, and go straight through the lavish lobby. John seems to know where he's going.
"Dad, does John own this hotel?" I ask as we head down a long hallway and past a lounge area.
Dad is looking around like I am, hands in his pant pockets, and says, "Hmm, no I don't think so. This is the Hamilton Inn, owned by Thomas Fox. He inherited this hotel from his late grandfather. That's who he's meeting today. You see, bug, Thomas never actually wanted the hotel, so this brunch is about John trying to sell Thomas on signing the hotel over to him." Hmm, why does that name sound familiar? I can't quite put a finger on it.
Anyways, that makes a lot of sense. Charlotte had said that the brunch was an important business meeting.
We head out of the building onto a terrace covered in flowers and greenery, scattered with tables with white umbrellas open above them. Servers in black aprons and white shirts run around to the other nicely dressed people sitting at the tables. It's a nice day, even though it's late September.
We have our own private table set aside from the main area and there's a group of people already sitting at the table. One is an older man, around the same age as Dad and John, wearing a sharp three piece suit in gray. He's lounging in his chair, drinking something yellowish from a short glass. Next to him is a beautiful woman half his age drinking a mimosa in a salmon dress. And lastly, there's a girl sitting with her back to us.
My eyes widen because I know who she is. Rachel Fox. She goes to our school.
"John! Glad you made it." Thomas Fox says with a smile, putting his drink down and getting up to shake John's hand, "Along with the beautiful Charlotte." He kisses Charlotte on the cheek, "And these are your boys, Warren and Sawyer? I believe you go to school with my daughter, Rachel, right?"
Rachel turns at the sound of her name and her eyes widen when she first sees Warren, then go even bigger when she spots me back behind John and Charlotte next to Dad. I'm not exactly friends with Rachel, she runs in Phoebe's crowd, but she knows me and I know her. I've never had reason to hate her, but I don't particularly like her all the same.
We go through the round of introductions, then take our seats around the table as a waiter comes over to take our order. I don't really pay attention as John and Thomas talk, instead I look at the menu. It is becoming increasingly clear that Dad and I can not afford to even look at this menu. The cheapest thing I can see on the menu, which is a regular salad, is almost thirty dollars. It must be one heck of a salad to cost that much.
Dad notices the expression on my face and leans in, "Cas, I can see what you're thinking and I want you to stop." He grins, "Also, the brunch is completely free to us since Thomas owns the hotel."
That makes me feel better, even though I didn't even realize I was worried about it.
"So, is your dad his business partner or something?"
I nearly jump out of my skin, "W-what?"
Rachel stares at me like I'm idiot and rolls her eyes, "I've been trying to figure out why you're here and the only explanation is that your dad works with John."
I swallow hard, "I... uh..." I am not prepared for this. What in the world am I supposed to say? That we live together?
"They are." Warren cuts in, giving me a look, "Dad wanted him to come with on this brunch."
I release a breath. Warren is definitely better at thinking on his feet than I am.
The change in Rachel as she rounds on Warren is instant, her eyes go bami wide and she bats her eyelashes at him, "Oh! That makes sense. So, Warren, are you gonna do baseball again this year?"
Her complete demeanor change has me reeling a bit. And for some reason, it makes my stomach tighten.
Am I...? No, no, that's crazy. I do not get jealous. And I have no right to be jealous over Warren. I may have liked him in the past, but it is over now.
Warren shrugs, "I don't know. I'm not really feeling it this year. I want to focus on swimming."
Warren has always been known for two things: baseball and swimming. He's extremely talented in both sports, having won many championships for both. He holds the high school record for swimming and is the best pitcher on the baseball team since his dad went to Clearwater. I'm surprised he wants to drop baseball. He could have a far better career in that rather than swimming.
"What do you mean, you're not feeling it? You've always been on the team. You have to be on the team." Rachel's voice has a slight shrill to it, like Warren quitting the team is the end of the world.
"He doesn't have to do anything." I point out lazily, "If he wants to quit the team, he can."
Rachel rounds on me, "Excuse me? Warren is the star champion, he's won a bunch of metals. What exactly have you done for the school?"
My hackles raise, "Rachel, do you even know what I do for the school?"
She snorts, "No, why should I anyways? You're the scholarship kid, right, the poor one? Clearwater really will let anyone in nowadays."
I scoff, "At least I didn't have to buy my way in. I got in through hard work and dedication."
Dad and I may not have everything we want, but we have what we need. And I've always been happy with that even before I started to go to a nice school.
"That's just something poor people say to feel better about themselves." Rachel says, turning her nose up at me, "Whatever."
She obviously thinks that I'm no longer worth the fight because she continues like I'm not even there and says to Warren, "So, Warren, you and Phoebe are coming to homecoming together, right? Everyone is talking about how you two will get King and Queen."
"Did Phoebe tell you that?" Is it me or does Warren seem a little uncomfortable? Looks like they're fighting again.
Rachel nods, "Yeah, she was saying how she already had her dress picked out even though homecoming isn't until next month."
"I see." He looks angry, "It's a while away anyways."
Is he planning on not taking Phoebe? I can't think of anyone else he would go with, although every girl at school would gladly go. Homecoming is stupid anyways. In fact, all high school dances are stupid. You won't catch me at one.
Rachel gives me the stink eye, "I don't suppose you're gonna go?" Her laugh has a nasty quality to it, "You couldn't even afford a dress, I guess, so it wouldn't matter."
"High school isn't all dances and dating." I snap, "But you wouldn't even know hard work if it hit you over the head, seeing as daddy pays for everything right? Tell me, did he pay for your nose?"
It's a horrible insult. I realize I've gone way too far the moment it comes out. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.
Rachel jumps out of her chair, "At least my dad pays! I heard you couldn't even afford the hospital bills for your mom! Imagine being that poor that you can't pay for your sick mom!"
Now she's gone too far. My chair screeches as I leap from it. Red hot anger burns in my stomach, but even worse, tears threaten to spill.
The table is completely silent, our parents staring at Rachel and I in shock. Warren stares hard at me but I can't read his face.
"Excuse me." My voice cracks a little.
Then I turn and I get away from the table as fast as I can.