Twisted Lies: A Dark High School Romance (Twisted Pine Academy Book 1) Read online

  What a jerk. He doesn't pick me up at the airport. Tells me I can't talk about my dad. Makes me hurry though lunch. He didn't even ask how I'm doing after losing my mom.

  He swipes through his phone, then types something while I sit there in silence. After a few minutes, he finally sets his phone down.

  "So," Brock says, "how have you been?"

  "Well, let's see. My mom just died and I got shipped out here to live with people who don't want me."

  He leans back and lets out a long sigh. "Rumor, I know this is difficult but let's try to make the best of it. It'll be an adjustment for all of us."

  "Really?" I huff. "Did you have to leave your home, your friends, the person you love?"

  "I realize the situation is much different for you, but—"

  "Stop acting like you know what I'm going through. You have no fucking clue."

  "Keep your voice down!" he says in a harsh whisper, checking the restaurant to see if anyone heard. He looks back at me. "You don't want to be here. I get it. But it was either this or foster care, and if I recall, you chose this."

  "I changed my mind." I fold my arms over my chest. "If it means I can go home, I'll take foster care."

  "Too late." He takes the cloth napkin from the table and sets it on his lap.

  "It's not too late. I could leave right now. Have Harley take me back to the airport."'

  "You're not leaving. Everything's already arranged for your stay. Your room is ready. I've enrolled you in school. And your cousins are excited to meet you."

  "Yeah, right." I roll my eyes. "I'm sure they can't wait for me to move in."

  "Okay, yes, perhaps they're not thrilled about it but they will be once they get to know you."

  "Just let me go home. I know you don't want me here. Why not just send me back?"

  "Because you need to be with your family." He pauses. "We're all you have left."

  "You're not my family. I've never even met you people. Sharing some DNA doesn't make us family. Families care about each other. Spend time with each other. Have holidays together."

  "Not all families do those things, especially when they live on different coasts. It would've been nice to see you over the years but the distance prohibited it."

  "You're an actor. I'm sure you go to New York all the time."

  "Not all the time, but occasionally."

  "And I'm sure you brought your kids with you."

  "Sometimes, yes.”

  "Then why didn't you come see us?"

  "You want the truth?"

  He pauses and I wait for him to continue.

  "We weren't invited," he says matter-of-factly.

  "Invited? Seriously? You need a written invitation to stop by?"

  "Your mother never wanted a relationship with us. She made that clear after Devon left."

  He's either lying or making assumptions that aren't true. My mom always made it sound like it was my dad's side of the family that wanted nothing to do with us, not the other way around.

  "After Devon left New York and moved back to California," Brock says, "your mother told him she wanted nothing to do with the Halliways."

  "That's bullshit," I say, getting angry. "I still saw my dad. And I would've seen him even more if he wasn't spending all his time in rehab. My mom never tried to keep him away. She wanted me to have a relationship with him but he fucked it up."

  "Okay, then." Brock picks up his phone.

  I snatch it from him. "Are you implying my mom tried to keep my dad from me?"

  Brock reaches for his phone. "Give it to me. I need to check messages. I'm waiting to hear back from my agent."

  "You can have it when you tell me what you know."

  "This is something you need to discuss with your father. I'm not getting in the middle of it."

  "But you know something. Something you're not telling me."

  "I already told you what I know."

  "That my mom cut you guys out of my life? You're lying. I know her better than anyone and she'd never do that."

  "Give me the phone," he says in a sinister tone that matches the sinister look on his face. It's probably an actor thing, pretending to be scary when you're not, but it still freaks me out.

  "Rumor, give me the phone." He holds out his hand. "Now!"

  When I don't, he grabs it from me then takes a breath to calm himself as he checks his messages.

  The waitress stops by the table. She's just as gorgeous as the hostess.

  "Sorry about the wait," she says. "Can I get you some drinks?"

  "Sparkling water with lime," Brock says, glancing up from his phone. "And we need to place our lunch order. I have to leave for a meeting soon."

  "Certainly, Mr. Halliway," she says, giving him a flirtatious smile.

  What the hell? She's like 22. He's gotta be at least 45, maybe older. It's hard to tell with all the face work he's had done. His skin is so tight it looks like he's wearing a mask.

  "Rumor, go ahead," Brock says.

  I quickly read over the menu. Everything on there is stuff I don't eat. Bean sprouts. Tofu. Kale.

  I look at the waitress. "What do you recommend?"

  "The kale salad is my favorite." She points to it on the menu. "It comes dressed in a lemon vinaigrette but we can do it on the side, if you like."

  "Mixed in is fine. I'll go with that."

  "Would you like the cheese?"

  "It has cheese?" I check the menu again.

  "It has light feta, but if you're dairy free or vegan I can leave it off."

  "I'll take the cheese."

  "What about the croutons? They're not gluten free."

  "That's okay." I hand her the menu, confused by that whole interaction. I've never been asked so many questions about what I'm ordering. When it comes to food I'm pretty simple. Burgers and fries. Tacos. Quesadillas. A steak now and then. Give me any of those and I'm happy. Unfortunately none of those things were on the menu.

  I just ordered a kale salad. I don't even know what the hell kale is, or anything else on the menu.

  The waitress turns to Brock, her head tilted, giving him that flirty smile. "And for you?"

  "Grilled salmon," he says, not even looking at her, his eyes on his phone.

  She picks up the menus and leaves.

  "I think she was flirting with you," I say, shoving my napkin-wrapped silverware aside and resting my arms on the table.

  "They all do," he says, swiping through his phone.

  "All women flirt with you?" I say, fighting another eye roll. "Got quite an ego on you, Uncle Brock."

  His eyes lift from his phone. "I have power in this town. People know me, especially people looking to break in the business. The hostess. The waitress. I've seen both of them at auditions. They're flirting with me because they think it'll get them a part in something, or at the very least a connection."

  "That's really shallow. And sexist."

  "This business is all about who you know. People—both men and women—are willing to do whatever it takes to make it."

  "Even if it means selling their soul?"

  "If a soul truly had a value, believe me, they would sell it. This whole city is full of people trying to hit it big but very few will."

  "So how'd you get into acting?" I ask just as the waitress returns.

  "Sparkling water," she says, setting the glass in front of Brock. She turns to me. "Did you want one too? You never said."

  "I'll just have a Coke."

  She gives me a sad smile. "Sorry. We don't sell soda here. Would you like sparkling water? Fresh squeezed juice?"

  "You don't have soda? How is that possible?"

  "She'll have a sparkling water," Brock says.

  The waitress smiles at him before walking off.

  "What the hell is up with this town?" I ask. "Does everyone here live on salads and water?"

  "The camera adds ten pounds," he says, checking his phone again.

  "So nobody eats?"

  "Your cousins do. The
y eat nonstop. The maid has to buy groceries every day just to keep up. You'll see when you meet them. If you ever can't find them, just go to the kitchen."

  "Growing boys, huh?"

  "That, and they're in sports. They spend a lot of time at the gym and at practice."

  "What sports?"

  "Braden plays football and Trystan plays soccer."

  Trystan and Braden are the cousins I've never met. Braden is 17 like me, and Trystan is 16. They're probably both like their dad. Obnoxious egomaniacs. I'll be going to their school but I'm sure they'll ignore me or pretend they don't know me, which is fine. I can make my own friends. I don't need them.

  The waitress drops off my water, then leaves.

  "So when does school start?" I ask.

  "Next Tuesday, the day after Labor Day. I've ordered you enough uniforms for five days but I can get more if you'd like."

  "I have to wear a uniform?"

  "Of course," he says like I should've already known this. "All private schools require a uniform."

  "Private school?" I sit back, shaking my head. "I'm not going to private school. Private schools are for snobby rich kids."

  He leans toward me. "You may not have realized this yet, but you're one of those kids, or you soon will be. You can choose not to be snobby but you'll definitely have money. I've already set up an account for you."

  "A bank account?"

  "It comes with a debit card which you can use as you please as long as you stay within the monthly budget."

  "What's the monthly budget?" I ask, taking a sip of my water.

  "Three thousand."

  I choke on my water, which makes me cough.

  "Here." He hands me his napkin. "I'll get a new one."

  "Did you just say three thousand? A month?"

  "To start. Once you've proven you can be responsible with the debit card I'll increase the amount closer to what the boys get."

  "What do they get?"

  "Five thousand."

  "A piece?" I set my water down. "How the hell do they spend that much money?"

  "Clothes. Going out with friends. Weekend trips. It adds up."

  "There's no way I could spend that much. My mom used to give me fifty a week to clean the apartment and some weeks I didn't even spend it."

  "I'm sure if you try, you could spend it," he says with a smile. "As for school, Maria will get your supplies when she picks up supplies for the boys."

  "Who's Maria?"

  "The maid. She runs errands for us. She also prepares meals when the chef isn't around. Anyway, until we get you a car, Maria will get you whatever you need."

  "I'm getting a car?"

  "Of course," he says as though it's a given. "You can't get around without a car."

  "I don't have a driver's license."

  "You don't?"

  "I've never needed one. People don't drive in New York. We walk or take the subway."

  "Your mother had a license."

  "Yeah, but she never drove." I pause. "How'd you know she had a license?"

  "I just assumed. It's unusual not to have one. I'll have my assistant find some driving schools and set something up."

  “Um, could we hold off on that? I’m fine just catching a ride with someone."

  "Are you afraid to drive?"

  "I'm not afraid," I say, adamantly. "I just don't need to rush into taking driving classes. I have enough to deal with between moving here and starting a new school. I don't need to add anything else."

  "I think it'd be better not to wait but it's up to you."

  "I'd rather wait. And I want to go to public school, not private."

  "That's not an option." He waves at a busboy walking by. "I need another napkin."

  The guy nods and continues walking.

  "Why isn't it an option?" I ask.

  "Because celebrities send their children to private schools. We wouldn't even consider public."

  Private school? Is he kidding? That's a whole new level of hell I wasn't expecting.

  Chapter Three

  "I'm not your child," I say. "I'm your niece."

  Brock glances to the side, looking for the busboy who was supposed to bring the napkin. "Service these days is ridiculously bad."

  "Nobody cares where your niece goes to school," I say, trying to focus him back on our conversation.

  "I'm your guardian," he says, looking back at me. "Acting as your surrogate parent, so yes, it's unacceptable to send you to public school. Even if didn't affect my reputation, public school would destroy you. The kids there would bully you for having money and a famous father."

  "My dad isn't famous. He's been on a few TV shows, and he was a side character."

  "Regardless, the students would do whatever it took to drive you out of there."

  "I'm not afraid of them. I'm a New Yorker."

  "This isn't up for debate. You're going to Twisted Pine Academy. End of discussion."

  "Twisted Pine? That's the name? What the hell? Are we going to learn spells and incantations?"

  He chuckles. "Funny I've never thought of it that way. Twisted Pines refers to the trees in the area. Years ago, pine trees covered much of southern California. In the location where they built the school, one of the pine trees had a twisted trunk. The tree has since died but there's a photo of it in the school lobby."

  "They named the school after a tree? That's kinda lame."

  "The school's founder loved trees. He traveled the world taking pictures of different types. When he bought the land to build the school and saw the twisted pine, he took it as a sign that should be the name."

  "How do you know all this?"

  "They tell the story every year in parent orientation. I've heard it enough times to remember every detail. I spared you the long version."

  "I still think it sounds haunted."

  A man appears with our food.

  "Grilled salmon," he says, placing it in front of Brock. "And kale salad." He sets a bowl of green leaves in front of me. "Enjoy."

  The busboy races over. "Your napkin." He hands it to Brock, then hurries off.

  As I dig into my bowl of leaves, Brock texts someone on his phone. He's spent almost the entire time we've been here either texting or checking messages. It's like I'm not even here.

  Taking a bite of the salad, I nearly choke. One of the leaves hit the back of my throat and I had to cough it out.

  "You okay?" Brock asks, not looking up from his phone.

  "I can't eat this salad," I say, setting my fork down.

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "It's like eating grass. I'm usually not picky but I've never tasted anything like this. Do people really think this is good?"

  "Morgan lives on kale. Puts it in everything."

  "Who's Morgan?"

  He looks up. "My girlfriend. I mentioned her on the phone."

  "You did?"

  "I told you about her daughter, Livia. I thought you two might be friends."

  "I don't remember any of this. Are you sure you told me?"

  "It was soon after your mother passed. I'm not surprised you don't remember. Anyway, I was hoping we'd all go to dinner some night so you could meet them."

  "How old is her daughter?"

  "She's 14, but mature for her age."

  "No offense but I don't need help getting friends. And fourteen's too young. I'd feel like I'm her babysitter."

  "Then maybe try being like a sister to her. She could use some guidance."

  "A sister?" I laugh. "Are you marrying her mom?"

  "Maybe," he casually says while cutting into his salmon.

  "Haven't you been married three times already?"

  "Two. I was engaged to Anna but we broke it off before the ceremony."

  "But you only have two kids, right? There aren't others you didn't tell me about?"

  He clears his throat. "The boys are it. They're enough. They can be quite a handful."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know how b
oys are...always causing trouble."

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "Fights at school. Drinking. The typical things kids do at that age." He smiles at me. "Devon assures me I won't have the same issues with you."

  "He doesn't know me that well," I say, meeting Brock's eyes across the table.

  "You're saying you've been in trouble?"

  "I'm saying I'm not as innocent as I look."

  He must not believe me because he doesn't react. He goes back to eating his meal and checking his phone.

  I'm not a trouble-maker but I feel like I want to be. When I lived with my mom I followed the rules because I didn't want to upset her or make her life harder. Raising a kid on your own isn't easy so I tried to help her by staying out of trouble. But with Brock? I don't care. I don't owe him anything. He's taking me in but I know he doesn't want to. He's only doing it to boost his image.

  Hollywood star takes in orphaned niece. That was the headline I saw on a website last week. They made Brock sound like a saint. And what's with the orphan title? I'm not an orphan. I have a dad.

  "Fuck," Brock mutters, swiping through his phone.

  "What?"

  "The audition I had on Friday was cancelled. They already cast the role." He sets his phone down hard on the table. "That role should've been mine, dammit."

  He stabs his fork in the salmon like he's trying to kill it. Why is he so angry? So he didn't get an audition? Big deal. I just lost my mom and he doesn't even seem to care.

  My mom used to say actors were self-absorbed. That everything was all about them. I'm starting to see what she means. Brock is completely consumed with himself. Maybe that's good. If he ignores me I can do what I want.

  "You never said how you started acting," I say. "Did you do Broadway?"

  "No. Never." He shudders. "The stage is for my brother. I had no desire to do that."

  "Then how'd you get started?" I ask, picking at my salad to see if there's anything in there I could eat.

  "Miranda. The boys' mother. Her father was head of the studio."

  "So you hooked up with her to get a job." I nod. "Real romantic."

  "It wasn't like that. When I met her I didn't know about her father. I was interning at the studio and saw her in the cafeteria. I asked her out and we started dating."