Chapter One
Rian
The shrill sound of my phone wakes me, and my blurry eyes focus on the screen. Only my parents ever call me before my alarm goes off. I’d ignore the damn thing if I didn’t know they’d call right back or have the National Guard come check on their precious daughter.
“It’s early,” I answer.
“You’re not up yet?” my mom asks.
“Why are you calling me so early?” I snip.
“We were out to dinner with the Fredericksons last night,” she says.
I lie back down on the bed, putting the phone on speaker and resting it on my pillow beside my head.
This is going to be a long one.
“Uh-huh,” I say, trying not to let my annoyance be heard.
My mom says, “Johann is working on an equation.”
Johann would be the Fredericksons’ son and the person I’m constantly compared to. The one his parents named after Johann Carl Friedrich Gauss, the famous German mathematician. Imagine living in the United States with the name Johann and being the leader of the mathletes—pre bully awareness. Let’s just say by the end of high school, he was walking himself into his locker and shutting the door.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” my dad corrects me.
I say nothing. Obviously I’ve woken up on the defiant side of the bed this morning.
“It’s for a contest the Mathematical Society of America is running,” my mom says.
“That’s great,” I say with a yawn.
“They said he thinks it will take him a while to solve it.” The excitement level in my mom’s voice grows higher and higher while my interest wanes further and further.
“I’m sure he will. No one is better than him,” I say.
“Except you, sweetheart,” my dad says.
The man adds sweetheart when he wants me to do something. It’s a trigger word that says this conversation will suck and I’m most likely going to commit to doing something I don’t want to do. Namely this contest.
I say, “Jo is going to crush it. If he’s already started it, he’s as good as won.”
“The contest is open, and if you win, it’s worth prize money,” my dad says.
“How much?” I ask.
“I didn’t catch the amount. Did you, Larry?” my mom asks. “Not that it’s important. You wouldn’t be doing it for the money.”
Uh, yeah, I would.
“You don’t need money, right, sweetheart? You save a quarter of your paycheck for a rainy day like we’ve always taught you, right?” my dad asks.
“Of course.” How many lies can you tell your parents in your lifetime? I stopped counting.
“That’s my girl,” he says with pride.
Mom continues. “You do it for the notoriety. Your name will grace every conversation in the industry. You could get a much better job and forget Pierson Education. They should’ve had you writing college-level equations by now. Fifth grade math is an insult to your intelligence.”
“Mom, I don’t really have the time for another—”
“Make the time. I’m emailing you all the details now. And don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Johann working day and night to beat you. It’s about time they see how talented you are,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “I’ll look into it.”
There’s a moment of silence, and the scratching on the phone line says one of them is doing something else.
“What’s going on with you, sweetheart?” my dad asks.
I glance at the phone to make sure the connection is still with my parents. Rarely do they show any interest in how I’m really doing, preferring instead to cling to the prefabricated assurances I feed them. “Good. Sierra moved out to live with her boyfriend.”
“The prince,” my dad says. “We saw the footage. The Fredericksons didn’t know what to say when we told them that.”
“That your daughter’s roommate is dating a prince?”
“Is Johann’s roommate dating a princess?”
“Johann doesn’t have a roommate,” I say.
“Exactly.” My dad’s tone is one of satisfaction.
Does he not realize his daughter has to live with people in order to have a nice place to live? Johann lives in New York City in a studio apartment all by himself.
“Okay, I registered you,” my mom cuts in.
I sit up in bed. “What?”
“This way it’s done. Taken care of.”
I blow out a breath. The last thing I want to spend my free time on is a math problem, but I will say the money sounds intriguing. “Okay.”
“Make sure you start on it right away. Johann already has a head start,” my mom says.
“I need to get to work now,” I say.
“That’s fine. Your dad and I are going with a few other friends to talk to the administrators of the SAT. We think there should be different ones for gifted kids. They all shouldn’t be able to score perfect.”
“And that’s not a knock on you, sweetheart,” my dad says.
“Although you should’ve taken it over,” my mom says.
I roll my eyes. I didn’t need to take it over. I had an excellent score, she just still isn’t over the fact that Johann scored better than I did. “I gotta go. Work and all.”
“Bye, sweetheart,” my dad says.
“Don’t forget, mum’s the word. No posting on social media about doing the math—”
“Got it, Mom. Bye.”
“Love —”
I click off the phone, then pull up the email with all the details. The problem will be emailed to me directly by a Dr. Giroux. Once I finish, I send him my work and am only to talk to him. They don’t disclose how many people are trying to solve the problem, but as soon as the right answer is given, everyone will be notified of the winner. And there’s a twenty-five-thousand-dollar prize that they would prefer go to continued education but understand they cannot dictate that.
Dylan’s loud voice interrupts my concentration and I rise from my bed to see what’s going on. It’s been only one day since my entire roommate situation took a one-eighty. I went from living with a couple to two men. One of which I still haven’t really gotten to know well.
“There are rules here,” Dylan says.
I press my ear against my bedroom door.
“Just relax, Phillips. I’m not looking for complications,” Jax says.
None of us ever use Dylan’s last name. Mostly because when Dylan introduces himself to someone, he never uses his last name. Even his business cards at Ink Envy only have Dylan in a black block font. He’s always touchy about his middle name too.
“I just want to make it clear—you aren’t to touch her.”
Jax laughs sarcastically as my palm flattens on the door as though Dylan’s recent bodyguard behavior has anything to do with romantic feelings for me. He’s your friend and only moved into your apartment so you didn’t have to live alone with a guy you don’t know. Do not think of this as anything more.
Jax’s laugh abruptly cuts off. “Tell me, Phillips, are you touching her?”