Page 33 of The Brat: Prequel

“How?”

“He had to buckle down. Get straight As. Ace his SATs. With you… they didn’t have the same expectations. Your grades came as a surprise.”

“I repeat, they shouldn’t have. I’m smart,” I protest. “How did they think I was going to get into Oakwood if I was dumb?”

“They probably thought they’d have to bribe someone,” she says easily. Loudly, even.

Man, my family is so indiscreet.

I rub my temple. “You guys give me headaches.”

“Well? What’s the game plan?”

I think about Timofai Stepanov. About Ronan Kirkland. About all the other boys Maxim’s had to deal with in one way or another over the years… How I let things go too far and freeze. How it takes too much for Brennan’s lessons to kick into gear.

“The game plan is to get power.”

Helplessness is a curse I won’t endure for long.

“Power. You want to be a politician like Shay?”

“No.” I laugh at the idea. “I’m not that way inclined.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s bad enough having one in the family, never mind two.” She studies me more intently than before. “What kind of power?”

“The sort you don’t get married to a mobster.”

Her eyes narrow. “I always wondered if you had a thing for Shay.”

“Ew, Shay? No!” I mock-gag. “What made you think that?”

“You know he has some lofty ambitions. Figured you might want to be the ‘woman behind the power.’”

“Why would I want that when I can have my own?” I scoff.

“Atta girl. Figured you’d have a plan, though. Or are you really holding out on me?”

“I’m still deliberating.”

“Don’t deliberate too long or you’ll blink and be in Poughkeepsie, accidentally studying archaeology.”

“We learn from history that we do not learn from history,” I quote and earn a:

“Yadda, yadda, yadda,” from her.

“Listen, I have to shift my butt, Aunty Star. There’s a lot left to do.”

“Is there? Everyone’s eaten. They’re drinking and networking and⁠—”

“Uncle Conor wanted me to prompt him as he worked the room.”

“How the man can memorize his patents but can’t put a face to a name is beyond me. He’s lucky he’s cute or he’d drive me batshit.”

“He says the people here bore him.”

“The worst type of sin.”

“Exactly. ‘If they’re tedious enough to be unmemorable, that’s their fault…,’” I repeat.