Prep School Experiment (2 page)

***

Academic Decathlon – THS Auditorium — Rhys

Rhys poured a small amount of water into a plastic bottle and listened as his teammate, Hayley, blew her speech. She was using the decathlon participants to demonstrate DNA properties. She said that, because one of the contestants didn’t look like his parents, they were probably all switched at birth during the hurricane.

Weak.

He’d have to make up some points. His cloud experiment was only a prop to his speech. Maybe he’d go bigger with it. Their competition, Trallwyn Prep, already had enough of an edge with Christian Wentworth on the team. Christian was the son of Senator Wentworth and the librarian. With the librarian helping him, he’d have something good prepared.

Rhys struck a match, shook it out. Then, he tipped the head into the opening of the bottle, letting the smoke fill the space. He dropped the match and screwed the lid on tight, squeezing the bottle. He’d let the mass out as he gave his speech. Nice and controlled.

Cold air burst through the vents, and he knew he could go bigger. He glanced at the fog machine he’d set up in the wings and at his spray bottle of water. They were plan B.

Hayley finished her DNA diatribe and plopped down beside him. She wore a relieved smile until the questions came at her from the crowd as if they were part of the judging. All of them focused on the baby-switching joke she’d made. The speculation grew wilder with each query. She hadn’t meant to provoke such a reaction and didn’t deserve to be bombarded.

Freaking jackals.

They needed to leave her alone. Time for a distraction. Forget small cloud. With steady hands, keeping the motion slight, Rhys spritzed the air with the water and shoved his chair back so he could kick on the fog machine.

The cloud formed quickly, rolling across the stage.

Freaking experiment was working. Nice one.

The fire alarm shrieked on almost immediately, making an incessant blaring sound. The sprinklers followed. Jets of water streamed out of nozzles in the ceiling, splashing the stage, spraying the audience.

“Evacuate!” the principal yelled.

Everyone scattered, scrambling for the auditorium exits.

A hand grabbed Rhys’ arm. Adrenalin jolted through him. He went to throw an elbow but checked himself as he recognized the librarian’s burly bodyguard.

“Come on, kid. South entrance.”

Most people headed to the main exits, but he followed the bodyguard toward the wings. Mrs. Wentworth was crying and had a hand latched onto Christian’s arm. He’d only seen the thin blonde cry once, after one of the more blatant stories about her cheating husband had made the news. Unlike Mom, who’d rant for two hours about a missing remote control, bills, or how late Stepdad #4 had stayed out, Mrs. Wentworth didn’t think adults should unload on kids. The day he’d asked about her crying, she’d quickly powdered her nose and tackled the shipment of e-Readers she’d financed. He’d gotten the strong impression that the second Christian graduated, she’d leave her loser husband. Seeing her unable to pull it together made his stomach tighten. It bothered him more than the school evacuation.

Rhys, Christian, the librarian, and her bodyguard burst free via the south entrance, their destination her town car. Her driver had pulled up to the side door, parking right on the lawn. The second they were loaded, the driver floored it. Rhys shoved his seatbelt on and sank into the cushy leather. They were all soaked from the sprinklers. The librarian was trembling as if they’d entered the Arctic Circle. The interior of the car was at least thirty degrees cooler than outside and the blower would only make her shiver worse. He closed the nearest vent.

“My boys. My sons.” The librarian sobbed, covered her face with her hands, and bent forward.

“The event went badly, but it’s over now,” Rhys said. The senator could put on another fundraiser. Maybe even show up himself instead of letting his family carry the load. He tried to cheer her. “The evacuation will get your husband’s pet cause even more press than just a decathlon alone. Let’s face it: we weren’t going to make the six o’clock news. We’re not cute, little kids spelling big words.”

She cried harder.

Rhys met Christian’s gaze and raised his eyebrows.
Dude, what’s wrong with her?

Christian made a
got me
gesture and patted his mom’s back. “Calm down, Mom. It’s okay.”

Rhys shook out his hands to ditch some adrenalin and flipped the switch on the speaker. “Can you let me out at my house instead of the library? I’ll need to change.” This wasn’t the first time the driver had dropped him off, so he didn’t have to explain that he needed to be let out one street over. Stepdad #4 would be up by now. Rhys didn’t want him to see the librarian’s ride.

“No! Take us straight home.” Mrs. Wentworth’s voice had an edge of hysteria.

Christian’s eyes silently asked Rhys to indulge her.

Rhys nodded. No problem. They’d take the librarian home first, and then he’d get a lift.

The driver pushed the speed limit and got them there fast. They entered through a gate and parked in the six-car garage. They got out after the bodyguards “cleared” the garage and then they “moved” into the house.

The largest guard opened the door to the house. “The property’s secure, ma’am. The senator’s been alerted. He’s en route. E.T.A. three to five minutes.”

Rhys would’ve thought the senator would head for the school—more photo ops and drama there with the forced evacuation. Nice to know he cared enough to check on his family first.

Mrs. Wentworth latched onto his and Christian’s arms. “My boys.” Her voice cracked and tears streamed down her face. She had no makeup left. Her skin was pale, her eyes red-rimmed eyes. He’d never seen her so disheveled.

Christian looked a little freaked at this point too. Rhys guessed his mom didn’t usually fall apart at home any more than she did at work. “Mom. Uh. Why don’t you go change and—”

“No. I need to talk to your father. I have to talk to you boys.” She sobbed.

Rhys didn’t know how long they stood there, waiting out her tears and dripping water from the school’s sprinkler system onto the black-and-white checked marble tiles like pawns in a live chess game. They didn’t move again until the senator strode through the door, his face haggard. He grabbed his wife and son tight. “Michelle. Christian.” His voice came out strong, though there were no camera crews to hear it. “You’re okay,” he sighed with relief.

Mrs. Wentworth clung to him a second and then pulled back. “Steven. Did you hear?”

“They evacuated the school. Everyone’s fine.”

“No. No. Not that.” She shook her head. Wet strands of hair clung to her cheeks. “The girl. Did you hear about her speech?”

Senator Wentworth patted his wife’s back. “What speech, dear?”

“She said
the babies were switched during the hurricane.
The night our boys were born. She gave DNA examples. Traits. She made everything so clear. Oh, Steven. How could I have not seen it before now?” She bent over at the waist. “Braedon. Christian. What kind of mother am I?”

The senator’s square jaw tightened, and he tried to get his wife to straighten. “Michelle, honey, it’s a bad day,” he soothed. “But, it’s over. Come into the library. I’ll fix you a drink.”

The librarian latched onto Rhys’ arm. Her fingers squeezed. She urged him forward until he stood in front of her and the senator. “See?” Her gray eyes searched his face. “I’m so sorry, Braedon. How could I not have known you? Please forgive me. Please.”

Her crazy expression made Rhys antsy. Anyone else probably would have bolted. But, he’d had years dealing with drunken-crazy. A whacked-out senator’s wife was something he could handle. At the trailer park, if you knew what someone had taken, you had a better shot of handling their episode. Here, he’d have to assume stress because he hadn’t seen her go for any of the usual suspects: pills, pipes, or liquor.

“Hey, we’re all good. Everyone got clear.” Rhys kept his voice soft. “This will probably make good coverage for your husband’s election.” He knew she wanted her husband to win, even though the senator was a dog. She was that kind of pushover.

Mrs. Wentworth stared blankly for a minute. Then, an expression clicked on her face, like she’d remembered where a certain library book was shelved. She took off down the hall. “I need a picture of Jack. You’ll see.”

The senator ran a hand over his thick blond hair, and his worried blue gaze was apologetic when it switched to Rhys. “Sorry, son. Bad day.” He held out his hand. “Steven Wentworth.”

Rhys returned the firm grip. “What’s going on?” He looked at Christian. “Does your mom think we were switched at birth?” He examined Christian and the senator. Both had big builds, blond hair, and square jaws. “Because, dude, don’t worry. You look like your dad.”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s saying.” Christian swallowed. “I had a brother.”

He said it like Rhys would know what he was talking about. Rhys held his hands open.

“My twin, Braedon, died during that hurricane,” Christian said.

The senator flinched. But, he didn’t add anything. Rare for a politician.

“I think Mom thinks you’re him.”

The explanation startled a laugh out of Rhys. “Uh. Yeah? No.”

The senator clamped a hand on his shoulder and Christian’s and nudged them down the hall. “She’ll calm down. Come on.”

The library was lined wall-to-wall with overflowing bookshelves, big overstuffed chairs, loungers, and window seats: a reader’s paradise. It fit the librarian perfectly. She sat at a big desk, frantically clicking keys on her laptop. Images flickered across the screen.

The senator went to a sideboard and poured lemonade from a pitcher. He carried the tall crystal glass over to his wife. She froze a moment and then pointed. “My older brother, Jack. We lost him in Desert Storm.”

Rhys moved closer. In the image, a young man with a buzz cut dressed in military dress whites stood tall and proud with a hat crossed over his chest. His nametag read
Jack Brentwood
.

He didn’t know what he thought he’d see for a moment—some picture that resembled him or maybe even his own green eyes staring back. Nope. The slim-built guy didn’t look like him. He looked like any other stranger. His tension eased, and his breathing steadied.

The librarian’s searching eyes landed on each of them. “You see it, don’t you?”

No one answered her.

“Don’t you?” she insisted.

“Honey, if there’s anything to find out, we’ll find it out. We’ll take DNA tests. Okay?” The senator opened his eyes wide at Rhys, asking him to humor her. He reminded Rhys even more of Christian.

“Sure,” Rhys said. He’d never spun the wheel on the
Who’s Your Daddy
roulette table, but paternity tests held no mystery for kids from the trailer park. It involved a cheek swab and a few anxious days. Then, you knew who’d be sending child support.

The senator thanked him with a nod and then turned to his wife. “I’ll have my driver take Rhys home. We’ll get a Wentworth lab tech over to him and get the samples taken straight-away.”

“No,” the librarian snapped, sharp and firm. “He’s never going back to that trailer. She’s not getting near my son. Not. Ever. Again.”

“Michelle…” The senator’s voice came out placating.

“No. My roof. Braedon stays under my roof. That’s final. The lab tech can come here.”

“Honey, the kid’s soaking wet. He needs clothes.”

“Christian. Lend your brother some clothes.”

Ooh. The lady had lost it.
Rhys started to say something. But Christian shook his head and waved for him to come along. For now. They left the library and climbed a white marble staircase. The walls were lined with framed photos of Christian, an oil painting of an older couple, and a few shots of the senator and his wife. The landing held more artwork, sculptures, and knickknacks. It would take multiple semi-trucks to move this family.

Christian went into a bedroom midway down the hall on the right. The space was bigger than Rhys’ whole trailer. It was more like a large studio apartment than a room just to sleep in. Christian opened the closet door, revealing rows of clothes. “Mom likes to shop.” Christian tossed him a towel and gestured at the racks. “Take whatever you want.”

Half the clothes had tags on them. Rhys toweled off and changed into a pair of jeans. They fit loosely and had a crease down the legs as if someone had ironed the fold. Geek fest. He looked for a T-shirt. Nothing.

Christian tossed him a Henley similar to the one he was wearing and smirked. “We are twins and all.”

The clothes fit well enough, if a little baggy.

Rhys took a pair of white socks from a drawer of folded color-coordinated socks that all looked brand new. His own sock drawer was a mismatched, off-white pile in the corner of his room. The new clothes made his torn-up sneakers look like an ironic fashion statement.

Back in the living area of the bedroom, Christian grabbed a soda from a mini-fridge, tossed it to him along with a game controller. He took the same for himself and plopped down on a gamer’s chair in front of a flat screen.

Rhys stared at the controller a second and then at Christian. He took a swig before joining him in a second chair. “Why isn’t this bothering you more? I mean. I don’t believe we hurricane babies were switched at birth either. But, in the movies, when a hidden heir comes to light, shit hits the fan.”

Christian glanced around. “If you took half of this, you think there wouldn’t be enough left for me?”

Rhys shrugged. He wasn’t taking half of anything. He’d make his own money. Nine more months, and he’d been in college. Then four years max and he’d start his own life. Well, maybe a little longer, if he could swing a doctorate program. But, he’d get everything he wanted and he’d get it on his own.

Christian placed his drink and the controller on the coffee table. He pulled YouTube up on the flat screen. “One minute of gross sincerity?”

Rhys shrugged. “Sure.”

Christian cued up a video and hit play.