FAUX REAL

11

Slamming the door to my dorm, I re-read the text from V, my eldest brother. I should've blocked him too.

V: Mum wants you to call granddad ASAP. He's been trying to reach you for days. Seriously, Jennie, do you even want to be part of this family? Get it together, lady. And unblock mum and dad. Fucking toddler.

Self-righteous prick.

Oxford sure as hell turned him into a fucking knob. No, that's not even true. He was a wanker before university, he's just worse now. Acting like he gives a shit. He couldn't care less about me. The more I fuck up, the more money he gets. That's all he cares about. He's just appeasing Mum and Dad in order to look like the perfect son.

Jennie: Fuck. Off. V.

V: If you don't ring him right now, Mum's going to get Aunt Anna to pop by your school. Choice is yours. I'd say the latter would be quite embarrassing for you, would it not? Call grandad.

Fuck! Like hell, she will!

I slump down on my bed and scroll through my contacts until I reach Danny Knight. It was a heavenly day when Mum told me that my grandparents were moving to New York to be close to Aunt Anna after Uncle Kyle' untimely demise.

Granddad Danny loathes me; always going on about how my behavior brings shame upon our family. Like he didn't fuck around in his youth. I found old prints in the attic of their Knightsbridge estate of him smoking a spliff. Bloody Hypocrite.

Hesitating for a brief second, I eventually press call and the line rings.

"Knight Real Estate Development, Rachel speaking, how may I direct your call?"

What? This is his work number? The fucker gave me his work number? What brilliant grandparents I have, simply marvelous.

"This is jennie," I mutter. "I need to speak to my granddad."

"Oh, jennie," She coos, her fake sweet voice forcing me to wince. "It's nice to finally talk to you. I'll transfer you over to Mr. Knight. One moment please."

Static holding music blares into my ear as I wait. Nice to finally talk to me? Load of shit.

"Jennie, how kind of you to return my call," Granddad says, his deeply stern voice forcing me to sit upright. He's not even bloody here and I'm tense. "I was worried that something terrible had happened to you, gang violence or perhaps a motor crash."

I grind my teeth together. "You know, I keep trying to leave the gang but apparently I made a blood pact. When you're in, you're in for life. Nothing I can do about it."

"Listen to me" Granddad states, a vein most likely protruding from his large forehead. "I do not have time for your poor humor and attitude, understand?"

I roll my eyes. "Lighten up Granddad, what's life without a little humor?"

"I need you to stop talking and listen to me," he fumes. "In three weeks, I am hosting a fundraiser for a congressional candidate. You must attend and you must be on your best behavior, is that clear?"

"Can't, sorry," I say lightly. "I'm busy."

"I have not told you the dates yet," he states. "And I do not care if you have plans, change them. You are to be in attendance. No ifs, ands, or buts. Do you hear me?"