Little Lila

fifteen | garden scandal

Mother tucks my hair into my ears for the millionth time. She sits back in her chair in front of me with a smile. "Show off that face, Lila," She encourages. 

I smile stiffly. The annual garden party at Sainte-Elizabeth has been the topic of conversation for Annette and Amethyste for the past two weeks, and now that it is finally happening, I am not excited. 

Standing around out in the open for hours on end? Smiling? Dancing where everyone can watch me, where I am most vulnerable to attacks? 

There must be a quiet, secluded place. I could hide in the towering hedge maze, or even among the rows and rows of red roses and white lilies. 

Pierre fumbles with his suit, and Mother sends him a harsh stare. "Pierre," She snaps, "stop acting like a wild beast. We're about to be in society, so act like it, dearest." 

My brother huffs and falls back into his seat beside me. He flicks my shoulder. I tense for a moment, then grin and flick him back, my nail running deep along his skin. 

"Ow!" He hisses. "You stabbed me." 

"It's my finger." 

"It's a knife." 

Charles rolls his eyes. "Put him in his place, Rosie," He says, sending me a wink. My nose scrunches at the name Rosie. 

"Don't you know my name?" 

"Rosie is a nickname— your new nickname." 

"It's not a very good one." I raise an eyebrow, and pout. Couldn't he have come up with a better name? Nothing about 'Rosie' resembles 'Lila'. 

Pierre pinches my cheek. "Maybe because your face is always pink," He declares, quite proud of himself. I glance at Charles, who smirks. 

Our limousine pulls up at Sainte-Elizabeth, and Mother ushers us out. The rest of my brothers and Father stayed home— Mother said it was important business. 

I peeked into Father's office before leaving. I saw the Rhodes in there, too. Alexander Rhodes kept saying Evelyn's name, over and over in each sentence, always. 

That must mean she's been saved. 

I can't help but picture her at the Center. 

Lifeless, in a line, dressed in black 

A girl steps out

"Shoot her" Sir says

And she does

Bloody hands bloody floor

White and red, flowing down around my feet

A hand tap tap taps on my shoulder. I jerk away, eyes wide. Breath breathe breathe, don't look up, only say 'yes' or 'no' but only if Sir asks asks ask you

Why is it so bright? 

It was just nighttime with moons and stars and galaxies over my head, shining down onto me, but now there is sun sun sunshine? Why? 

"Oh, my darling? Are you well?" Mother asks, putting her gloved hand over my head. "I don't feel any heat. Come, Lila, let us get a server for a drink." 

Pierre and Charles have disappeared past the lights and tables and rich socialites, to a group of what Amethyste has dubbed "trust fund kids." 

Entering the garden space, I smell the food being carried around by men and women in uniforms, and the fresh flowers placed on the thin, high tables. 

Annette stands prim and proper in a teal dress, right next to another girl who could be her lookalike, but she must only be four or six. 

Across the garden space, Amethyste twirls for a group of awestruck younger girls, smiling and chattering away. I see a group of boys our age watching her. The Sommer boys are among them.