Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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Grandpa Calloway is sitting in a wheelchair in front of the enormous oil portrait of Orson's ancestor Horace Calloway, a debonair man awkwardly clutching a floppy-eared, sad-eyed beagle in his lap. Horace has the same exact ski-slope nose Orson and his grandfather share and it looks like he was wearing women's rings on his fingers. Rich people are so weird.
And it gets even weirder, as Orson's grandfather points at me and accuses me of being Orson's mother. Orson's eyebrows knit at his grandfather's confusion as I cross my arms across my body and shift from foot to foot awkwardly, "Granddad, you're getting confused. Mom has been dead for 17 years. The girl you're pointing at is Amory Scout, my girlfriend."
Orson's grandfather scoffs at him. "Don't talk about your mother like that." He then peers at me, a misty-eyed, moony expression adjusting his features, "Deidre, you look stunning."
I step forward, "Thank you," I don't know what to say. I've never met Orson's grandfather before in my life and I have no clue why he's calling me Deidre. "But, uh, I'm not Deidre. My name is Amory."
Grandpa Calloway narrows his beady gaze at me. Orson places a comforting hand on his grandfather's shoulder, "Grandpa, have you forgotten to take your meds?" He asks sympathetically.
"I..." Grandpa Calloway loses his train of thought before he squints in the distance and rubs the side of his temple, "Is it time for breakfast?"
"No Granddad, it's 7:00 p.m. It's time for dinner."
"Who are you?"
Orson's smile dims for a moment. I feel a pinch of sadness for Orson and his grandfather's withering state of mind. "I'm your grandson, Orson Calloway."
"Are you now...?"
As the exchange between Orson and his grandfather happens, my mind flits back to how Orson's grandfather first reacted when I stepped foot in the room. I know he's not exactly sane but the way he looks at me, calls me Deidre with that look in his eyes, rings alarm bells in my head.
Why did Grandpa Calloway look at me like that? Who is Deidre? Is she Orson's mother? Do I look like her? And if that's so, is it why Orson's grandmother has such a bad scare when she looks at me?
"Hey, sorry about that," Orson informs me sweetly, once we've left the library on the way down to the dining room. "My grandfather tends to be pretty confused. You know, he kind of did the same thing when I introduced him to Georgina."
Alarm bells ring in my head. "Wait, Georgina was also mistaken for your mother?"
He nods. "Yeah, as I said, he's got a pretty bad case of Alzheimer's. He once thought Carmen was my father and he calls anyone with blonde hair my mother's name."
I've come to Calloway Manor to be intensely interrogated and scrutinized, only to leave with more questions than ever.
