Prep School Experiment (3 page)

The scene showed Senator Wentworth on a couch doing an interview. He talked about the hurricane and how his son, Braedon, had died that night because the hospital was so overwhelmed by the storm. The senator spoke about how that led him to campaign on a platform of disaster-preparedness. The video morphed into scenes of twenty other couches. All ended with the senator teary-eyed. The background track played crying-themed pop tunes.

Rhys could see how the video had gone viral. “It’d be funny, maybe, if the dead baby he was talking about wasn’t possibly me.”

Christian hit pause and stared at the frozen image of his dad. “I know it’s a big joke and that half the world thinks the tears are phony. Weepy Wentworth and all. But the loss of my brother is the
only
thing that makes my dad lose it. And if I never had to see that expression on his face again, I’d give you more than half this stuff. You could have the lot.”

Rhys swallowed and didn’t say anything. He was right. The kid was soft. And no matter what happened, he had to keep him away from Mom and Stepdad #4. They
would
take the lot. Rhys grabbed the second controller from the coffee table and tossed it to Christian. The game clicked on.

They played until a maid told them dinner was ready. Rhys followed Christian downstairs, leaving a message for Mom on the way, saying he’d be staying with a friend for the weekend. She hadn’t texted, so she must not have seen the news. And if she didn’t find out about today on her own, he had no plans for telling her and stirring it up.

Halfway through the roast and mashed potatoes, the double doors to the dining room flew open. Christian jerked and his fork scraped on the china. Mrs. Wentworth knocked over her glass. Rhys pushed his chair back and half rose. Their nerves were shot.

The man wore a sharply creased navy suit. He had conservatively cut thinning hair. Red tie. United States flag lapel pin. Definitely one of the senator’s staff. He double-checked that the dining room doors were shut behind him and then assessed the room with shrewd eyes.

Rhys sat back down. The melt-in-your-mouth pot roast wouldn’t be better for waiting. He shook off his tension and cut another bite.

“Sorry to disturb your dinner,” the newcomer greeted everyone. He turned to Rhys with his hand out. “No, no, don’t get up. I’m Bob Jones, the senator’s right hand.”

Rhys shook his hand and hoped he’d never have to identify himself as someone else’s body part. “Rhys Zukowski.”

Bob grinned a toothy smile. “Nice to meet you. Call me Bob.” He sat in the empty chair beside Rhys and waved off the senator’s offer of dinner. “Tell me what’s going on, on your end.”

The senator summed up the events and then said he’d have his father, the CEO of Wentworth Laboratories, send over a lab tech in the morning. “He’ll take cheek swabs from us, and once the fire crew finishes up at the school, he’ll run the contestants’ drinking glasses.”

Bob drummed his fingers on the table cloth and nodded. “Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. Thank God no one was hurt.”

The senator nodded his agreement.

“Could have been catastrophic, what with the election so close. Catastrophic.” Bob shook his head but his eyes gleamed. “Now, on the plus side, this baby-switch situation could work for us. Stir up some press. Really bring your emergency-preparedness platform into focus.” He made a
blowing it up
gesture with his hands. “I’ll schedule some interviews and get this ball rolling before the results come back and it becomes a non-issue.”

The librarian put her hands flat on the table. “Rhys is our son. The paternity test will prove it.”

The possibilities flickered through Bob’s eyes, and a grin edged his thin lips. “The public will love it.
Love it.
Baby raised in poverty.” His gaze roamed over Rhys. “Good looking kid too. We’ll set up some interviews with the residents where he lives.” He pulled out a computer tablet and then glanced back at Rhys. “Anyone there got an issue we can highlight? Prison recidivism? Addiction? The market hit their 401Ks?”

All the freaking above, and he wouldn’t have them exploited. Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and gave Bob his best
just got out of prison for addiction and found out my retirement fund hit a snag
glare.

Bob blinked and coughed.

The librarian rubbed at a frown between her eyes and got a protective look. “The press will be relentless.” She turned to her husband. “Steven?”

The senator smiled a smooth smile, continuing to humor her. “Here’s what we’ll do. If the test comes back positive, we’ll ship Rhys out of town.”

Mrs. Wentworth pushed her plate away. “But…”

The senator touched her arm in a placating gesture. “Only ’til after the election.”

“No,” Mrs. Wentworth said.

Bob held his palms up. “Missed opportunity.”

“We’re not using the kid.” The senator stared fixedly at his assistant. “Arrange it.”

“Where would he go?” The librarian’s voice wavered.

Rhys got enough drama at the trailer park. He didn’t need uptown drama too. Tired of them talking about his life like they had a say, he got up and strode to the door. “Thanks for dinner, but
he’s
going home.”

“No.” The librarian stood, visibly shaking. She touched her husband’s arm. “Stop him.”

Rhys grabbed the handle.

“Rhys, please.” The librarian’s voice cracked and broke.

That stopped him. She’d only ever been nice to him. She didn’t deserve this. He went back, took her arm, and urged her to sit—the same way he did after one of Mom’s rants wore down long enough for her to stop pacing and throwing things. “This isn’t real. Hayley made that speech up because she couldn’t use the one she’d planned. She really didn’t mean it to be an exposé.”

She stared at him with conviction. “It
is,
Rhys. You’ll see.”

At least she’d stopped calling him
Braedon
.

Rhys assessed the big, blond-haired, blue-eyed senator. Rhys was tall too, but slim and green-eyed, with dirty blond hair. Beyond that, the man was controlled, polished, and rich. There was no resemblance. He exhaled. There was nothing to see.

The senator placed his arm over his wife’s shoulders. “I don’t know, honey. It’s been a long, emotional day.” He looked at Rhys and smiled a senator’s empty smile, a kind of insincere,
although I don’t know you, I have your best interest at heart
kind of smile.

Mrs. Wentworth straightened. Her eyes met the senator’s. “Rhys is really smart. He got into that Alaskan boarding school program, the one the House sponsored.”

The senator nodded and glanced at Rhys with a new expression in his eyes, a kind of respect. “That’s really selective. Why didn’t you go?”

It was complicated. Rhys didn’t answer.

The librarian had no such hesitation. “One of the girls switched his test with another kid’s.”

She spewed his secret like he hadn’t told her that in confidence. It was his fault for bitching about Elena in the break room. He frowned. Who knew how many confidences he’d shared with Mrs. Wentworth over the years? He should have kept his mouth shut. He pressed his lips tight, as if he could shut himself up after the fact.

Bob typed on his computer tablet. “Next group of kids is scheduled to go to that boarding school next week. First group went off without a hitch. Hmm. That’s tight. But, I can make it happen.” He tapped on the screen. “Settled. Rhys will go to boarding school in Alaska. Monday.”

“I was already looking into the boarding school,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “Quietly. I was going to make sure Rhys got his shot. He earned it.”

No one protested, and Rhys had to speak up. “And when the test comes back and shows I’m not a Wentworth?”

“That’s not going to happen,” the librarian said.

Rhys found it hard to look into her kind, gray eyes. They held a seventeen-year-old dream that was only going to be blown away. She’d be hurt all over again.

He paced over to the windows overlooking the pool. Two waterfalls. Statues of a robed lady. Animal-shaped azalea hedges. These people had no clue about the real world. The last thing he wanted to do was bring that down on them Trallwyn trailer park style. If he stayed in town, and the press got wind of this story, that’s exactly what would happen. He shoved his bangs off his forehead and turned back to the people in the room. “I’ll go,” He said flatly.

Bob pulled out his smart phone. “I’m on it. I’ll arrange for Rhys to be picked up Monday. We’ll formulate a plan to deal with the lab results when they come in.”

Rhys got the librarian’s confusion. But he didn’t understand why Bob and the senator were treating the baby switch as if it were remotely possible. Things like that didn’t happen. Maybe politicians planned for all contingencies during election years. He didn’t know.

He looked at Christian and thought about what he knew of him from his mom: successful student at Trallwyn Prep, perfect son. He thought about what he knew of him from glimpses over the years: polished, said “hi” to him at the library, and smiled at his mom. Rich. Spoiled. Soft. On the off chance that this was real, he knew there were things to be said.

Rhys addressed his words to the room as a whole. “My mom doesn’t watch much news.”
Any
. “So no need to bring her into this.”
She’d find a way to fleece you
. He glanced at Christian and pointed to the senator and the librarian. “You look like your parents. So I’m sure you went home with the right family.”

He looked at the librarian, who was a mess, her usual friendly expression torn away by emotion. The senator didn’t look much better. Damn. He was a freaking senator. He needed to man-up.

Rhys lowered his voice and stared at the door. “When that cheek swab returns, if there’s the tiniest chance Christian is my mom’s kid, hide the results. Just drop it.” He’d have said something different if his grandparents were still alive. They were worth knowing. His mom, well she had issues, and they didn’t need to become Christian’s.

His words were met with silence. Bob nodded. Christian’s eyes became wary. Mrs. Wentworth grabbed her napkin and sobbed afresh, like she hadn’t been crying for hours. The senator put his arm around her again.

***

Sunday, the next day, a tech came and swabbed the inside of their cheeks. The whole process took less than five minutes, but after it was done, the atmosphere in the house changed. They were officially awaiting results. The mansion held every imaginable distraction: books, games, movies, music, and wireless high-speed Internet. But, none of the luxuries took their minds off the paternity test.

Their nerves stretched thinner by the hour. They were in the library, watching an inane comedy, when Bob called. The results were back. He’d bring them over in person.

The four of them pretended to watch the rest of the movie. Bob arrived, still wearing a suit though it was Sunday night. He went straight to the senator and passed him a white envelope.

The senator tore open the seal and pulled out two regular 8 ½ by 11 sheets of paper. His eyes scanned the words. The papers crumpled under his grip. He dropped back against the wall, and his shocked eyes lifted to Rhys.

The hair on Rhys’ arms rose, and he took a step back.

Mrs. Wentworth grabbed the pages. She skimmed the contents. “I knew it.” She tugged the pages from the senator’s loose grip, and her arms went around Rhys.

All her makeup and composure were back in place. She smelled like a powdery perfume. She pressed the report into Rhys’ hand.

Wentworth Laboratories

DNA Lab Branch

Houston, Texas 77070

Paternity Test

Specimen: Buccal swab.

14 September

Conclusion:
The alleged father, Steven Wentworth, cannot be excluded as the biological father of Rhys Zukowski. Based on the genetic testing results, the probability of paternity is 99.99%.

Page two had identical information for Christian.

Holy Shit.

Steven Wentworth is my father.

The librarian is my mother.

Christian is my brother.

Mom isn’t my mom.

The air compressed around him, squeezing his skin, making breathing a challenge.
My name is really Braedon Wentworth
?

The librarian glowed. “I knew. I knew.”

The senator rubbed his forehead, his blue eyes dazed. Christian’s jaw gaped. Neither had believed this to be possible.

Bob carried on like there was a checklist, and he’d just ticked off number ten. “Okay. Okay. We can work with this.”

“Rhys stays here.” The librarian held onto him like he’d bolt for the door, which he might have, if not for her tight grip.

The senator rubbed his chin. “I’m inclined to support that.” His voice had lost its powerful conviction. “We’ll move him in after the election.”

Rhys stepped sideways, pulling free from the librarian, feeling his bubble of disbelief wavering.
What the hell?

Bob got in front of him. “You still good with the plan? Mouth shut and your mom gets the standard federal stipend for you going to this special boarding school program. Win-win.”

“I’m his mom,” Mrs. Wentworth snapped.

Rhys didn’t think he’d told her too much about Mom over the years. But, Mom had dropped him off and picked him up at the library a number of times, so they had met. He thought of how often he’d fought with Mom over the keys, and who’d drive when she’d shown up loaded, which was more often than he cared to remember. He felt his face burn. Mrs. Wentworth’s protectiveness was way out of proportion, like he couldn’t handle things at home.

Christian stepped forward and slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, bro, let them fight this out. We’ll go squabble over my toys.”

Rhys shook his head. “I don’t want your things.”

“Dude, like it or not, they’re
our
things. But hey, it’s an excuse to get away. Okay?” Christian said, lowering his voice. “Or, how about a swim?”