Ruthless: Black Mountain Academy

the choice of the best universities, and she knew that would come with a price. My grades qualified me for a small grant to attend the prestigious Black Mountain Academy, but it nowhere near covered the full cost of my schooling. Luckily, I only had one year before I graduated and then I would be off to college, Black Mountain fading in my rear-view mirror.
I knew deep down Mom hadn’t wanted to come back here. She never talked about her time going to college with Monica, it was almost as if her life started after she left here--after she moved to the small town I was born in. She never talked about her past; it was as if life never existed before me.
“This old house is a mausoleum. I absolutely hate it, but it’s been in Edward’s family for generations.” Monica interrupted my train of thought. “If it were up to me, we’d be living somewhere else. This place is completely void of warmth. Every few years I mention listing it, just to see if we’d catch any bites, but he won’t hear of it,” Monica said, her perfectly manicured hand gliding across an art sculpture on a white marble table. “The kitchen’s this way; the chef has put out a gorgeous spread. I wasn’t sure what you might like to eat, Madison, so it may look like a lot,” she said with a laugh, putting her arm around my mother.
Their heads pressed together like a couple of girls plotting their next adventure. I was surprised how drawn I felt to Monica, but what the house lacked in warmth she made up for tenfold.
I especially loved how relaxed my mother was with her. I’d never seen that young and carefree smile on her face before.
I followed quietly behind the two of them, down the long hall, admiring the various rooms as I went by: a living room, an old-fashioned parlor, and a powder room that was probably larger than our entire old apartment.
When we got to the dining room, a vast spread awaited us. A table covered in sandwiches, delectable fruits, and pastries that looked like they’d fallen out of some Parisian bakery drew me in.
“Please, eat,” Monica said, handing each of us a tiny decorative plate, embossed with the initials of the house. Precious china with gold lacing the edges.
I couldn’t help wondering exactly how rich you had to be to afford gold-embossed plates.
“Thank you so much--this looks amazing,” my mom said, taking a bite of a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. I picked up a square and nibbled, the taste of decadent cream and puff pastry invading my mouth and creating a delicious symphony.
“This is absolutely divine,” I said in a moan, immediately embarrassed at my sheer pleasure.
“It’s good, isn’t it? We fly those in from this amazing French pastry shop in New York City. They’re vegan.” Monica smiled.
“Wait, this doesn’t have any butter in it?” I asked.
“No butter. They’re Kyler’s favorite. He is anti-any-animal. Just one of his many idiosyncrasies.” She waved her hand in the air.
“How is Kyler doing?” Mom asked, shades of sympathy lacing her warm, dark eyes.
“Kyler is Kyler. He at least does well in his studies,” Monica said, her own eyes shadowed with longing, elegant features now etched with sorrow. “If you see him around the house, just give him a wide berth. I don’t know what to do with that boy. For the last seven years, all he’s been doing is getting into trouble. We’ve tried everything. I think he just likes to torture his father and me. He used to be such a good, sweet boy. I remember when he would curl up beside me in the library and read one of his picture books while I read one of my mystery novels. At least his love of reading hasn’t changed.” Monica took a sip of her coffee. My mother rushed over to her and placed her arms around her shoulders, like she was trying to help unload some of the burden her friend carried.
“Monica, is it okay if Madison visits the library? I think she would really enjoy it up there.” My mother sent me a look. Monica may not have noticed my mother’s motivations, but I knew my mom well enough to know she wanted me out of the room in order to talk to her best friend. Mom didn’t want me to hear that particular conversation. I wondered how close they were back then, and what my mom might say to her now, after so many years apart.
“Oh, yes! Of course, Madison. It’s up the stairs on the left; you can’t miss it. Please feel free to treat it as your own; any book you want--take and read.”
I nodded gratefully, getting up from the table and leaving all those pastries behind me. I paused at the massive staircase and then began climbing it slowly, gliding my hands along the smooth carvings on the wood railing. This house felt more like a museum than a home. I wasn’t sure how anyone could actually live here. At least, that's what I was thinking until I saw the large room stashed wall to wall with books.
The library was a paradise, it smelled of leather and rich, oiled wood. All the walls, covered with bookshelves, thousands of leather bound works, and just whispering the pads of my fingers along the spines made my heart flutter. A desk sat in the corner, and comfortable seating consisting of large chocolate-brown leather chairs, decorated the space. It looked like it belonged in a showroom more than someone’s personal residence. I crossed the formal space, touching each book I passed as if saying hello, until my hand found an old copy of Pride and Prejudice, my all-time favorite. I flipped through the pages and picked a random one. I began to read, and then all of a sudden a deep voice read the words before me.
“There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer