A Girl Like Gracie Read online

  A Girl Like Gracie

  Bayside Academy, Book 1

  Scarlett Haven

  Copyright © 2016 Scarlett Haven

  http://scarletthaven.wordpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  This book is for Tess.

  Thanks for sprinting with me.

  Hurry up and finish your book!

  <3

  This is episode one in the Bayside Academy Series.

  Buckle up, cause things are about to get crazy.

  Thursday, August 4

  My new life.

  I never thought my mom would abandon me. Okay, maybe abandon is a harsh word to use, but that is what it feels like. Basically there isn’t room for me in her life anymore, so she sent me off to live with my dad, brother and stepmom.

  I stand outside three story mansion as the limo driver pulls out my hot pink luggage from the truck. This is definitely an upgrade from the two bedroom apartment that mom and me shared in Seoul.

  The double doors swing open and an older guy comes out and grabs my luggage. I’ve visited my dad for Christmas one year when I was thirteen, so I know that this guy is his butler, Fredrick Popov. He doesn’t look like he’s aged a bit in the last four years.

  “This way, Miss James,” he tells me.

  I roll my eyes.

  This guy has insisted on calling me Miss James since the first time I met him. I’ve always, in return, insisted on being called by my first name, Gracie. But he refuses. I see that he’s still as stubborn as ever.

  I follow Fredrick inside. He heads up the stairs, towards my room, but I take a moment to look around. This house is a new one. It’s much bigger than the house I visited when I was thirteen. It looks like a house you’d see a celebrity living in on a reality show.

  The floors are white marble, with little flecks of gold in it. There is a staircase on both sides of the room, both of them curving upward. At the top, there is a balcony and a hallway on both sides. There is also a chandelier hanging down. I look up at it, suddenly feeling very insignificant.

  I look down at my pink Converse shoes. There is a small hole on the side, and you can see my socks through it. My black skirt is one I got from the sales rack. And my t-shirt that says Vivaldi Over Bieber has definitely seen better days. It’s faded and has a couple holes in it, but it’s still my favorite shirt.

  I hear heels clanking against the marble floor, and I smell my stepmother’s perfume before I see her. She steps out, and gives me a hug. I hold my breath so I don’t cough from the overwhelming scent.

  “Gracie, so nice to see you,” she says, in her fake nice voice.

  I haven’t seen her since my father’s wedding four years ago. Honestly, I had hoped to never see her again, but apparently my mom had other plans.

  When she steps back, I see her slowly look at what I’m wearing. She frowns, but quickly recovers.

  “What has your mother been feeding you? You’re so thin,” she says. She says it in a nice tone, but I know the words are an insult. She’s never made her dislike of my mom a secret. I suppose I wouldn’t like my husband’s first wife if I were her either. But she could at least fake it for my sake.

  “We’re vegetarian,” I remind her. Mom swears her being vegetarian is what helps her keep her thin figure.

  “I forgot,” she says. “Alfie quit eating like that years ago.”

  At the mention of Alfie’s name, my heart sinks a little bit.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “Out with his friends,” she answers. “He’ll be back soon. I’m sure he’s eager to see you.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “At work,” she says.

  Aflie and Dad are both gone.

  Neither one of them want me here.

  “Of course,” I say, under my breath, then put on a fake smile. “Just point me in the direction of my room.”

  “I’ll take you,” Claire says, smiling way too big now.

  Ugh.

  Before I can come up with a reason for her not to come, she’s on her way up the stairs. I follow after her, up the marble staircase. I let my hand slide against the dust free banister on the way up and wonder if Fredrick got a big raise when they moved into this house. He definitely deserves one. There isn’t even a speck of dust in this house, not even on the chandelier.

  I follow Claire to the right, going towards my room. At the end of the hallway, she goes to the room on the left, then tells me the room directly across from mine is Alfie’s. At least we will be close again. We haven’t lived together in a long time, and I miss him.

  Inside my room, it’s very… clean, much like the rest of the house. But it’s almost too clean, like it’s not lived in.

  This isn’t a house. It’s a museum.

  My room is huge. Like, it’s actually bigger than the two bedroom apartment that I lived in with Mom. The floors are the same marble that’s in the rest of the house, except I have a huge white rug that covers a big section of the floor. The rug looks really fluffy. There is a king sized bed. It’s white with four big posters on each side. The duvet is my favorite color, hot pink. Beside the bed, there is a nightstand that matches the bed. I look and see a flat screen TV on the wall, a matching desk with an iMac computer sitting on top, and a huge dresser. I even have a white couch towards the edge of my room. There are double doors that leads out to a balcony.

  “I hope everything is to your liking,” Claire says, smiling. “If you want anything changed, let me know and I will call my interior designer.”

  I guess she can tell by my reaction that I like the room. That much is pretty obvious.

  “It’s fine. Thank you,” I say.

  “Through here is your closet,” she tells me, pointing towards one of the doors in the room. “I had it redesigned for you. I even stocked a few clothing items. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Of course she did.

  She opens the closet door and I follow her inside.

  My closet is bigger than my room was when I lived in Seoul. And this room might possibly be my favorite in the whole house.

  On the floor of my closet, there is a huge black rug that looks similar to the one in my bedroom. There is a whole that is a shoe rack, and it’s half full of shoes already. A lot of them are heels. They’re cute. Really cute.

  I love shoes. It’s one of my favorite things to buy when I go shopping. When I lived in South Korea, it was hard to find shoes in my size, because my foot is bigger than the average girl in Korea. I blame it on my dad. He’s white. My mom is Korean. Every year for her birthday, Christmas or Mother’s Day, I’d buy her shoes so I could live vicariously through her.

  There is also racks of clothes, and as much as I hate to admit it, my stepmother has got style.

  “If you don’t like anything, we can donate it,” she says, now looking a little bit timid.

  “Everything looks perfect,” I tell her, truly meaning it. I bow to her slightly, then remember that I’m not in Korea anymore. “Thank you, Claire.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “Should I bow back?”

  “No,” I say, waving a hand at her. “It’s just a habit from living in Seoul so long.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I will just leave you to get settled.”

 
; “Thanks,” I say.

  She walks out of the closet and then I hear the door shut in the other room. I let out a sigh of relief, thankful to be alone for a few minutes so I can collect my feelings.

  Alfie isn’t here. He knew I was coming and he chose to be gone when I got here. I knew my twin brother was mad at me for choosing to live in Seoul with Mom instead of living in America with him and Dad, but I thought he would be here. I haven’t seen him in over two years now. It hurts that he’s not here.

  I don’t let myself cry though. I just walk out of my closet and check out the bathroom that is in my room.

  I have my own bathroom! I can hear the Hallelujah Chorus in my head.

  In Seoul, the bathroom that we had was small. The whole thing was a shower. There was a toilet, a sink, and a shower head. In the middle of the bathroom, there was a drain. You couldn’t leave anything in there that you didn’t want to get wet.

  This bathroom, on the other hand, is huge. Everything is white. White floor, white walls, white counter tops, white cabinets. There is a huge white tub sitting at the edge of the room. There is also a huge shower that is literally as big as the bathroom Mom and I shared in Seoul.

  This is crazy.

  And this is my new life.

  I ate well!

  A few hours later, I am summoned down to the dining room for dinner by Fredrick. I head downstairs. I still haven’t changed my clothes since I arrived, which I don’t think is a big deal. It’s not like I need to get dressed up for family dinner. I immediately regret the decision when I get into the dining room.

  The dining room is huge. There is a long, rectangular table. Sitting at the table, I see my dad wearing a suit. Claire is wearing a nice dress. Even Alfie is wearing a dinner jacket. There is another boy that I’ve never met sitting beside him, who is dressed just as nice as Alfie.

  “Gracie,” Dad says, getting up from his chair. He walks over to me and gives me a side hug. “You’ve grown.”

  I was thirteen the last time that he seen me. I’m practically an adult now.

  Not that he cares. He sent a limo to pick me up at the airport. What kind of a father does that?

  “I’ll be nineteen soon,” I tell him.

  “You mean you won’t be eighteen until April,” Alfie says.

  “Right,” I say, shaking my head. “Sorry, I am considered eighteen in Korea. I forgot that I’m only seventeen in America.”

  Alfie snorts, but doesn’t say anything else.

  Okay, yeah. He’s definitely still mad.

  Thankfully, we are disrupted at that moment. Three other people walk in the room. A man and woman about my dad’s age come in with a boy that’s my age, maybe older.

  “Is this her?” the woman says.

  Yeah, let’s talk about me like I’m not standing right here.

  “This is my daughter, Gracie,” Dad says, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Gracie, this is the Sherwood family.” He points to the older guy first. “Gary Sherwood. Patricia Sherwood. And their son, Elliot Sherwood. He attends your school, Bayside Academy.”

  I bow to them. “Annyeonghaseyo.”

  “You’re not in Korea anymore,” I hear my brother say, in a sarcastic tone.

  I try not to show how much his comment hurt me.

  “Sorry,” I say, starting to bow again. About half way down, I catch myself. “In Korea, we show respect to people that are older than us. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. It’s just a habit. Please, forgive me.”

  “I like it,” Patricia says, walking over to me. “So many kids these days don’t have manners.” She holds out her hand, and I accept her handshake. “It’s very nice to meet you, Gracie. You are a very beautiful girl.”

  “Thank you,” I say, thankful that they aren’t disgusted by my Korean background like my brother is. He’s just as Korean as I am, so I don’t know why he is being so cruel to me about it

  “You are beautiful,” the boy, who looks about my age, says as he walks over to me. “When I heard you and Alfie were twins, I expected you two to look alike, but you don’t at all.”

  It’s true. Alfie looks more like my dad. He even has blonde hair and blue eyes. But I look like my Korean mom. I have dark hair and dark eyes. I’m small like her too, except my feet. My feet aren’t big by American standards though.

  My face grows warm at his beautiful comment.

  “Gracie, you can sit by Alfie’s friend,” Dad tells me, pointing to the boy who is sitting by Alfie. He is watching me, probably amazed by the fact that Alfie and I, being twins, do look so completely different.

  I walk over and take a seat by him. Dad’s friends sit on the other side of the table.

  “Hi,” I say to the boy.

  “Hey,” he says back.

  Alfie leans forward. “This is my friend, Jace Daniels,” he tells me, then looks at the boy between us. “Jace, this is my sister. She sucks.”

  “Alfie,” Dad warns him in a scolding tone.

  Alfie sits back and looks forward.

  The staff brings out bowls of soup for everybody. There is some kind of noodles. I’m not sure what kind of soup it is, but it smells awesome.

  I look at all the forks and spoons laid out. Everybody else is starting to eat.

  “You start from the outside,” Alfie says, his voice sounding sarcastic.

  “I know that. I just…” I clear my throat. “Do you guys have any chopsticks? I haven’t ate with a fork in, like, four years.”

  What I don’t tell them is I tried to eat with a fork at the airport and ended up spilling food all over myself. How have I forgotten how to eat with a fork?

  “We don’t have chopsticks,” Claire says.

  “You’re such a brat,” Alfie says. “Just eat with the fork.”

  “No need,” Dad says. “Fredrick!”

  The butler walks back in the dining room.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you still keep all our left over sauces and chopsticks when we eat take out?” Dad asks.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you bring some for Gracie, please?”

  “Right away,” Fredrick says, and leaves the room. A few seconds later, he walks back in with a pair of throw away, bamboo chopsticks. He hands them to me and I take them.

  “Thank you,” I say, bowing slightly.

  “Fredrick, can you make sure we get some nicer ones in the house for Gracie?” Dad asks him.

  “Yes, sir,” he says, then walks back out of the room.

  I pull the chopsticks out of the paper wrapper and grab the noodles. I put it in my mouth and start to slurp the hot noodles. About halfway through the first bit, I notice that everybody at the entire table is looking at me. I finish slurping the noodles.

  “What?” I ask, with my mouth full of food.

  “You’re slurping,” Alfie says.

  “Okay,” I say, still not understanding why everybody is staring.

  “Actually, it’s quite common for people in Korea to slurp their food,” Jace says, turning to look at everybody on the other side of the table. “I learned about it in a Korean history class I took my sophomore year.” He turns to me. “It must be a habit you picked up there.”

  “Joesonghamnida,” I say, bowing to everybody. “I mean… sorry. I’ll try to remember the American customs so I don’t annoy everybody.” I then smile. “I’ll eat well!”

  I grab another big bite of noodles, careful not to slurp this time. Everybody still watches me, so I smile at them. Eventually, they turn back to their own bowls and begin eating.

  “So, Gracie, do you speak Korean?” Patricia asks me.

  “Yeah. I always have. So does Alfie. Our mom used to speak Korean with us, because she wanted us to know both Korean and English,” I answer.

  She looks at Alfie. “I had no idea you spoke Korean.”

  “I don’t,” Alfie says. “Just because I understand the language doesn’t mean I speak it. There is no point. I’m American.”

  “Alfie
, don’t be rude,” Dad says.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Sherwood,” Alfie says to her.

  “Gracie, are you coming to the charity ball this Saturday?” Patricia asks.

  “Ball?” I ask.

  “Yes, she is,” Claire says. “I got her the most amazing dress for it. She’s so small, she will look good in anything.” She looks at me. “Well, almost anything.”

  I look down at my clothes and cringe.

  I wish somebody would’ve sent me the memo that this was a formal family dinner.

  “Nice shirt,” Jace says to me. “You like Vivaldi?”

  I nod.

  “Our Gracie can play the piano,” Claire says, proudly.

  Our Gracie? Since when did she consider me hers? Ugh… this dinner! Will there ever be an end to my torture?

  The staff comes back out and takes away our bowls and then brings out the next course. I notice that everybody else has meat on their plate, but I don’t. I have some jasmine rice, which is my favorite, and a bunch of veggies with some kind of a sauce. Yum.

  I devour the meal way too quickly while conversation is going on around me. After I finish the food on my plate, I sit back.

  “Jal meog-eosseubnida!” I say.

  Everybody looks at me again.

  Ah, crud. I keep forgetting I’m not in Korea.

  “What did you say?” Elliot asks me.

  “I said ‘I ate well’,” I answer.

  “You ate… well?” he asks, looking puzzled.

  “It’s a Korean thing,” Alfie says, sounding annoyed again. I think he’d rather pretend I’m not here. Or, even better, if I really weren’t here.

  “Actually, it’s rude if you don’t say that in Korea,” Jace says.

  I nod.

  “I hope you saved room for dessert,” Claire says to me. “Our apple pies are vegetarian.”

  “Apple pie,” I say, sitting up. “I definitely have room for pie.”

  Alfie laughs. “I’d like to see you try to eat apple pie with chopsticks.”

  “No problem,” I say.