Understudy

UNDERSTUDY

By Denise Kim Wy

Copyright ©Denise Kim Wy, 2013

Cover design by Denise Kim Wy of
CoverAtelier.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except that brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews are permitted.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

For Dai,

I finished it.

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Prologue

I may have done a lot of stupid things in my life, but never in my wildest dreams have I imagined myself celebrating my birthday in jail.

It didn't help that my best friend, Anthony, also the person responsible for this unfortunate mishap, was stoned. I kind of envied him though. I bet he wouldn't remember anything about tonight when he woke up tomorrow, and nothing spelled relief like ignorance. Lucky bastard.

"Dude, sup?" he asked, laughing as he spoke.

"Shut up, shithead."

"Did you see that officer's face?" he asked, ignoring the fact that I just called him a shithead. He was too stoned. I bet he hadn't even realized we were in a cell. "Dude, he looks like Jeremy Lin!"

The Asian cop glared at us. He did look like Jeremy Lin. But I decided not give Anthony the satisfaction of agreeing with him. He was the one who got us into this mess, yet I was the one panicking.

"Have you called your lawyer?" I asked.

Anthony narrowed his bloodshot eyes at me, confused. "Where's Tom Sawyer?"

"You're fucking useless!"

"Hey, do you kiss your grandma with that dirty mouth of yours?" He started laughing again.

We were screwed.

I closed my eyes and commanded myself to take deep and even breaths. I shouldn't have called Adam. I should've called Higgins instead. He could've gotten us out of here in no time, though that meant calling my parents as well. Then again, they would have heard about it sooner or later anyway.

As for Adam, he could've saved my ass for old time's sake. It was also our birthday, he should've considered that. But maybe that was it. He was pissed that I forgot to greet him. But I did try calling him after he hung up the first time, but he wouldn't answer his phone. Such a sensitive guy.

"Mr. Wharton?"

I looked up to see Higgins standing outside the cell staring down at me. On second thought, maybe I judged Adam too soon.

I scrambled to my feet and rubbed my eyes, making sure I wasn't just hallucinating. Higgins cocked an eyebrow.

"You are one lucky bastard," the Jeremy Lin look−a−like officer said, unlocking the cell.

Yeah, tell me about it.

"Watch your words, officer or you’ll end up the unlucky bastard behind those bars," Higgins said coldly, giving the officer an icy stare that made the asshole shuffle back to his desk without saying another word. It was one of the reasons why Dad hired him. Aside from being one of the country's top lawyers, Jacob Higgins was intimidating as hell.

I stepped out of the cell and took a deep breath.

"Thanks, Higgins," I said, clapping him over the shoulder, which felt like slapping concrete.

Higgins’s gaze lingered on Anthony's slumped figure, his brow furrowing. "What about your friend?"

"What about him?" I asked, straightening my shirt. As much as I wanted to help Anthony, I thought it best to let him stay a little longer. He needed it.    

"Did Adam call you?" I asked.

Higgins hesitated before answering, his expression guarded. "No, it was your father actually."

I knew it. Adam just couldn't resist being a telltale.

"I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"

"You are, though the good news is that I doubt that your parents would even reprimand you for this latest stunt of yours."

"Why not?" I couldn't help but smile. "My father wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. He made it his life's mission to remind me how huge a disappointment I am in this family."

"Well, if that's the case then it will have to wait."

"Why?"

Higgins handed me my phone, his expression stoic. "You have to go back to Highcrest at once."

That was never good news.

Chapter One

Kat

"Looks like someone woke extra cheerful this morning."

I looked up from my cereal bowl and saw Dad peering up from his morning paper, grinning at me.

"What's up my little princess? Did you dream about flying ponies and singing blue birds?"

I rolled my eyes but I allowed myself to smile. I was in too good of a mood to come up with a smart comeback. "I'm just thankful I'm alive today," I said, knowing all too well that it sounded like something straight out of a self−help book.

It was Dad's turn to roll his eyes.

"We both know that teenagers are in a perpetual state where they believe that life sucks," he said, folding the newspaper and placing it beside his plate, crossword already done.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I don't buy it. You're supposed to be angsty. You can't be happy you're alive today."

"Actually, she is," Mom interjected, pouring Dad his second cup of coffee, filling it to the brim. "It's her hubby's birthday today." She sauntered behind my chair to refill my cup.  She was wearing the apron I gave her last Christmas, the one with a painted orange kitten sporting a punk leather jacket. I got an easy A in art class for that one.

Dad's eyes widened. "Oh, is that right?"

“Oh, yes it is," Mom said, answering for me, taking her seat at the other end of the table. "You know how Kat gets when her significant other celebrates his birthday. It's like she's celebrating her own."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Dad said, cringing a bit. "So, what are you getting him for this special day?"

I felt myself flush. For months, I had racked my brain to come up with the ultimate birthday present. But I couldn't think of anything.

Adam's family was well off. Actually, that was an understatement. His family owned a bunch of diners scattered all over the country, meaning he was freaking rich. There was nothing Adam couldn't buy, which made it hard to think of something I could get for him.

Asking Sara was no help either. She said that she was my best friend, not a problem solver, and that Adam wasn't her boyfriend. She actually had a point.

I could've whipped up some artsy stuff. That was one thing I'm good at. But instead, I succumbed to cliché, and as much as I hated myself for it, it was the best thing that I came up with.

“I made a mix CD of his favorite songs."

Mom and Dad exchanged weird looks and I felt myself shrinking in my seat. "I know, okay? It's dumb! I should've gone for the giant mosaic made up of our pictures or whatever...but hey, at least I exerted some effort for the album cover and−"

"Calm down, Kat," Dad said, cutting me off. "We wouldn’t care if you decided to give him an empty candy wrapper for a present. We just want to make sure that you're not giving him, you know,
something else.
"

I gaped at him, confused. He scratched his chin, and I could tell that something was up.

Mom was a terrible actress, and to prove it, she immediately averted her gaze as soon as our eyes met. Yes, Dad's on to something alright.

"I don't get it," I said. “What am I missing here?”

Mom took a sip of her coffee, her hazel eyes focusing on something behind me. "Well, honey, we were just worried that you might decide on something that you thought you might want to do when you actually don't."

"Huh?"

Dad cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. "What your Mom is trying to say is that, you shouldn't do what other kids your age do. We understand that your generation is much more curious about stuff−"

"Woah, Dad, stop right there!" I finally understood what he was trying to say, and I didn't like it one bit. "Are you giving me
The Talk
over breakfast?"

Dad's jaw tightened as he pressed his lips together. My parents may be a little different, or should I say, weird. Dad's a history teacher in our town's middle school, and he knew how to interact with kids in their various stages of maturity. Yet there were times that I actually felt like he was treating me as one of his students, or better yet, a social experiment.

Mom, on the other hand, was a former editor for the local newspaper. She was a good writer, and she had a dry sense of humor that was so dry you'd get dehydrated. At least that was what Dad and my grandparents told me. She often expressed her opinions in a tactless manner; it was no surprise she made quite a lot of enemies during her career, though Dad told me that she kind of mellowed when they got married. She quit her job when she got pregnant with me and she's now running her own blog about...Actually, I don't really know.

Anyway, the point is, my parents were different. At least that's how I see them. Profanities were allowed in our home as long as it was just an expression and not some sort of a personal attack. Arguments were encouraged as long as we respected each other's opinions, and curfew was more of a concept rather than something being implemented. Even so, I realized that when it came to
The Talk
, they weren't immune to the awkwardness it brings.

"I'm not having sex with Adam, if that's what you're thinking," I said. Hearing those words coming out of my lips gave me goose-bumps. Then turning to my mom, I added, "And we won't. Well, not until the time comes or whatever. Just...Let's not talk about this."

"That's what other kids say," Dad muttered under his breath. "They even wear matching chastity bracelets and−"

"Thomas!" Mom exclaimed. "Stop it. I told you this was a bad idea."

"Yeah, it is," I agreed, emphatically.

Dad's shoulders relaxed and it was evident that he wanted to close the subject altogether. "Well, at least bring a condom with you today."

Or maybe not.

"DAD!"

"THOMAS!"

"What?" Dad stared at us innocently. "I'm just being practical. As the saying goes, if you can't beat 'em, educate them."

"It's join them, Dad," I said, pushing my unfinished breakfast away from me.

"I can't join you guys." His bushy eyebrows went up and down it was almost comical. "Well, if you know what I mean."

Maybe Dad was immune after all.

"Eww, gross, Dad! You do realize I can like report you for child molestation, right?"

Mom shook her head. "Yeah, I actually married that guy."

Dad held up his hands in mock surrender. "That was a joke for crying out loud!"

Just then I heard Adam's car outside our house and sighed in relief.

"Okay, he's here and I'm out." I stood up and raced toward the living room to grab my backpack. I took a quick glance at my reflection as I passed by the mirror in the hallway and frowned when I saw that my hair fell in a tangled mess over my shoulders. I needed a freaking haircut. I raked my fingers through it; maybe I could go for the bed head look? Or maybe not. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked over to our front door. As soon as I swung it open, Adam's smiling face greeted me.