He frowns down at the note and then looks directly at me. “Ambrose, you’re needed in the office; grab your things.”

Part of me’s thinking day just got better, and then I think back on the group text and wonder if this walk down the hall will be more like death row than a prison escape.

My mom’s waiting for me at the school office; her eyes are blurry with unshed tears—she’s not allowed to cry in public, but I can tell she wants to.

“Mom?” I frown at her.

She stands, puts on her black Chanel sunglasses, and adjusts her all-black Lululemon outfit.

She’s wearing a ring on almost every finger, and the filler in her lips has yet to go down enough for her not to look like a Kardashian.

She’s beautiful—and I have nothing against a woman doing things to her body, have at it. I just wish that the confidence came from something other than spending money on looking like someone else.

Her dark hair is slicked back into a tight bun. “Honey, something’s happened. We need to go to the house.”

Panic seizes my chest. “Is it Dad?”

“No,” she says quickly.

“Grandpa?”

“We’ll talk in the car.” Is all she says when we leave the office. I’m a little bit shook up as we make it to the red Lambo SUV she drives around.

She still refuses to let me drive any of the sports cars to school ever since crashing my brand-new BMW last year after taking a corner too fast.

How was I supposed to know there would be a stupid rabbit out of nowhere?

We drive through Eagle and into the Boise foothills, and she still says nothing as we drive around the mountain and to the black front security gate to our house.

“Mom.” My voice cracks. “What’s going on?”

“My sister—your aunt was in an accident. She didn’t make it.” Her voice is hoarse. “As you know she couldn’t have kids and had just decided to start fostering a young girl.”

“Okay…” My mind is spinning. Is this what the guys were talking about?

“Anyway…” She sniffles and pulls around the driveway. “If we don’t take her in—she goes back into the system, and she’s lived a very rough life, you don’t have any siblings.”

I’m stunned stupid. What the hell? “Charity,” I say. “We’re doing charity so Dad looks good. Why am I not surprised?”

She cuts the engine. “You know how much I loved my sister.”

“You saw her twice a year.” I point out. “Last time you fought over which plastic surgeon was better, and she threw wine in your face.”

“She wasn’t herself.” Mom looks away. “Your dad pulled a few strings, and we were able to cut through some red tape and take her in.”

“Does the long-lost princess have a name?” I sneer like the asshole I am.

Mom grabs her purse and checks her lipstick. “Mary-Belle.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course it is.”