Chapter 6: Real Muscle

Beckett set his wine glass down.

"I gave her the same thing I'd give anyone who drew like that."

"Fifty studies," I said. "By tomorrow morning."

My dad stopped with a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth.

"Fifty? Son, she's been here two days."

"Gary." Beckett's voice was perfectly polite. "I don't grade on how long anyone's been here."

Dorinda put her hand over his on the tablecloth.

"Darling, don't be too hard on her. We're family now."

"Which is exactly why I can't go easy on her. Everyone in that class knows whose daughter she is."

"Whose stepdaughter," I said.

He looked at me down the length of the table.

He'd taken off his glasses, and his gray eyes were very steady.

"The Academy doesn't tolerate mediocrity," he said. "If she can't keep up, dropping out early is best for everyone. Her most of all."

My dad put his fork down.

He's a big man, my dad, and he doesn't get loud. He gets quiet.

"Now you listen here."

"Dad." I touched his arm. "It's okay. I've got this."

I turned to Beckett.

"I'm not dropping out. I'll turn in every single study on time tomorrow morning."

"Excellent." He picked his glass back up. "I'll be waiting."

Dorinda looked from him to me and smiled.

"See? Family."

My dad muttered something into his mashed potatoes that sounded a lot like "smug little..." and Dorinda kicked him under the table.

I laughed before I could stop it.

Beckett's eyes flicked to me when I laughed, and stayed a second too long.

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