Her Swedish Billionaire’s Baby

Samara changed into nice, respectable-looking clothes in the bathroom, stowed her stuff in a safe place, and walked up to the easiest mark among the people getting kids registered. She smiled at her regretfully. “Hi, I’m from the registrar’s office. Some parents are making a big stink over there because of a mistake you made on a–” Samara consulted her own acceptance papers “–uh … ‘Samara Khaled.’”

She looked concerned. “I did? Oh no!”

“If you could just fix it–or, if it’d be easier, I can do it for you. Either way.”

She leaned down over her shoulder, using her height to intimidate her into moving aside, then quickly entered her own information into the system. Single room? Yes. Board contract? Yes. She smiled as she hit save, thanked the lady, and took the dorm key she gave her to give to this Samara Khaled. She then magnanimously assured her everyone makes mistakes, it was no big deal, and she would take care of the cranky parents. She was home free.

*****

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she went into her dorm, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this: Tons of nervous, blustering kids moving in spectacular amounts of crap, assisted by weirdly doting parents. She smiled and tried to look friendly to everyone who looked at her and skirted the edges of the already forming cliques, watching closely without seeming to. She’d collected an impressive amount of information by the time she got to her room on the second floor: she knew who the troublemakers would be, who the easy targets were, and she’d even spotted a couple of people who would probably make useful friends.

Still, it was a tremendous relief to arrive in her single room, lock the door, set down her stuff, and stretch out on the tiny twin bed, knowing no one would bother her or even think about her in here, safe for the moment. Half an hour had passed before it occurred to her: for the very first time in her life, she was on her own–not until Dad and Alison found her and dragged her back, but for real. Forever. Joy exploded through her like fireworks at the realization. She’d dreamed of this day from the time she was six years old. She never thought it would come.

Inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to the epic fight she and Dad had when Dad realized she was leaving. “If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.” Those were his words. Alison had looked like Dad had stabbed her in the heart when he said that. Neither of them had any idea how happy that sentence made Samara. She’d planned to slip out without either of them noticing, but of course Alison knew. Samara suspected Alison had known for weeks, because she’d seemed to be watching her even more closely than usual, not to mention being way nicer than usual, as if to make sticking around seem more appealing. Alison caught her climbing out their bedroom window, and as Alison begged her to stay, here came Dad. There was nothing to do but tell them her plans. The whole time Samara had been planning her escape, she’d thought the big danger, the thing she’d have to worry about the most, was Dad coming after her and dragging her back into the fold. When Dad said she couldn’t come back, what Samara heard was, “I’ll let you leave.” That was the greatest relief of all.

Samara had grabbed her stuff and gone without a second thought. She heard Alison’s quick sob, saw the disbelief on her face. Alison had seen their family broken once before, and it was like she was living it all over again. Samara knew that was probably the worst part of it for Alison, that Samara didn’t hesitate for even a second before walking out the door, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Not even for Alison.

Samara took out her phone and stroked the contact list with her thumb. Alison. Samara hadn’t missed Dad once since she left, but Alison …. Alison had been a constant presence since she could remember: sometimes frustrating, sometimes sweet, frequently annoying, but always there. Alison had been like another limb. Samara almost didn’t know how to function without her; she felt naked, vulnerable, like … like no one had her back. Well, she would just have to learn how to live without her. She wanted Alison to come with her, but Alison would never get into UCLA. She hated school. She couldn’t challenge Dad, not like that. Alison loved the life of a hustler. Alison loved Dad and Samara pretty much equally, Samara figured, so the tie-breaker was what she wanted to be doing, and she wanted to hustle.

Samara tried hard not to feel betrayed by Alison staying behind with Dad. Samara was the one who’d made the big, life-altering choice. Who was she to expect her sister to make it with her–without any warning, even? Samara had thought not having any warning would be the best, that Alison would come with her if only out of desperation, to try to talk her into going back to Dad, and once she was away from it all, she would see how great it could be …. If she had told Alison her plans earlier, she was afraid Alison might succeed in talking her into staying, maybe out of guilt. She’d tried to harden her heart–she’d had to, to be able to do it–but the consequence was that now it felt soft as bread. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she thought how nice it was, to be able to sit and feel what she felt, without Alison there calling her a sissy for it and Dad hissing that she’d better toughen up if she hoped to survive that night’s hustle. She wasn’t tough, not like that. Not like them. She couldn’t be.

Maybe it was better this way. What a black sheep Samara was–in a family of black sheep–had been the elephant in the room for as long as she could remember. Alison tried to pretend it wasn’t like that, Dad alternately yelled at her for it and loved her all the more for it, but there was no getting around it. Samara loved them, loved them like she loved to breathe, but they didn’t get her at all.

Everything she valued and loved and wanted to talk about was stuff they didn’t even recognize as real: science, philosophy, art–everything colleges were all about. Maybe here, at last, she could strike up a conversation with someone about an amazing book she’d read or an incredible theory she’d heard and they would respond with something other than a blank look and a question about the state of something in the arsenal in the trunk. She tried not to think it, but she couldn’t help wondering if Alison and Dad would be happier without her there casting a gloomy cloud over their happy hustling with her perpetual dissatisfaction and disapproval of their lifestyle, their ignorance and their values and everything else.