I took a deep breath. Mom would go with whatever I said and Maisie knew it. If I said no, she’d blame me not Mom. I spent every day of my life trying to make up for my mistake with Maisie eight years ago. The mistake that left her disfigured, with a horrible burn mark on her face. If I denied her this opportunity, then it would set our relationship back years.

“It’s a great opportunity,” I told Mom. “And it would only be for the summer, so it won’t affect her schoolwork.” I turned to look at Maisie who was about to celebrate. “And I’m sure she’ll work hard to improve her grades next year, won’t you, Maisie?”

“Of course,” she said sweetly, before sticking her tongue out at me when Mom wasn’t looking.

“I don’t like the idea of you going back to England,” Mom said. “After what happened there last time…”

“That was just bad luck,” Maisie said. “England is a much safer place than the US. If I’d been attacked here we would have been shot. At least the acid only burned my skin.”

Only burned my skin. I had no idea how Maisie could act so chill about the entire thing. That attack had scarred her for life, and yet she barely gave a second thought about going back to the country where it happened.

“Okay,” Mom said predictably. “But Michelle has to go with you.”

“That’s fine,” Maisie replied instantly.

“Wait, what? I can’t just drop everything and go to England.”

“Then Maisie can’t go,” Mom insisted.

Maisie looked up at me with sad puppy dog eyes and fluttered her eyelashes. “When was the last time you took a vacation?” she asked me. “You need a break.”

“Traveling with you will be anything but a break,” I said, before letting out a long sigh. There was only one way this was going to end, and I suspected Maisie had had the entire thing planned out from the beginning. “Okay, fine, I’ll go.”

I did need some time away and my schedule for the summer didn’t look all that busy. The student bar I worked at was always dead over the summer and they’d already cut my hours. The self-defense courses I taught also had lower numbers, so—while I hated leaving people in the lurch—this was as good a time as any to take a break.

“This is going to be such an awesome summer,” Maisie said, as she pulled out her phone, no doubt texting all her friends. “We can pop in and see Dad if you want.”

“That would be nice,” I replied, with absolutely no enthusiasm.

Neither Maisie nor I wanted to see Dad, but Mom didn’t like us badmouthing him in front of her. Ever since our last visit eight years ago, we’d only ever seen Dad when he’d visited the US, and that was becoming less and less frequent. He wasn’t completely to blame, but I did get the impression that spending time with his children wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

“OMG, maybe we can see Olly as well,” Maisie screamed excitedly. “I still chat to him all the time online. I reckon he’d meet up with us.”

“No,” I replied, far too quickly. “We’re not meeting Oliver. Absolutely not.” Way to play it cool, Michelle.

Maisie still worshipped our stepbrother, but I knew better. She had no idea what a jerk he’d been to me when we’d last spoken eight years ago. As far as Maisie was concerned, Oliver was the hotshot rugby player who’d introduced her to the game when she’d been six years old.

To me, he was the asshole who acted nice one minute and then blamed me for his own fuck ups. I hadn’t seen him in eight years, and I could quite happily go another eight.

“Why not?” Maisie asked, as Mom walked outside for a cigarette. “Don’t tell me you still have a crush on him?”

“Maisie,” I scolded, looking around to make sure Mom hadn’t heard. “Don’t talk like that. He’s our stepbrother.”

“Even as a six-year-old, I picked up on the tension between you two. Besides, he clearly feels the same way about you. He asks about you every time we speak online.”

“He does? Wait, what do you tell him?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t tell him how boring your life is. I pretend you have a social life and go out on dates and things.”

“I do have a… no, I’m not getting another lecture from my little sister. Let’s figure out the logistics of this trip before I change my mind about going with you.”

“You know, using words like ‘logistics’ really takes the fun out of big international adventures. Come on, let’s get online and do some shopping. I need a new summer wardrobe, and you... well, you just need an entirely new wardrobe.”

“Can you believe we’re in first class?” Maisie asked, as she tapped her cup of orange juice against my whiskey.

“No,” I replied. “I can’t.” Nothing about this trip made any sense. Once I decided to join Maisie on the trip, I called England Rugby who confirmed that the scout was real and the entire thing was legitimate. They were fine with me accompanying Maisie, but said I needed to buy my own ticket.

The flight was going to set me back nearly a thousand dollars, but just before I bought the ticket I got a call back from a representative who said that England Rugby would pay for everything. The next thing I knew, we were both booked in first class for a trip to London.

“I knew rugby was a lot bigger in England,” Maisie said, “but this is kind of insane. First class tickets for a fourteen-year-old female player is unheard of.”

“Please don’t go getting your hopes up,” I said, for what must have been the tenth time at least.

“I know, I know. This is just a summer and I’m not suddenly going to become some rich and famous rugby player like Olly.”

“You don’t want to become like Oliver.”

“Just because he made one mistake in the 2007 World Cup Final, doesn’t make him a bad rugby player overnight.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I took a long sip of my whiskey.

Just the mention of Oliver’s name made me need a drink to calm my nerves. Maisie kept insisting we meet up with him at some point, but that would be tough to arrange with Maisie at a training camp all summer and Oliver playing rugby for West London R.F.C.

Maisie started to argue with me, but she knew talking about Oliver annoyed me so she kept quiet. She still owed me for coming along on this trip with her, and that bought me a few minutes of silence.

We were the first off the plane when it landed, and our priority pass took us straight to the front of the line at “Her Majesty’s Customs.” The name sounded a little old-school, but the officers were far more cheerful and pleasant than their contemporaries at the Transportation Security Administration. Mind you, that was like saying Maisie was better than most girls at rugby; true enough, but the bar was set pretty low.

“Business or pleasure, ladies,” the officer asked as he checked our passports.

“Business,” Maisie replied. “I’m here to play rugby.”

The officer frowned—never an expression you wanted to see at Customs. “You’re being paid to play rugby here?”

“No, she’s not,” I said. “She’s here for a summer camp playing rugby.”

“Ah, good. Because otherwise you’d be on the wrong visa. What about you, Ma’am?”

“I’m here to look after her, and make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Business then,” the officer joked.

I smiled and took the passports back from the officer and headed to pick up our bags which were first off the plane. Things were going well so far, at least.

Once into the main airport we followed the signs for the taxi stand, until I felt Maisie tugging on my sleeve.

“We have a driver,” Maisie said. “Look.”

Maisie pointed to a man holding up a sign saying ‘Maisie Portman.’ This was getting more ridiculous by the minute.

“You must be Maisie,” the driver said, as we approached. “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Bob and I’ll be your driver.”