“There is an information packet on your desk. I expect you to read it and be ready to discuss your plans after dinner.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Good. Your father and I will see you then.” The door closed with a soft click and Danielle Harp waited exactly twelve seconds before heaving out a gusty sigh and loosening her posture. It had been a trial to learn exactly how long to wait before letting the facade drop. Ten seconds was the average time it would take her mother to get out of hearing range, but she had been taught not to be average in anything. It had only taken three pointed lectures about maintaining decorum at all times when she broke character too soon to drill that lesson home.
Her bedroom resembled a corporate boardroom more than a teenage girl’s space. Dark mahogany furniture and neutral, muted colors lent the space a minimalistic efficiency, like it had been designed by a focus group to promote productivity while causing as little distraction as possible. For all she knew, her parents actually had hired a group and given them that exact prompt. With how her life was structured and scheduled, it wouldn’t be surprising.
Danielle Harp was the daughter of two Fulfillers, young ones at that. Both of her parents’ tick marks had turned gold before they reached thirty-five, putting them in rare company. It was more than a mark of pride for them, it was almost all that they were as people. Some people upon completing their full List took it as a chance to be different, to retire and travel the world, to take up hobbies or explore possibilities their List hadn’t presented to them. The Harps had taken the opposite approach, replacing their dogged pursuit of the next point on their List with a burning need to succeed in the business realm. If it was just that, Danielle could have dealt with it. She liked to think she could have learned to be self-sufficient, to care for her own emotional needs and generally fly under the radar until her own List came along. But Gideon and Lorelei Harp had decided that their ultimate post-completion legacy wouldn’t be their business or charity foundation, but their progeny.
Every minute was scheduled. The best tutors were sourced for everything from economics to etiquette. Any break in her perfect front was scrutinized and patched until she could present herself as the epitome of a young CEO, a doll purpose-built for relentlessly pursuing success in all ventures. The one concession they’d ever made was sending her to Glenbrook High, and only after she’d spent an entire year building a case that proper socialization among the average consumer would aid in her ability to pinpoint market opportunities and scout subordinates. Danielle shuddered as she remembered the first time she asked to go to regular school.
“You are a Harp.” Her Mother had snapped. “What’s more, you are a woman. You cannot meekly ask for what you want and expect it to be given. Never ask questions, make demands. It is the only way to be strong in this world.” Danielle had never thought curiosity was a weakness until that moment. The next few months beat that lesson into her head, each question met with a glare or a scoff until she’d begun instinctively rephrasing her requests into demands. It felt… cold. By the time she’d finally talked her parents into letting her have a normal high school experience, it was a firmly ingrained habit alongside an impassive face (never let them see your nerves, keep your cards close to your chest) and perfect posture (they’ll never respect you if you can’t comport yourself well).
Glenbrook High was a refuge. For seven glorious hours a day, there was no one specifically looking over her shoulder, monitoring her behavior for any misstep. No maids or etiquette tutors reporting the one mistake she’d made among the numerous triumphs. Still, she could never completely drop her guard. It wouldn’t surprise her if her parents had managed to recruit a few teachers to report any major behavior changes, and she was not going to risk being homeschooled again. She tried her best to make friends, but apparently formal etiquette and a face carved from stone was intimidating and she was soon known as the resident ice queen. It seems she was doomed to never measure up, not to the expectations of her parents or to her own dreams of fitting in among her peers.
Danielle blinked. The stress of Fool’s Day approaching had certainly made her anxious and introspective. It was a small comfort that the rest of the senior class was dealing with it about as well as she was, but with fewer habits that kept it from being obvious. Connor had noticed, though. Sometimes she thought Connor Blakely was the closest she’d come to having a friend. He was at the very least a friendly acquaintance, one who didn’t shrink from her presence and was a competent project partner. She frowned at that last thought. It sounded entirely too much like her mother.
Her mother, who wouldn’t be pleased if she totally ignored the information packet on her desk. Danielle sighed internally, wishing tomorrow would come already. Maybe her List would give her an escape. Something to get her out of Glenbrook, out from under the thumb of her overbearing parents before whatever was left of her was crushed under their expectations. Danielle flicked her eyes over the dense paragraphs in front of her, skimming through what seemed like the exact same instructions she’d received every day of her life. Don’t show weakness, don’t ask questions, relentlessly pursue your goals and accept no excuses. Quite a lot of words for very simple concepts, but that was the rich and driven for you. Danielle dutifully memorized a few passages, as her parents were bound to quiz her on the contents.
Dinner was a silent affair. Danielle had long learned not to speak unless spoken to at the dinner table, and today both of her parents seemed far away. She hoped they were remembering their own Fool’s Day and granting her a reprieve, but that felt like wishful thinking. If they’d wanted to do that, they would have started before now. So Danielle dutifully ate her lamb chops and arugula salad at a measured pace, willing time to move faster. Only when the usual after-dinner tea was on the table did her father address her.
“Danielle.” He began, speaking in his measured, confident way, utterly certain that everyone in earshot was listening. “Your journey begins tomorrow. I trust you are prepared.”
“Yes, Father.” She replied, trying to imitate his tone but only succeeding at keeping her voice level. “I am as ready as I possibly can be.”
He nodded. “You will make us proud.” It wasn’t an encouragement, but an order.
Danielle swallowed her nerves and nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“We expect regular progress reports.” Her mother stated. “If you cannot tick off your first point within three months, you are to report to us and we will see it done.” That was alarming, and only the long years of controlling her reactions kept Danielle from widening her eyes. A majority of people did manage to get their first tick mark within a year of receiving their List, but three months was a harsher deadline than she’d been expecting. To say nothing of the fact that relying on others to tick off your own List hardly ever worked. A Fool’s Journey was for the individual, it was all but impossible to carry someone else through their own. But arguing with her parents was an exercise in futility. They had completed their Lists, and in their eyes, that meant they would always know better.
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“Of course, Mother.” Danielle lied. “I will keep you apprised.”
Danielle was going to have to revisit those escape plans she’d put together years ago.
The rest of the conversation was thankfully uneventful. Danielle knew that many families gave gifts on Fate’s Eve to prepare a new Fool for their List, but her parents somewhat disdained the practice. To them, the gift had been being born into this family and receiving the training she had that would enable her to succeed at anything. She was grateful for that tonight; she could feel her expression becoming more brittle as the evening wore on and she regurgitated the fourth or fifth likely-useless tip from the packet she’d read earlier. She wasn’t sure she could fake being grateful for trinkets that would likely be no help.
Finally, she was released back to her room and collapsed onto her bed almost immediately, shutting her eyes tight. Three months. She thought she might have more freedom, but a lot could happen in three months. It would be risky, but maybe she’d actually get a chance to live on her own terms for once. As she willed herself to sleep, she imagined what that would be like. No schedule, no tutors, no monitoring. Just her and her fate. She drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.
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That smile was nowhere to be found the next morning.
Don’t bite back the question. The first point on her List was equal parts cruel joke and opportunity. It had been so long since she’d been able to freely express her curiosity, to learn what she wanted rather than what was decided for her. It was also something she had no idea how to do. Years of conditioning made the mere act of forming a question something foreign. Danielle couldn’t imagine what question could possibly come to mind that would be so urgent as to make her want to bite it back. She hadn’t had to do that since her first year of high school.
Her facade held through her morning routine and her mother’s brief scrutiny as she swept out of the house on her way to yet another meeting she only attended in person to put the fear of God into the employees. The drive to school was predictably silent, her chauffeur Claude never being much for conversation. Danielle had, of course, arrived early enough to assist with the Fool’s Day Orientation setup, and attempted to channel her frustration into stapling packets and checking the stage setup. Students began trickling in before too long and Danielle took the opportunity to post herself outside the auditorium and survey the crowd.
Most looked excited, some satisfied, some nervous, and a few looked how she felt: utterly frustrated. That frustration was only fed by how so few of them would meet her eyes for longer than a second, her gaze cutting off conversations and chilling moods wherever it landed. There was a question there, but it was one that was all too familiar: why am I so intimidating? It wasn’t a question worth asking. She knew the habits her parents had taught her and how people were afraid to speak to her normally. It was lonely in the tower they’d built for her. Danielle had thought applying her talents to something like student council might help, but it just seemed to cement her position as the unassailable queen of the school, one who was to be obeyed and admired but never simply befriended. Hell, the only reason she was student council president was that everyone else had dropped out of the race when she entered, probably in fear of reprisal. Not that Danielle ever would, but her parents were another story.
She realized she’d been spacing out at the same time that she saw a familiar head of curly hair. Connor Blakely looked like she felt, like someone putting up a front. He was much less practiced at it, bits of trepidation and disappointment coming through in his twitching fingers and downcast gaze. Danielle grit her teeth slightly to keep from outright frowning. It seems she wasn’t the only one with a less than desired List this morning, and of course it was Connor. Maybe they could help each other? She could admit, there were far worse people to ask questions than him.
Like he could tell she was thinking about him, Connor’s green eyes glanced up to meet her own. Danielle sharpened her gaze practically on instinct, laying bare the frustration that had dogged her all morning before deliberately pushing it away. It wouldn’t do to have him think he was the source of her woes. Despite her less than friendly mien, she could only find concern seeping into his expression. She raised an eyebrow at him in question, and he seemed to mimic her method of pushing most emotion out of her face, leaving something she wasn’t used to seeing: trust. Danielle gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement and had to turn away before she gave away anything else. How many times had she wanted her parents to look at her with that expression? Even last night it was expectations and weight and deadlines with consequences, no semblance of the quiet trust and support that a classmate, barely more than an acquaintance, gave so freely. How could he give trust so freely? What had she ever done to earn it?
The questions persisted through the principal’s and guidance counselor’s speeches, Danielle barely hearing any of it. It was fine, she’d long since memorized all the procedures of the day. She had no interest in baring the details of her List for discussion, not to mention that her parents would practically disown her if she went that route. Any discussion group she could join would probably clam up, her presence often more of a pressure than any teacher. The library was the safest bet, somewhere quiet where she could breathe without being on display and maybe find something on how to ask effective questions.
Danielle knew she was avoiding the issue by turning to books and research once more. At some point, she would have to will herself through the ingrained habits and, well, not bite back the question. The wording implied something either completely new and sudden or longstanding, but most of her longstanding questions had been answered by this point in her life. Did her parents love her? Yes, but more as a symbol and possession than a person. Could she ever escape their shadow and live on her own terms? If she could solve this first point within three months, or else things would only get worse. Would she ever make a genuine friend? She had to believe the answer was yes and that ticking off her first point was the first step towards that connection she’d craved for so long. Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to deny her that, would it?
She trailed her fingers along the spines of the library books before her, idly skimming the titles. Self-help was not a genre she’d delved into beyond a few articles online, and the selection here did not seem promising. It was a shot in the dark at any rate, more of an excuse to fade into the background for an hour or two than anything else. She took a glance over her shoulder at the computer stations and saw the back of Connor’s head as he scrolled through an article. Well, if she had to pick someone to stumble through asking questions to, he’d probably be top of the list. Maybe fate was doing her a favor. She leaned a bit closer, reading over his shoulder, and blinked in surprise. Why was he… don’t bite back the question.
“Why exactly are you reading about cockfighting?” Danielle asked.