Finding Favor

By Lana Long

What’s More Important: Friendship or Freedom?

In the eight years since seventeen-year-old Favor Miller’s father died, she’s had to endure her reluctant, self-righteous guardians the Browns. Every day for eight years, they've reminded her that she doesn't fit in, that she’s not one of them. Every day for eight years, she’s eagerly awaited the day when she’ll finally be free to live her life her way.

On the eve of high school graduation, Mr. Brown ambushes Favor with the offer of college funding and a to-die-for summer internship–with the one stipulation that she must discontinue her friendship with his son, Ethan.

Accustomed as she is to sharing everything with her best friend, this is one secret Favor must keep in order to protect Ethan. The distraction of his new girlfriend, her growing friendship with his older brother, and her need to understand her family history, add in further complications.

As Favor debates signing the contract, she must decide if she’s willing to give up her best friend in order to pursue her dreams. Will she have to stay in the place she’s so desperately wanted to escape in order to make the right decision and get what she really needs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lana Long
• Release date: Feb 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301947317

Lana Long

As a devoted fan of young adult novels herself, Lana Long is thrilled to be gracing the YA world with her first novel, Finding Favor. Many years of daydreaming and several writing classes and workshops have contributed to the development of Finding Favor as well as to Lana’s inevitable future books. Through her experiences at Lighthouse Writers in Denver, the Big Sur Writing Workshop in California, and the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Colorado Gold Conference, Lana has learned an amazing amount about writing novels. Although writing serves as a relaxing process for Lana, she is also grounded by her family, by her work as a church treasurer, and by volunteering at her kids’ elementary school. She hopes that her books provide readers with the same entertainment she herself finds in YA novels. If you enjoy a good coming-of-age story featuring enthralling characters, check out Finding Favor. Read more of Lana’s thoughts at www.lanalongbooks.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/lanalongbooks.

Book preview

Finding Favor

by

Lana Long

Copyright 2012 Lana Long

All rights reserved.

Published by Lana Long at Smashwords.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Although some of the places mentioned are real, any similarities to actual people or events are coincidental.

To Jonah for the support

and

To Ruby for the encouragement.

Chapter 1. The Beginning of the End

I flicked a piece of dried dirt from under one fingernail moved on to the next. The night before I'd been told to be in Mr. Brown's study at six-thirty sharp. My watch read six forty-five, and I still waited for him to let me in. No matter that I'd spent a restless night rolling from side to side falling asleep only to wake from visions of Mr. Brown's study eating me. No matter that I'd been awake since five afraid I might oversleep. No matter that if I waited for one more second my brain might explode as all the possible scenarios spiraled out of control.

I sighed in disgust and gave up on my fingernails. They'd never be clean, a by-product of working in the greenhouse every day. I moved on to fidgeting with my shirt hem while popping my foot in and out of its shoe.

I'd never forget the first time I talked to Mr. Brown in his study, my dad's funeral a fresh memory. I met Mr. Brown the day of my dad's funeral, wearing his tailored suit, riding in his chauffeured town cars and flying in his private jet. My dad didn't own a suit, he drove his own car, a dark blue five-year old sedan, and the one time we flew, we flew commercially. Why my dad sent me to live with complete strangers was still a mystery eight years later.

Would he ever open the door?

Favor, he called.

I pulled my shirt straight, smoothed down my hair, and checked to make sure my hair clip was still in place. I took that first step toward the study and hesitated.

I'd never know what he wanted unless I walked in there and faced him. I slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Come in, Favor, and take a seat. Mr. Brown sat behind his ancient mahogany desk frowning at his computer.

I walked to the desk fighting the urge to flee while syncing my footsteps with the tick of Mr. Brown's grandmother's maple wall clock. The leather chair crackled as I eased myself down. I shifted straightening my posture trying desperately to ignore the slow churn of my stomach and the thumping of my heart.

Mr. Brown continued to type and frown. Not seeing him close up in months, I hadn't noticed his brown hair was graying at the tips. Would my dad's hair 'have grayed by now, too?

A picture of Ethan, Mr. Brown's son, caught my attention. I leaned forward wanting to touch his face, to feel him. Not that I'd dare do that in real life but next year things could be different.

Next year I'd be out—out in the world, the real world.

Next year I'd finally tell Ethan the truth about my feelings.

Mr. Brown turned his steely blue eyes to me.

I shrank back. My knee threatened to start bouncing, giving away my tightly controlled calm. I sat up even straighter and tucked a wayward strand of blond hair behind my ear.

Good morning, Favor.

Good morning, Mr. Brown.

We haven't talked in a while. He leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs and giving me what appeared to be his full attention. How is everything in the greenhouse?

I paused for hopefully an unnoticeable second. It might have been mere months since I'd seen him up close, but I hadn't spoken to him in years.

I'm growing a whole new series of orchids for Mrs. Brown this year. My voice sounded low and hollow. I took a deep breath and forced it to be stronger. I refused to show weakness even though this man—my dad's college roommate—had held my life in his hands every day since I was ten.

Last year I lost eight orchids, but this year I've only lost two. Mr. Rushworth and I seem to have finally found the balance between light, heat, moisture, and air. See, I slid forward on my chair and started gesturing with my hands. If you have too much of any one thing it can lead to—

That sounds wonderful. He sat straighter and reached for a file folder on his desk. We have a few business matters to attend to, and I'm already late for the office.

I moved my eyes to the top of his head as he opened the folder. The front flashed almost too quickly for me to read, but I swore Favor Miller was written across the cover.

I slid forward to the edge of my chair trying to see what the inch thick folder might contain, but Mr. Brown slipped a few sheets from the top, quickly closed the folder, and slid it under another one on his desk. I recoiled back into my chair as he glanced at me before starting to read from the papers.

UConn next year with a major in horticulture, he said. I will have my assistants pay your tuition as soon as we receive the bill. He smiled at me, and I smiled back.

Then I understand you're applying to a special internship program at the New York Botanical Gardens. I have a friend on their board of directors, not to mention the generous donations my company makes each year. I'd be happy to make a phone call for you.

I eased onto my feet and stepped toward his desk, placing my hands on it and trying to control my breathing. Y-you have no idea what this means to me.

Before you get too excited,—he gestured for me to sit back down—I've had my attorney draw up a contract.

My body seized up as he sorted through additional papers on his desk.

You will sign this contract when you turn eighteen next month and mail it to my office. Only after you've signed the contract will I make a call to the board on your behalf.

A contract? I fought the urge to rub the goose bumps from my arms.

He pushed the stack of papers toward me. You may read through the contract before you sign, but I assure you, there are few expectations on your part. You need to conduct yourself in a professional manner at school. You are not to get into any trouble. You are to remember that in a small way you represent the Brown family reputation, so do nothing to harm it... And one more point...

He paused studying me while his eyes darkened to almost blackness.

My brown eyes widened as I didn't dare blink. My heart, beating fast in my chest, picked up the pace with each second he stared at me.

This isn't in the contract explicitly. My attorneys told me I couldn't include anything about Ethan specifically.

Ethan's name arising in this particular conversation scared me even more than 'when I first met Mr. Brown the day of my dad's funeral—it made me the scaredest I'd ever been.

But either way, he continued, "it is a concern of mine and, in my opinion, it falls under the provision about the family's reputation. It's about your friendship with Ethan."

I nodded fighting the urge to scream at Mr. Brown. My relationship with Ethan didn't concern him.

Ethan's entering a very sensitive time in his life. The people he interacts with over the next two years will determine his acceptance to law school and, ultimately, his career path. At some point he will meet a nice young lady and will cultivate new relationships with the right kind of people. You need to give him space to do that. It's time you started your own life and Ethan started his. I wouldn't want to see my son struggle to find his way, or see you lose an opportunity to study what you love. Or to have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the best in your industry. I could make your dreams come true. He paused and glared directly at me. Or not.

I did my best to keep my face straight while I desperately worked to process his words and think of some of my own to give back to him.

I'd prefer, he continued, if you didn't tell Ethan about this. There's no reason to jeopardize his future by encouraging rash decisions he'd undoubtedly regret later.

Mr. Brown finished his speech, and we sat together in silence.

He was threatening me and threatening Ethan. I'd heard of his cold tactics, but he'd never used them on me before. Until now.

A chill caught me, and I hugged my arms rubbing away the goose bumps. Every dream I had, every wish I'd ever made, suddenly seemed unattainable. The ticking of the clock became so loud I resisted the urge to cover my ears.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to say something to make it all stop. I wanted him to laugh and say it was all a joke. But Mr. Brown didn't have a sense of humor and he wasn't joking.

This was real. This was really happening to me.

I'm glad we understand each other. His features softened into a smile, but not one that invited me to do the same. That will be all, Favor. Have a good day at school. He shifted forward in his chair, shutting me out, and returned his attention to his computer.

Without another word, I quietly left his study, taking the contract with me.

***

I made my way to my room and shut the door. The contract fluttered to the ground, the pages turning this way and that. Angry tears rolled down my face. Breathing deeply, I tried to let it go. But my coping technique failed me.

I flopped down on my bed, nestled my face in my pillow, and screamed, forcing the frustration and disappointment out.

Rolling onto my side, I pushed the hair from my face, now sticky from tears. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed his money for school.

The Browns money trapped me like it trapped all of them.

Financial aid might be an option but something told me Mr. Brown would make sure that didn't happen either. The extent of his power reached further than anything I could imagine. Ethan once told me how his father managed to take over a rival company by making the board directors' lives so unstable, they eagerly agreed to sell.

If he did that to a group of grown, powerful men, what could he do to little, vulnerable me?

What would Mr. Brown do to Ethan if I told him and he wanted us to fight back? Ethan deserved his future intact, not ripped apart by me and his dad.

My phone buzzed, and I hurried to my desk.

Ethan's text said he was going into his last final.

I sat my phone aside unable to text with my hands shaking. Would the day come when I no longer received texts from Ethan? Whether it would or if we'd somehow manage to find a way to remain in each other's lives, that day wasn't today.

I grabbed my phone and typed, Good luck, hit send, and waited. My phone vibrated in sync with the message. Thx. See ya soon.

I exhaled and cradled my phone in my hands. Soon couldn't come soon enough.

Breakfast, one of the house staff called to me as she tapped on my door.

Thank you, I said.

I sank to the floor and picked up the contract. I stacked it neatly on my desk, then shoved it in a drawer. My birthday wasn't for another month and a half. No reason to look at the thing again before then.

No reason at all.

I grabbed my bag and left my room, pausing outside and looking both ways. No one was in sight and, every door was closed as usual. The hallway resemble a long, dark, quiet passage in a horror movie.

Making my way toward the kitchen, I paused at Ethan's door and leaned against it, fighting the urge to hide inside like I did most evenings when he was away at school. A dull ache started in my chest as it dawned on me that Mr. Brown was right about one thing...

Ethan could never know about his father's threats. I needed to protect him from Mr. Brown, and if that meant signing the contract, I'd have to sign it.

I snuck down the back stairs near the kitchen on the first floor. The old wood floors throughout the house squeaked in places, so I stepped lightly not wanting to alert Madison, the Browns' daughter, to my presence.

One misstep and she'd lay in wait, a snarling lioness waiting for her prey. I tried to avoid her at all costs, especially at school though this last semester of our senior year did require us to spend more time together during all the graduation preparations. Thankfully, she'd been too involved with her impending freedom to pay me much attention.

I took two deep breaths, rearranged my face into disinterest, and walked into the room laying my bag against the wall behind my chair.

Madison pretended not to see me staring down at her lap as she texted probably making her plans for the day: who, where, and how to humiliate her next victim. Why didn't matter as long as her orders were followed.

Mrs. Brown glanced up from her phone. The thing was practically attached to her. She was perpetually checking e-mails and texts, sending e-mails and texts, making sure she kept informed of anything happening in her social circle.

Good morning, Favor, she said. You look nice.

Thank you.

Madison's head snapped up; her blue-green hazel eyes flashed a frightening shade of green. Oh yes, Favor. You look lovely. Her words were sweet and proper, but those eyes told the truth.

However did you put together such a stylish outfit? And, oh my, you remembered to shower this morning. So thoughtful of you.

I sat down without making eye contact. Showing even a hint of bravery only made her attack with greater ferocity.

Madison, Mrs. Brown said in a warning tone. For a brief moment I thought she might actually defend me. Tomorrow after school we're meeting with the caterer for the graduation party. I've left messages for Tom but he won't call me back.

Typical, Madison murmured.

For once I agreed with her. Tom, the Browns' eldest son and a senior at Yale, spent a considerable amount of effort ignoring the family. The graduation party was supposed to be for Madison and Tom, and in the end it would be, but the only thing anyone expected Tom to manage was to show up and drink.

It doesn't matter, Mrs. Brown continued, waving her hand dismissively. You and I can handle all the plans.

We'll do it better without him, Madison said before returning to her texting.

I ate quietly trying, like every morning, to make sure everyone forgot I existed.

Madison, what time is your art show next week? Mrs. Brown asked, breaking the silence.

Every movement around the table stopped. I stared at my plate, a gnawing anxiety growing inside me.

Tuesday at seven. You are coming, aren't you?

I held my breath.

I'm afraid not. It appears Cecilia planned a dinner meeting for the club fundraiser. Your father will be out of town, plus you know how he feels about art shows. Do you need us there?

I glanced up keeping my head down.

Mrs. Brown didn't look up from her phone.

No, it's fine. Madison smiled, though her eyes stormed. There's no reason for you or Dad to change your plans.

Her gaze flickered over to me. For once, it didn't look accusing but vulnerable. Just as quickly, however, Madison's eyes hardened once again.

The tension in the room reverberated off the walls. I took another bite, choking down the humiliation Madison planned to inflict on me at school.

Last time her parents bailed on her art show I ended up in detention at school and grounded at home for vandalizing the girls' bathroom. I had to admit I did a fine job with the drawing of a girl flipping off anyone who walked into the room. Usually, my talent only went as far as stick figures. Madison made sure I at least looked accomplished while making me take the fall for her aggressions.

Thank you for being so understanding, sweetie. Mrs. Brown's attention still bonded to her phone.

Of course, Mother.

Miss Madison the car is ready, Mrs. Brown's driver said standing just inside the dining room door.

Have a good day at school, Mrs. Brown murmured.

Madison shot her an evil look, then gifted me with a matching one. She stood and her light-gray dress—which, most likely, cost more than my entire wardrobe—slipped down to her mid-thigh. The dress was too short by school policy but no one would say anything to her.

Hurry up, loser. You don't want to make me late.

She flipped her mahogany hair over her shoulder and pushed past me, her two-inch heels giving her a slight height advantage.

I grabbed my bag and followed her.

She marched down the stairs to the place where the driver waited with the front door open. When she pulled out her cell phone, I thought I'd be safe for the duration of the ride, but then she spoke without so much as looking at me. "If you say anything to anyone about my parents ditching my show I will make your life a living hell."

I wanted to say her father had already made my life a living hell but back talk only ever got me in trouble. In a very strange and convoluted way, we were going through the same thing—that morning we'd both been hurt by the Browns.

"I'm sure they want to be there," I offered.

She jerked in my direction, her eyes narrowed into slits. Don't you ever talk about me and my parents like you know us. You don't know anything. You're just a poor orphan with no friends, no means, and no one to love you. You'll be lucky if you don't end up working at McDonald's your entire life, poor and alone.

She'd done it again. In a few carefully chosen jabs, Madison had turned her rage on me and my pathetic life.

***

When Madison and I returned home from school that afternoon, she sauntered into her studio and turned to me.

Hey, Favor. She didn't say anything more, just leered at me with her arms outstretched, one on each door to her studio. Her sculptures in the background framed her, contradicting the hostility of her stance with their soft curves.

Nice outfit. She sneered, then she slammed the doors.

I took a series of deep measured breaths, and made my way to the kitchen. Brenda, the Browns' housekeeper, sat at her desk reading some papers.

What are you wearing? She looked at me over the top of her glasses as I took a seat on a stool by the island.

This is what the school gives you when your clothes are ruined. I looked down at my haphazardly strewn outfit—a gray pair of shorts I'd had to roll twice at the waist to keep from falling down, and a white T-shirt, also too big, with the school logo on it.

Do I even need to ask what happened?

"As long as you can imagine a certain princess angry at her parents for ditching her art show and taking it out on me with a well-planned and executed cafeteria fiasco, then I think you can get a good picture. Needless to say, my clothes were covered in béchamel sauce, and I had to throw them