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“He never does it missionary style. Good luck holding that one on top.”
“Death by thighs,” Juliette says.
“Jesus, Juliette,” one of her minions says, through a laugh.
I freeze in my chair.
“That’s it. Those bitches are going down.” Maddy slams her drink down. Coffee splats out onto the tabletop.
“No!” I grab her arm to make her sit back down. “Do not say anything.”
“I can’t let them get by with that shit.”
“If you say anything, the entire café will know who they’re talking about.”
She looks skeptical. “I don’t like not standing up for you.”
“I know. But let it go.” I force a casual tone, trying to ignore their hateful words. I’m not what an antiquated society deems an ideal body shape, but I’m happy with myself. It took a lot of time to come to those terms, but hearing their taunts brings me back to General Academy. To the days when I felt inadequate. When I moved out here, I promised myself I’d never let those types of girls get to me. And it had worked until now.
“Fine, but I don’t like it.”
“Noted.”
She picks up her cup, and I relax back into my seat. “Anyway, everything happened so fast. It hasn’t truly sunk in.”Because it isn’t real.
“He’s a Morton. He saw an opportunity and jumped at the chance.” She snorts, shaking her head. “He knows a good thing when he sees it.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, but something warm unfurls in my chest at the thought. Maybe there’s a sliver of truth to this whole charade, a thread of reality among the fiction we’ve spun.
No! Put a stop to those thoughts right now. They do nothing but lead to dangerous territories.
Accepting the money was supposed to lessen the burden, not add to it. But as the girls keep talking trash about me, the past insecurities I thought I had squashed and overcame resurface, making it difficult to concentrate.
“I need to knock out this assignment.” My hands shake as I reach into the bag and pull out my organic chemistry notebook.
“Can you believe she thinks she’s in his league?” Juliette asks.
“Blake with a bookworm? Please, as if!”
Heat creeps up my neck, branding me with shame. My fingers fumble on the page, the glossy paper slipping like it, too, wants to escape the scrutiny. I steal a glance at Maddy. She’s engrossed in her phone, thumbs flying over the screen, a slight frown knitting her freckled brow.
“Who’re you texting?” My voice wavers, barely audible over the din of judgment.
“Nobody.” She doesn’t look up, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Doesn’t seem like nobody.”
“Trust me, Amanda, it’s”—her eyes dart up, meeting mine for a fleeting second—“complicated.”
“Everything’s complicated these days.” A hollow laugh escapes me. I try to refocus on the text before me, but the words blur, their meaning lost. The girls’ voices grow louder, their barbs sharper.
“Probably just using her for homework help. I heard he’s struggling in business calculus.”
“Or charity work. You know, giving back to the community by dating down.”
My grip tightens around the edges of my notebook, knuckles turning white. I’d love to hurl it at them and let my actions speak volumes since my voice refuses to rise in my defense. But that would mean acknowledging them, letting them see how deep their poison has seeped into my skin.
Christ, this is like high school all over again. I thought I’d escape that by traveling over three thousand miles.
