AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Mom, she’s all dressed up for a party,” Melissa urged.
“She doesn’t want to sit here and drink champagne and play Scrabble.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hastings said. “It’s not even eight yet. Parties don’t start this early, do they?”
Spencer felt trapped. They were all staring at her. “I…I guess not,” she said.
She dragged a chair back, sat down, and kicked off her shoes. Her father got a bottle of Moët out of the fridge, popped the cork, and took out four Riedel glasses from the cabinet. He poured a whole glass for himself, Spencer’s mother, and Melissa, and a half glass for Spencer. Melissa put a Scrabble rack in front of her.
Spencer plunged her hand into the velvet bag and selected letters. Her father selected his letters next. Spencer was amazed he knew how to do it—she’d never seen him play a game, not even on vacation. “When do you hear what the judges’ final decision is?” he asked, taking a sip of his champagne.
Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know.” She glanced at Melissa, who gave her a brief, indecipherable smile. Spencer hadn’t talked to Melissa since their hot-tub session last night, and she felt a little strange around her sister. Apprehensive, almost.
“I had a chance to read it yesterday,” Mr. Hastings continued, folding his hands. “I love how you updated the concept for modern times.”
“So who goes first?” Spencer asked shrilly. There was no way they were talking about the content of the essay. Not around Melissa.
“Didn’t 1996’s Golden Orchid winner win a Pulitzer last year?” Mrs. Hastings asked.
“No, it was a National Book Award,” Melissa said.
Please stop talking about the Golden Orchid, Spencer thought. Then, she realized: for once, they were talking about her—not Melissa.
Spencer looked at her tiles. She had I, A, S, J, L, R, and H. She rearranged the letters and almost choked on her tongue. LIAR SJH. SJH, as in Spencer Jill Hastings.
Outside, the sky was raven-colored. A dog howled. Spencer grabbed her champagne flute and drained its contents in three seconds flat. “Someone’s not driving for at least an hour,” her father mock-scolded.
Spencer tried to laugh, sitting on her hands so her dad wouldn’t see that they were shaking.
Mrs. Hastings spelled WORM with her tiles. “Your turn, Spence,” she said.
As Spencer picked up her L tile, Melissa’s slim Motorola lit up. A fake cello vibrated out of the cell’s speaker, playing the theme to Jaws. Duh-DUH. Duh-DUH. Spencer could see the screen from here: new text message.
Melissa flipped the screen open, angling it away from Spencer’s view. She frowned. “Huh?” she said aloud.
“What is it?” Mrs. Hastings asked, raising her eyes from her tiles.
Melissa scratched her head. “The great Scottish economist Adam Smith’s invisible-hand concept can be summed up very easily, whether it’s describing the markets of the nineteenth century or those of the twenty-first: you might think people are doing things to help you, but in reality, everyone is only out for himself. Weird! Why would someone send me part of an essay I wrote when I was in high school?”
Spencer opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry exhalation came out.
Mr. Hastings put down his glass. “That’s Spencer’s Golden Orchid essay.”
Melissa examined the screen. “No, it’s not, it’s my…” She looked at Spencer. “No.”
Spencer shrank down in her chair. “Melissa, it was a mistake.”
Melissa’s mouth was open so wide, Spencer saw the silver fillings in her molars. “You bitch!”
“Things got out of hand!” Spencer cried. “The situation slipped away from me!”
Mr. Hastings frowned, confused. “What’s going on?”
Melissa’s face contorted, the corners of her eyes turning down and her lips curling up sinisterly. “First you steal my boyfriend. And then my paper? Who do you think you are?”
“I said I was sorry!” Spencer cried at the same time.
“Wait. It’s…Melissa’s paper?” Mrs. Hastings said, growing pale.
“There must be some mistake,” Mr. Hastings insisted.
Melissa put her hands on her hips. “Should I tell them? Or would you like to?”
Spencer jumped up. “Tell on me like you always do.” She ran down the hall toward the stairs. “You’ve gotten so good at it by now.”
Melissa followed. “They need to know what a liar you are.”
“They need to know what a bitch you are,” Spencer shot back.
Melissa’s lips spread into a smile. “You’re so lame, Spencer. Everyone thinks so. Including Mom and Dad.”
Spencer scrambled up the stairs backwards. “They do not!”
“Yes, they do!” Melissa taunted. “And it’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re a boyfriend-stealing, plagiarizing, pathetic little bitch!”
“I’m so sick of you!” Spencer screamed. “Why don’t you just die?”
“Girls!” Mr. Hastings cried.
But it was as if the sisters were in a force-field bubble all their own. Melissa didn’t break her stare from Spencer. And Spencer started shaking. It was true. She was pathetic. She was worthless.
“Rot in hell!” Spencer screamed. She took two stairs at a time.
Melissa was right behind her. “That’s right, little baby who means nothing, run away!”
“Shut up!”
“Little baby who steals my boyfriends! Who isn’t even smart enough to write her own papers! What were you going to say on TV if you won, Spencer? Yes, I wrote every word of it myself. I’m such a smart, smart girl! What, did you cheat on the PSATs, too?”
