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“Maybe it’s reverse psychology.”
“Maybe not.”
She laughs, walking closer. “Yeah, maybe not.”
I glance around, spotting a few of the other girls on the opposite side of the yard pulling weeds. “You don’t have to do house chores, so why are you?”
“To keep it equal.”
I frown. “It’s not equal, I told you that.”
“It’s fine, it’ll help keep the peace in the house.” She shrugs.
“Playing the noblewoman card, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “Next up, betrothing a prince.”
I scoff, and when she bends down, picking up two small pieces of garbage, I lean over her to turn off the hose.
“Nah, a prince wouldn’t do the trick.”
She pushes back to her feet, smiling at her hands as she tugs the gardening gloves off. “Oh, you don’t think so?”
“I know so.”
She smirks. “Do tell.”
“A prince chases power, but has no command of his own, forever waiting for his time to lead. Too blameless to be brutal, too decent to be a dick. He’s weak until he’s forced to make a real move. Good-hearted ‘cause he’s never been in the dark.”
She frowns. “You don’t think I’d be enough?”
I reach forward, flicking her hair and her eyes come up to mine.
“Tell me, little Bishop, what’s a prince who’s never even seen the dark... gonna do with a girl who lived it most her life?”
She opens her mouth, but closes it, a look in her eye I don’t recognize. “You think I need more,” she says quietly.
A bridled warning blares in my brain, forcing me a step back. “You’re putting words in my mouth. Don’t.”
The soft gleam in her gaze is still way too present, but she goes for playful. “Well come on then, Mr. Miyagi, break it down for me. Don’t hold back, remember?”
“You know the sayin’, Tink. Do as I say, never as I do.”
“What an easy out,” she muses with a smile. After a second, she clears her throat. “So, I’m almost done for the day. Me and Micah were thinking about checking things out, finding a waterhole or something somewhere. Want to come?”
Annoyance slams over me, erasing the last few minutes.
“Do I want to come with you and Micah?”
Her eyes tighten, but she nods.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, gripping my shirt near my chest and pulling the wet material away from my skin. “When’d you plan this?”
“On the ride home last night,” she tells me, glancing over her shoulder quickly as she drops the soiled gloves in a garbage bag.
“So you’re gonna run around town with Micah all day, huh?”
She looks my way, gliding her fingertips along her temple, a curious expression on her face. “And Valine.”
“Valine.”
She nods. “Tall, tan, curly brown hair,” she lays out her basics as if I don’t know who lives in our group homes and need a reminder. “Miss Maybell said she has the hardest time with her. I guess she’s tough to handle, doesn’t get along with the girls, but I taught her how to make omelets today and she didn’t try to burn me with the frying pan.”
“That’s how you decided she’s not a serial killer?”
Brielle laughs. “I think she needs some free minutes of careless fun, I know I do.”
“That’s weak-minded.”
She studies me and then starts walking backward for the house. “Right, well, you have fun doing whatever it is strong-minded people do, and maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Man, little Bishop, you’re on a fuckin’ roll, aren’t ya?” flies from my mouth before she can get a step farther. “Already got friends, plans, and a backbone.”
She gapes at me. “Are you serious right now?”
“Are you?” I snap.
Her head draws back.
“I’m sorry,” she drags out, tipping her head like a brat. “Am I supposed to feel bad right now, because that’s crap. I’ve spent four years studying, sitting in the dark, fixing things other people broke, all while having no choice but to go to a school I hated, in a town that hated me. So, if you’re trying to guilt me for wanting to spend a couple hours with someone my own age, who doesn’t look at me and assume they know who I am, and do something fun and simple, don’t. It won’t work.”
“You sure?” I walk toward the porch and call her out like an asshole. “‘Cause you look like you’re ‘bout to cry.”
She throws her hands up with a little growl and stomps her ass two steps down, bringing us eye level, face-to-fucking-face. Our mouths dangerously close and both curved with frowns.
“You know what, fine,” she forces past clenched teeth. “Call me a liar because now I do feel guilty, but only because for a split clearly wasted second I thought maybe I hurt your feelings for not asking you first. That’s dumb of me though because you’re the one who said I’m not here to be your friend.”
“You forget where I said don’t trust those who want to be yours?”
