Page 57 of Cruel Games

“Shut up!” Elizabeth stamped her foot. “I’m just as talented as anyone in this room.”

“What have you ever produced?” I snapped. “Pincushions?”

She forced her features into a smirk. “Unlike you, I’ll inherit the kind of wealth that means I won’t ever have to work. If you’re lucky, I might hire you to make my servants’ uniforms.”

I shook my head. “Are you too pathetic to take care of yourself now? You need an army of women to wipe your ass?”

Giggles filled the classroom. Elizabeth glanced from left to right, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re the one who can’t sew to save your life.”

“Enough,” shouted Miss Martin. “If you want to battle Miss Hancock, do so at the end of term Christmas charity auction in Glasgow. Everyone is allowed to enter a hand-made item. The one that earns the most for their creation will be the winner.”

Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air. “That’s hardly a challenge. I already consider myself Hand-Cock’s superior.”

“And I’ve never been so insecure as to see another girl as competition,” I snapped. “All these jabs you’ve made at me since I’ve joined, it’s like you’re desperate for me to notice you. What the hell do you want? A date?”

Her face paled. “What are you implying?”

“I don’t know. You surround yourself with the best-looking guys in the school, but you keep them at arm’s length.”

“That’s true,” said Maeve, the red-haired girl.

Myra, the witch-faced ass-licker, wrapped an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and murmured into her ear. “Ignore those jealous cows.”

“I’m saving myself for marriage.” Elizabeth picked up a box of pins.

“Put those down.” Miss Martin stepped between Elizabeth and me, forming a barrier.

My heart thrummed in my chest. The crazy bitch had better not throw them. Everyone, including Myra, backed away.

All the sounds of sewing stopped, replaced by shocked silence. A few of the younger students sensibly fled the room. I took several steps back, taking myself out of throwing range of the pins.

“We can’t all be whores like your mother.” Elizabeth pulled out a chair and stood on its seat, negating Miss Martin’s body shield. “I don’t want to end up pregnant and married to a drug dealer.”

I clenched her teeth. “Getting pregnant doesn’t make a woman a whore, but marrying for money might.”

Her face dropped. “Are you insinuating that Mama—”

“You’re the one slapping that label on other women!”

She flung the box in an arc, showering Miss Martin and one half of the classroom with pins. Screams filled the air. I jogged backward, my stomach dropping at the thought of Miss Martin getting hurt. The teacher curled forward, her hands over her face.

Some of the older students rushed toward Miss Martin, who had gotten the brunt of the flying pins. Elizabeth walked the length of the table to where I stood and jumped down, her red face twisted into a snarl. “What are you going to do now?”

“You’re deranged.” I balled my fists. The crazy bitch wanted me to lash out and get myself expelled. It wasn’t going to happen.

Elizabeth jabbed me in the chest. “Violent criminals don’t deserve to be here.”

“Then leave.” I swiped out my arm, but she snatched her hand away before I could connect my strike.

A peal of laughter slipped from her lips, and she pointed at a pair of sewing shears on the table. “There’s your weapon. Stab me through the gut and throw me down the stairs, just like you did to your pedophile boyfriend!”

Fury surged through my veins, taking hold of my senses. How the fuck did she know about Sammy? I raised my hand to punch her across the face. Elizabeth’s arm shot out as fast as a cobra, and before I knew it, she twisted me around into a painful arm-lock.

“Did you see that, everyone?” Elizabeth snarled. “She tried to stab me!”

Pain burned around the socket of my arm. It stretched up my shoulder, down my side, forcing me to double over to release the pressure of her hold.

“Miss Liddell,” shouted the fashion teacher. “You are hereby banned from tailoring club. Release Miss Hancock at once!”