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“Shut up and go.”
“All right, all right. A deal is a deal. I’m going.” He staggers to his feet, still smiling in that infuriating way, taunting me, making me want to punch him in the throat.
“I hate you.” I glare up at him. His shadow is camouflaging the sun and his presence is blocking everything else.
He ruffles my hair, making the golden strands fly everywhere, before he places a palm on the top of my head and leans down so his face is level with mine.
There’s no smile on his lips as he speaks with an edge to the tone of his voice. “Hate me all you want, but keep our promise. All your firsts are mine.”
Silver
Age fourteen
My mum said I could do better.
I could be more sophisticated, more elegant, and just…more.
I pushed Kimberly away because if I hadn’t, Mum would’ve hurt her in some way. Mum’s too direct and doesn’t think twice before saying truths — no matter how ugly they are. She doesn’t care about who she crushes on her way to success. She doesn’t stop to think about the consequences for other people. She simply doesn’t feel like the rest of us do.
Or if she ever did, that part of her died after the divorce. Or, rather, three years ago. It’s like she killed a part of herself in that tub.
Since then, I don’t want to test her in any way. If she says I’m to change friends, I change friends. If she says I shouldn’t wear a certain thing, I don’t. If she says I shouldn’t listen to rock music, I don’t. At least, not in public. Everyone knows me as a piano girl, and I’ll remain that way.
It’s not that I don’t like playing the piano, because I do. However, I prefer listening to other types of music with thought-provoking lyrics.
Mum calls it the devil’s music.
Before I know it, my life has become an image. I act a certain way, speak a certain way, and even walk a certain way. I have to sway my hips gently, but I can’t walk too slow like a slut or too fast like a nerd.
I’m a lady. Just like Mum.
Papa sat me down and told me I didn’t have to follow her instructions or be threatened by her. But Papa didn’t see what I saw. Papa wasn’t there.
I love him more than the world itself, but he’s not me. He wasn’t split up between two alpha parents with god-like personalities. He wasn’t forced to see one of them hit rock bottom.
As soon as I told him I wanted this, he didn’t bring up the subject again. Papa might be a feared politician with strict rules and steel-like opinions, but he respects my wishes above anything else. And for that alone, I’m grateful to him.
I haven’t been able to say it as much lately. Part of being a lady is not showing your emotions. If you do have to show them, they shouldn’t be your real ones. Those need to be always hidden where no one could find them.
I know people at school call me a bitch, the queen B, but I don’t mind.
Being a bitch means I’m doing a perfect job of hiding my emotions and I don’t have to live that nightmare again.
It means I get to keep all my pieces together.
So I’ve played the bitch role so well until no one can see through it. I’ve picked fights just to come out as the winner. I’ve played games merely to prove that I can.
Even Kim, who used to be my closest friend, believes the transformation and now calls me a bitch herself. Sometimes, I want to send her a text and tell her I’m sorry, but at the last minute, I change my mind. There’s something a lot bigger than friendship at stake and I would never gamble that.
Mum says it’s lonely at the top and I’m starting to understand what that means.
Her friends have started to drift away the more she climbs the party’s ladder, establishing herself as the most beautiful female politician who can actually rival men. A while ago, a reporter asked her if she used her beauty to get what she wants, and she said the famous line, “I came here to talk about a very serious, very urgent problem, and that is public housing. Can I share my thoughts, or do I have to sit and dodge comments about my face before I’m able to do so?”
That gained her a lot of popularity on social media and with women’s associations.
“Thank you, Derek.” I peek at Papa’s driver through the window after he drops me off from school at Helen’s house. “Don’t forget to drink the tea I gave you earlier. I made it myself.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” He grins, showing straight, white teeth. He’s in his late twenties and helps Papa a lot with his work. “Have fun, Miss Queens.”
