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“Excuse me?”
Bitterness infused her voice. “Trust me. He made that very clear.”
Good for David. There was no reason he should be dragged on stage and used as a Ken doll in Sophie’s perfect life. “Why are you even dating my brother?”
Her nose scrunched up unattractively, and her lips pursed, mouse-like. “Because I like him.”
I snorted. “Yeah. You like his money. And trips to San Leandro.”
She looked, of all things, infuriated. Like she might even stomp her foot. “No! I like him! God, what is your problem?”
How could she possibly like my brother, who was such a far cry from her usual thick-necked paramours? My shoulders tensed and my neck stiffened. “And it’s just sheer coincidence you started dating him after he became hugely successful at his job?”
“Yeah, it is. I’m not a gold-digger. After all, I have my own job. I can support myself.”
I bit the inside of my lip, resisting the urge to derail into my own relationship. “David deserves someone who really cares about him. He deserves someone kind, and intelligent, and good.”
Her brows flew together. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean? I do care about David! How could you say that!”
Easily. Because while she flattered and cooed in David’s presence, I hadn’t seen much proof that she’d changed from the girl who tripped me at graduation. She couldn’t possibly be so unaware of her own behavior, could she?
“Because I don’t think you’re good enough for him.” My words came out crisp and annunciated, as though, after years of sitting on them, I knew exactly what I wanted to say. “You were the pettiest, cruelest person I’d ever known. You were a bully, Sophie. You made my freshman year miserable. You hurt my friends. Didn’t you realize the detrimental effect you had on everyone around you? Did you really not know you were a bully, or did you just not care?” I shook my head. “You still are a bully.”
“No, I’m not!” she cried, and I actually looked at her, instead of inward, at the teenage adversary I’d never been able to speak against. But now, the girl in front of me looked like she wanted to cry. “Are you kidding? All I’ve tried to do is fit in!”
I crossed my arms, unable to respond. Sophie may have been a classic case of insecure mean girl, but wanting people to like her didn’t excuse mocking everyone who didn’t. It didn’t excuse making fun of at me at my family’s table and flirting with my boyfriend for attention while her own sat beside her.
Instead of snapping again, Sophie’s face crumbled. “Look, I know we didn’t get along in high school—”
“Didn’t get along?” I shook my head. “You hated me. You made fun of Carly’s accent and called Madison a lesbian. God, you weren’t just insulting them, you insulted entire demographics.”
“We were kids!”
“Yeah, then. And what about two months ago, when you told the table about the garbage incident?”
“It was funny!” she protested. “Everyone laughed!”
“Everyone laughed at me. And good God, Sophie, so did my own brother. You’re poisoning him. You’re turning him into one of your clone-like sycophants. All he ever does is talk about how wonderful you are, and echo your ideas and put you ahead of his own family. What have you done to him?”
She pressed her hands to her eyes. “You’re a bitch.”
I stared at her. Oh my God. I had just made Sophie Salisbury cry.
Maybe I was a bitch. Maybe my mother was right, and the green-eyed monster had reared its head when David spent all his energy on Sophie.
I couldn’t quite stop, though most of the venom drained from my voice. “You ruined my life for a solid year. I begged my parents to let me transfer because of you. I could have given Sylvia Plath a run for her money in the suicidal poetry department. Ten minutes of insults isn’t torture, Sophie. Four years is.”
She was silent. Her mouth twisted up, and she shook her head in a tiny movement. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
I blinked. Actually, I had never imagined she would say such a thing. “Are you?”
She glared at me through watery eyes. “Are you sorry for making fun of me all the time?”
“What are you talking about?”
Her cheeks reddened prettily, as though she’d streaked rouge across them. “You always looked down your nose at me. You said no one liked me. You’re still saying that. You think you’re better than me.” She blinked rapidly, and not from shock. “How do you think I liked that, knowing you were judging me all the time?”
I tried not to gape. “I was never judging you. I was trying to stay out of your way!”
