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“I finished my degree.”
“I mean with your master’s degree, Lindsay. I just finished my MBA. Accelerated program at Berkeley.” She primps and preens with her eyes, the glee at her perception of my inferiority like an unlimited power source, as if Tara’s evil is a sun.
“Congrats! I always knew you’d do well in business. Whichever wealthy man you manage to snag will find your achievement to be great for his arm candy creds.” I say the words so smoothly she doesn’t realize it’s an insult until she’s proven she missed it.
My mom may be cold and difficult, but she’s really good for one thing.
Learning how to burn someone with words.
Tara’s face turns nasty, but as she bites her lower lip and her eyes reflect her on-the-spot calculation for her response, I see how hollow she really is. If she were just an empty, vapid little bitch none of this would matter, but she’s not.
She’s smart.
And that makes her dangerous, too.
“I’m sure my MBA is better resume material than your degree, Lindsay. Where did you get it again? During your stay at the mental institution? You were there for four years, right? Did they give your daddy a bulk-rate discount?”
Stepping closer, she tries to physically intimidate me in addition to her verbal onslaught. Taller because of her heels, she towers over me.
Come here, my pretty....
Drew steps closer out of protection. Mandy and Jenna just come in to watch what they think is about to be an entertaining catfight.
Drew’s slow inhale tells me he’s getting pissed on my behalf, but it’s fine. Really. She’s walking right into my trap, and if I play this just right—
“You would know all about daddies and bulk discounts now, wouldn’t you, Tara? Sugar daddies, that is. You’re the expert.”
I say it low enough that everyone around us can hear, but if there’s sound on a video camera, it might not pick my words up.
Mandy shrieks with surprise, tittering in the background as it happens. Tara reaches for me. I step back.
“You slutty little no-good bitch,” she growls.
“Whats the matter, Tara? Can’t handle it when your victim can actually talk back?”
She reaches out with her fingers, curled like talons, and touches my shirt. Her face is a mask of pure hatred. I have no idea what I did four years ago to deserve what she did to me then, and I’ve never seen her this angry. The fact that she’s reacting like this, and that her rage is bubbling beneath her fake-pretty surface is telling.
I pivot just enough to teeter on my heels, then free fall backwards, letting myself, making sure her back is facing the shop wall.
The distance between us is inches. Her arm is stretched out as if she’s pushing. I grab the strap of her purse right at her breastbone and yank her with me.
SPLASH!
I push off from the wall of the pier and get over to the left as fast as possible, the shock of water and swimming all I can think of. Tara’s thrashing beside me. She’s a strong swimmer, but her purse floats on the surface, makeup and receipts and dollars starting to ripple out of it. Two big shopping bags she had on one arm are half-floating, half-sinking.
I go back under so I don’t have to listen to her screaming at me. When I come back up, I surface at the wall and look to see Drew right there, an arm extended to help me up, his palm open.
I take it.
“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Tara is screaming. “You did that on purpose!”
Wedging one foot on the wall, I use my other knee to climb out, Drew’s arm much stronger than I judged. The force of his pull upward has me on land. I don’t dare sit down, because I need to be ready to run.
“Lindsay didn’t do anything, Tara. You did,” Drew says evenly to her. He turns to me. “You okay?”
All I can do is nod.
“WHAT!” Tara sputters. Her shopping bags look like the Titanic, unable to maintain buoyancy beyond a certain point. “OMIGOD, Mandy and Jenna, help me!”
