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“Both,” I grumble while walking through my room to grab my Converse.
In twenty minutes, Mom is taking me to get my hair, nails and makeup done for prom tonight, even though I’d rather stay home and binge television with a bucket of ice cream than go.
These dances are never fun, and I briefly wonder if I can fake being sick to get out of it.
Ava and Ivy always attempt to make me feel included, but they have dates, and I end up feeling like an awkward fifth wheel.
I know I’ll be wandering prom tonight on my own while the other kids dance and have fun.
Thankfully, everybody already has plans for house parties that begin as early as an hour after prom begins, so I’m hopeful Mason won’t want to stay too long, and we can both leave long before it’s over.
“Well, you’ve done a good job avoiding both of them. Just like they deserve,” she says, cutting into my thoughts. “Especially if they’re pulling the same game of replacing each other.”
Avoiding them hasn’t been easy. Not when there are two of them actively looking for me around every corner. After realizing under the willow tree that they werebothmessing with me, I’d walked out from behind that curtain of branches so fucking pissed that I swore they would never get near me again.
The first few days were tough, but then the weekend came and went, both Ezra and Damon returning to school on Monday with new bruises and cuts, their attitudes so aggressive that they’d given up on me and terrorized anyone who got near them.
I’ve noticed a pattern with that. Every other weekendsomethinghappens to them. It usually takes them a week to calm down after whatever happens that causes those bruises, and then they’re back to their usual selves for another week after.
It’s a never-ending cycle, at least as long as I’ve been watching. And to say I wasn’t angry to see the new bruises would be a lie.
I was enraged.
Livid.
I wanted to march right up to them and demand answers about what was going on. I wanted to destroy whoever was causing those bruises.
But I didn’t because I was also still mad at them.
“Are you leaving to get your hair and other stuff done soon?”
Pulling on my shoe, I groan. “Yes. I have to meet my mom in a few.”
On Ivy’s end of the line, I hear another voice, soft and feminine, a question being asked that I can’t quite make out.
“Who’s that?”
It’s Ivy’s turn to groan.
“I’m babysitting,” she teases, her soft laughter rolling through the line when the person in her room complains.
“My dad’s friend stopped by, and they asked me to hang out with his daughter, Brinley, for an hour before I leave to get my hair and stuff done. She claims being five years younger than me doesn’t mean she’s still a kid. I beg to differ.”
The two of them argue back and forth, Ivy’s laughter loud before she finally speaks to me again. “Brinley just told me that her friend, Everly, is our age and doesn’t think she’s a kid.”
Chuckling at the way Ivy is gently teasing the girl when they immediately start arguing again, my head snaps up to hear a knock at my door.
“Ugh. My mom is here. I have to go.”
“Go get beautiful. I’ll see you at prom.”
Hanging up, my eyes close, and I fight the urge to sneak out a window and run away.
An entire day with my mother is bad enough, but knowing Mason will be here at seven for the awkward, stiff photos we always take, followed by the stygian silence of the limo ride we’ll take to prom, makes the nightmare even worse.
I push to my feet and open the door regardless, ever the loyal daughter.
As usual, my mother regards me with a practiced expression. Not love. Not comfort. Not warmth. Just the same distant politeness she affords every acquaintance.
