Her words are sharper than glass, and I can tell that they embed themselves inside Mom just the same. She staggers back a step, jaw slack with disbelief, before the shock quickly transforms into a fiery anger. Her gaze travels past Nana and to me, lips curling away from her teeth in a snarl.
“I’ll be back, Peony, and I hope that you’ll rethink your decision before then.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” I murmur dryly. “Actually, go ahead. Hold your breath. See if I care.”
Her nostrils flare, oddly resembling a bull preparing to charge, but instead of dignifying me with a response, she storms out of the house, moving towards the town car where Charles waits.
“They’ll be back,” Nana says softly, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I shrug her off of me.
“I know.”
But I don’t know what else I can do to hold my mother off. This might just be one battle that I can’t win, one war that isn’t worth the fight.
Chapter 43
“Why are you sucking?”
I turn towards the belligerent voice, not at all surprised to see Felicia blinking at me rapidly through her thick-framed glasses.
“Hi, Felicia. Nice to see you, too,” I deadpan as I reach for my water bottle in my backpack’s side pocket. I’m still in desperate need of a new bag, but until I can find a job, this broken one will have to do. I suppose my dreams of getting my own violin just went down the toilet with the rest of the shit.
The cool water tickles my throat as I recap it and place it on the edge of my music stand. For the first time in forever, the notes don’t make a lick of sense to me. They’re just sharp lines and curved points. Some are filled in; some are white. Usually, music comes easily to me. It’s a story, a song, another language that I’m intimately familiar with.
But now, it’s just…gibberish.
“You haven’t played one note right,” she sniffs haughtily, using her index finger to push her glasses farther up her nose. She glances towards Mr. Tucker, who is working individually with the cellists before turning back to me. “My cat can play better than you. And my cat’s dead.” She nods towards my violin resting on my thighs, the bow grasped loosely in my other hand. “Do you even know what that thing is? It’s not a weapon of mass destruction.”
“You’re just a big ball of sunshine, aren’t you?” I quip, resisting the urge to slug her with said bow. I swear my muscles are wound up tighter than the strings on it.
“I just want us to sound good this year,” she huffs, irritated. “And as Mr. Tucker’s star pupil,” she practically rolls her eyes into the back of her head, “I expected better from you.”
“Well, that’s your own fault.” I begin to sift through the sheet music, no longer able to meet her probing, keen gaze. It’s like she’s looking into my soul, and the thought makes me uncomfortable, like a mosquito that’s sitting on my arm but not biting. A mildly irritating occurrence, but not something I can’t handle. “For expecting better from me.”
“Guy issues?” she guesses, cocking a dark brow. When I don’t respond right away, her face puckers and she tilts her head to the side curiously. “Those four popular guys?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know their names,” I snort. Everybody knows their names. They rule this school and every person in it with an iron grip. People either bow to their will…or they perish.
And I just happen to fall into the latter category.
She begins to tick them off on her fingers. “Karsyn Alder. Cassian Jereome. Elias Briggs. Lucas Scott.” Once again, I don’t give her the satisfaction of a response. “Or is it none of them? Maybe it’s your pretty friend, Mariabella?” I bite down on my lip to keep from snapping at her. I have the desperate, irresistible urge to tell her to mind her own damn business, but I truly believe that would only fuel the fire. She’s a bloodhound that finally found her prey’s trail, and now she’s on the hunt. “Or is it a family thing…?”
She waits, gauging my reaction, and I try to keep my expression impassive. But I can tell I gave something away when a bright smile twists her features, making her actually appear pretty instead of devious.
“Family issues, then.” She nods once, as if she expected that answer. “Dad? Mom?” I don’t know