Helen send as an apology. The card is on one of those plastic stick things, but the first part of my message isn’t legible because Tiger’s written over the I’m sorry part with a red marker and replaced it with You’re still.
So, it now reads, You’re still an ass.
Twenty-Four
Tiger
“After the day I’ve had, this is the last place I want to be.”
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” Maggie shoves me in the back. “Now, move it. We’re going to be late.”
“Fine.” I yank open the door to the Clayton room at the community center where the committee for the Ryder Days event is meeting. The room is already full, and Carmon Allen, the chairperson for the event, is walking to the podium.
“Here,” Maggie whisper-yells as she takes a seat in the last row.
I drop into the chair next to her like there are weights tied to my body. I don’t even know why we’re here. Carmon’s refused to delegate any of the major responsibilities. The only tasks she’s given up are things like parking, volunteer coordination, and cleanup. Maggie and I are the volunteer coordinators.
“Glad you all could make it.” Carmon directs her comment to me.
Carmon was the other senior I beat when I won homecoming queen, and she’s never quite gotten over the loss. Sad really, considering how little it actually meant to me. Especially because the two reasons I wanted to win—to get closer to Cash and gain my parents’ approval—blew up in my face.
I give Carmon the syrupiest smirk I can muster. Kill ’em with kindness.
A pointy elbow jabs into my ribs. “You look like a serial killer,” Maggie whispers out the side of her mouth.
“Don’t give me any ideas,” I whisper back.
A snort shoots past her lips, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“If I could have your attention.” Carmon is talking to us again.
Maggie swallows and clears her throat. “Of course, Carmon, please continue.”
“Thank you.” The reply is smeared with sarcasm. “So, we have a few months until the first annual Ryder Days. I think we can all agree that this event was one of Mayor Watson’s best ideas.”
Maggie’s hand comes down on my knee and she murmurs, “It’s not worth it.”
She’s right, but everything inside me screams to tell the whole room that Ryder Days was my idea, and that the good Mayor Watson refused to get behind it until we were divorced. I stupidly thought that he’d let me run the project, but he put it to a vote at a city council meeting and threw his support behind Carmon. I was little more than a footnote in the conversation.
The worst part was the condolences after. It was clear by the comments that no one thought I was capable of handling the job. I only manage million-dollar projects all day long, but a one-day community event is too much to handle.
Carmon drones on, asking for updates from the committees. I notice that she doesn’t give us an update on her responsibilities like booth setup, entertainment, and food.
Maggie answers for us when it’s our turn to report. We’re fully staffed with volunteers. That’s probably the only smart thing Carmon did for this whole event, because no one can tell us no.
“One last thing we have to discuss. Tiger’s billboard.” Carmon could’ve said that piece of shit and it would’ve sounded the same.
“It’s not my billboard.”
The nasty woman smooths her short bob behind her ear. “Well, it does have your enormous face on it.”
“Did someone say something about the billboard?” Sterling Walters, who’s hard of hearing, says from the front row. He turns in his seat to look at me. “It’s a real shame what’s happening with that thing. I sure am sorry, Tiger.” The glee in his eyes betrays his statement.
“Thank you, Mr. Walters.”
Loretta Mays pipes up from a few rows behind Sterling. “I heard the graffiti gremlin, that’s what we’re calling him in our book club group, could be Cheryl Mayfield or one of her kin, since you beat her in the Miss Texas pageant. Poor girl’s talent of packing the perfect suitcase couldn’t hold a candle to your fire batons, Tiger, honey. That routine was breathtakin’.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mays, but I doubt it’s Cheryl Mayfield or any of her family. Cheryl’s an attorney now and doesn’t care about a beauty pageant that happened ten years ago.”
Kill me now.
I glance up at Carmon, hoping she’ll put a stop to this discussion, but she’s standing back with her arms crossed