The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,36
knew exactly the cause of my anger.
“No, no problem!” My mother rushed to answer before I could. I was sick of people speaking for me when I could do it so much better.
Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that I only had a month. A month until I turned eighteen. A month until I was free.
I tried not to let in thoughts of everything that could go wrong or what or who I might miss when I left Blackwood Keep forever. The only good memories I had in this town had been distorted by the painful present.
“I apologize for startling you,” I said with all the grace and poise of a sixteenth-century lady without rights or a voice of her own. “I felt a little faint.”
Playing the role of a concerned mother, she rushed across the room and ushered me onto the sofa. I watched while she poured tea into a porcelain Hermès teacup before shoving it into my hands with a warning glare. I could only stare at the expensive trinket that hadn’t been pawned yet. This five-hundred-dollar teacup was only one of the many reasons I was being sold off like cattle. And we had twenty more just like it.
Our only saving grace was that our home wasn’t mortgaged, but if Dad’s company went under, it would be the first to be sold to pay off some of our mounting debt.
Anger pushed aside rationality, and I freed my fingers from the tiny handle one by one until the teacup fell through the air and crashed onto the wooden floor. Drowning out the collective gasps around the room, I waited for the sweet tang of revenge that never came. There was only the bitterness of my reality. Staring at the white shards littered around my feet, I realized I was the expensive yet disposable trinket, and this was my future.
“Barbette, what has gotten into you!” my mother screeched, forgetting the decorum she’d almost cruelly drilled into me. She still didn’t get it. It wasn’t what had gotten into me but rather who was fighting to break free. I thought about the girl I no longer knew. The girl I betrayed out of fear. Would I even recognize her?
I was on autopilot as I stood from the couch and drifted from the room. I drowned out the sound of my mother apologizing profusely to Bechette and Tiffany until I was alone in my bedroom. I didn’t need to try on that damn dress. Jamie had sent it as a taunt, knowing that I wouldn’t need it.
When prom night came, Four would be the one to grace Ever’s arm. I knew my friend well enough to know he’d follow his heart. After all, Four had blown into town nearly two years ago and had stolen what was left of it.
Ever and I had been thick as thieves back in a time when I believed there was no greater force on earth than friendship. It’d taken some time for me to accept that Four was a threat, and for a while, I’d toyed with the idea of playing the villain. However, my very first encounter with Four in our Women’s History class had only left me rooting for the southern invader instead.
“Ever can have his fun, but don’t get any ideas. He’s not going to be with you.”
Four’s head lifted from her battered flip phone—I wasn’t even aware they still made those things—and for the first time ever, I was grateful for my mother’s lessons in poise. The full force of her hardened gaze made my spine tremble, and I’d almost lost my nerve. To think I’d spent the entire night pacing in front of my bedroom mirror, practicing this very moment.
“You don’t even love him.”
“He’s my friend,” I answered truthfully. “I care about him, and he cares about me, which is why I’ll be the one to wear his ring, and you’ll never be anything more than a thrill.”
My stomach turned, and I fought back the shame threatening to spill from my throat. I could feel Bee, the girl I used to know, pounding on the walls I kept her trapped inside.
Be still, foolish girl. You’re safe there.
“Keep your satin panties on, Barbie. I have no desire to become the girl he marries and eventually ignores.”
It had taken all of my restraint that day not to grin like an idiot. It was at that moment I understood why Ever had fallen hard so fast—even if he hadn’t admitted it to