hers. “Remember, Babydoll. Men are only to be used. Feelings and all that stupidity was invented by unsuccessful people. Your worth is what you offer to the world — your beauty, your intelligence, and your competitiveness. No man should steal those from you.” She lays a hand on my heart. “Seal this.” Mum taps my temple. “And you’ll win using this.”
Then she goes to shower. I wait until she gets in her car before I leave. I’m going to listen to her radio show to make sure she’s doing well.
Though I have no doubt she’ll nail it. Mum is a goddess outside the walls of her flat. She allows no one to see her weaknesses. She never gets flustered, not even during the divorce when the reporters didn’t leave us in peace. Papa appeared exhausted and a bit sad at that time, but she put on her best designer clothes and makeup, took all the questions, and told them their decision was amicably made right after she finished a yelling session with Papa.
“Where to, Miss Queens?” Derek asks from the driver seat. I feel sorry for him. Not only does he have to stick to Papa’s hopping schedule, but he also drives me around whenever I wish.
I consider skipping today. My head is mush and I could use ten hours of sleep.
But that would mean running away, and I don’t do that.
I’m the type who runs straight into the middle of the danger instead of shying away from it. If I’m to be killed sooner or later, I will find a solution or die trying.
It’d be worth it.
“To school,” I tell Derek as I scroll through my phone.
My Instagram feed is full of Papa’s campaign friends. There’s a picture of him and Uncle Jonathan participating in the opening of a childcare centre yesterday. That must have been where they came from.
There’s a picture of Mum in LBC’s official Instagram page as a guest for today’s political talk. She looks so radiant in that shot, her smile to die for.
I upload the selfie I took with her before she went out, where we’re smiling at the camera, and caption it: Proud of you, my heroine. #VoteforWomen #WomenforWomen #SuperWoman #CynthiaDavisPoliticalTalk
I schedule another post for later. It’s a picture I took while I was helping Papa put on his tie yesterday.
In the caption, I write: Voted as the best father in the world by yours truly. #ProudDaughter #SebastianQueensForTheWin #GoTories
Whenever I post a pic with one of them, I feel guilty if I don’t follow up with a pic of the other one.
People say you get used to it with time — the double holidays, the double dinners, the double birthday celebrations — but you don’t. Not really.
Especially when one parent is lonely and the other is depressed.
I scroll further and find a picture from Aiden uploaded around one in the morning. It’s a black and white shot of his chessboard.
The caption says: The war has started. Nash?
Cole doesn’t use Instagram or any social media. All pictures of him can only be found on Aiden’s, Xander’s, and especially Ronan’s Instagram accounts.
Does Aiden’s post mean Cole paid him a visit last night? I squash that thought away before I can allow my heart to soak in it.
He wouldn’t have. That would mean he cares, and he doesn’t.
Or, rather, he does, but only if it’s part of his sick games.
I reread his text from yesterday, and the chest tightness I felt when I first saw it swallows me again.
I hate him.
We arrive at school and I thank Derek, then give him a spare bottle of juice on my way out. “Have a wonderful day.”
As soon as I’m out of the car, I lift my chin up, square my shoulders, and walk with my nose practically in the sky. I ignore the ones who tell me good morning and I pretend the world doesn’t exist.
If I talk to them, they’ll start thinking they can be my friends. No one can. That would mean they’ll get close enough to read through me, and I won’t allow that.
My phone vibrates with a text. I retrieve it as I go into the piano room. I have a competition coming up in a few days and I need to perfect my “Moonlight Sonata”. I already took a leave from my morning classes so I could focus on this.
Both my parents are going to be there and I need to do this well. No. I need to win.