grasping a set of keys that belong to a Reagan-era Cadillac parked in a disability access parking spot she doesn’t have a permit for. “Do you know each other?”
“Yep.” I slap the ticket on the table between Rhodes and Griffin.
The ladies make eyes at each other. “She says she’s doing the Capstone scholarship contest, too. Isn’t that wonderful, to have a friend in all that competition?”
“It’s a dream,” I say.
Rhodes’s eyes follow from the Smallest Old Biddy back to me, but her expression is completely impassible. Griffin’s more interested in his fingernails than anything else, his permanent state since he’s been back at school. Rhodes has grasped for eye contact every time I’ve looked in her direction, and Griffin won’t look at me at all.
With a wink, Another Old Biddy in a floral-print sweater set hands me a ten-dollar bill. “This should cover their ticket, right?”
“This is fine.” I stuff it into my apron and snatch the ticket out of Rhodes’s hands.
The old lady’s so pleased with herself, flushed pink and eyeing Rhodes and Griffin like they’re a pair of squishy babies instead of asshole teens. I’ve known this crowd long enough to know that they don’t have very much money—and the money they do have is tied up in overpriced independent living apartments, and doctor’s appointments, and prescriptions for the kind of medication that keeps your heart beating and reminds your lungs to work.
Rhodes opens her mouth, and I cut her the nastiest look I can manage.
Don’t be shitty once, Rhodes. Say “thank you.”
“That—that wasn’t necessary—” She stumbles through it.
I can’t believe that’s the best this spoiled, precious child can do.
“Oh, of course not.” The old lady pats Rhodes on the shoulder, oblivious. “Few things in life are. Let someone spoil you a little, eh?”
The physical contact causes Rhodes to jump out of her skin.
“They’ve got plenty of experience with that,” I say.
“Mmm?” The women are migrating toward the front door now. “Bye, girls! Hold my change for next time, Iliana. Maybe buy yourself something nice, yeah?”
“Thank you,” I say, waving them out the door.
When they’re gone, I whirl on Rhodes and claim every inch of my height that I can. But she’s now standing behind me—when did she stand up?—and there’s a single moment where my breasts are pressed against the soft plane of her stomach.
Vanilla cake–scented dry shampoo, coffee, and maple syrup bloom from her hair, her breath, her skin. I don’t know what I expected her to smell like, but it wasn’t that.
I take one sizeable step back.
“Look, I’ve had it with today,” I say. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I’m absolutely vibrating—my hair, my hands, my words.
It’s a violation of my personal space for her to even be here, much less standing six inches in front of me.
Rhodes gestures to the table filled with empty plates. “We were hungry. This is a restaurant. You do the math.”
“You know what you were doing.” My face is immediately hot—I regret it the minute I say it.
I can’t ever—ever—show my cards with her.
It’s as if when I let her see what I’m thinking, or how I feel, or what makes me tick, she knows precisely how to weaponize it. Getting upset at all gives Rhodes the upper hand, but I can’t slow myself down.
Griffin gently, carefully, moves toward the door and waves Rhodes on to follow. This version of him is such a far cry from the cocky, hubristic jerk who gave me the runaround just less than an hour ago.
Rhodes doesn’t move. She stands with squared shoulders, dark hair spilling over them in pretty waves, tall and strong. In an instant, the balance has shifted: Where I was looming over her only moments before, she now claims every extra inch she carries over the top of my head.
“Really? And what’s that?” She stares down her nose at me.
“You’re messing with me,” I say. “Now that you’re doing the Capstone, you want to spook me.”
The minute I say it, I hear the paranoia in my words.
I want to cram everything I’ve said back into my mouth and run for the kitchen, but it’s too late now.
“Oh, that’s it,” she says. Her smile is slow, but eventually it spreads to take up her whole face. “You think I came here to intimidate you.”
“That’s not—”
“Iliana, come on,” Griffin says, crossing his arms. “Why would Rhodes need to come here to mess with your head? She medaled at Ocoee three years in a row. All she’s gotta do is show