Rocking Kin (Lucy & Harris, #3) - Terri Anne Browning Page 0,4
of my head. I grabbed my toothbrush and started scrubbing. Two minutes later I rinsed and walked back into my bedroom to pull on the uniform that I was expected to wear to school every day.
Ugh, I thought, grimacing at the black skirt that wouldn’t reach my knees and the white polo shirt that went with it. There was a black blazer hanging from the back of my closet door. If I was going to have to wear the skirt and blazer, the least they could do was let me wear my own top. So instead of putting on the white polo, I reached for my gray Metallica T-shirt and then pulled on a pair of boots. I didn’t return to the bathroom, just picked up the black messenger bag that had my name and my new school’s emblem on it.
Downstairs I made myself a slice of toast, smothering it in butter and strawberry jam before grabbing an individual sized orange juice. Stuffing the toast in my mouth, I picked up the juice and walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door where my stepsisters were waiting for me.
If you looked at them and then looked at me you would know that there was no chance we could be related by blood. My two stepsisters, Georgia and Carolina, were dressed to kill. Literally. They had so much makeup, hair product, and perfume on that I was sure something or someone had been killed along the way. Maybe a few innocent animals, probably a few college kids who had been guinea pigs for some company to test their products on because the college kids had needed some extra money. All so my two stepsisters could look as beautiful and fake as they did right at that moment.
When they saw me walking toward them, their eyes narrowed. “Mother let you out of your room without your hair done?” Carolina demanded. Of the two she was the younger one, perhaps the smarter one as well. But no less stuck-up than her sister. Georgia, who was my age, was an exact replica of her mother. Down to the cool tone of her voice.
I shrugged as I continued to chew my toast. I only fixed my hair for school for one of two reasons: picture day, or prom. Neither were happening today so there was no way I was doing more to my hair than had already been done. “Who’s driving?” I asked, talking with my mouth full.
Georgia gave me a disgusted look but raised the set of keys in her hands. “I am, since Carolina doesn’t have her license yet. She’s only fifteen.”
“Okay, cool. I’m ready if you are.”
Georgia gave me another once over, sighed disgustedly and opened the door. Outside, the September sunshine was glaring down at me and I reached for my sunglasses from my messenger bag as I followed them to the little sports car already waiting in front of the house. I didn’t attempt to take the front passenger seat. For one, I didn’t want to make conversation with either of them. It was blatantly obvious neither liked me and, believe me, the feeling was mutual. Less than one day on the West Coast and I could already tell that not getting to know my two stepsisters would not have been a regret I would have minded having on my conscious for the rest of my life.
From the backseat of the very expensive sports car, I learned a whole lot about my stepsisters, though. One being that Georgia could not drive for beans. On more than one occasion I closed my eyes and prayed to whatever god still listened to me that I would get to school in one piece. Another thing was that Carolina could text one conversation while talking to her sister at the same time, but apparently Georgia could not drive and talk at the same time. I learned that neither of them had very good taste in music as they argued over which satellite station they would listen to. My poor ears were tortured with the sounds of some R&B dude as we pulled into a spot in the student parking lot that said it was reserved for Malibu Academy’s head cheerleader.
Really? A reserved spot for the head cheerleader? What the hell was a head cheerleader anyway? Did that mean she was the captain? The president of the cheerleading society? Wait, was there such a thing as a cheerleading society?