Sam’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows dipped low. “Firstly, if you download text-to-speech, it will absolutely read itself.”
Charity paused in her rebuttal. “Really?”
“Second, you’re getting straight A’s, you’re an overachiever, and everyone hates how you make them look bad. You don’t need to study tonight. You need to go to this party.”
“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Charity leaned an elbow on her ramshackle desk. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that a rich dude who sends out fancy invitations with incorrect times would allow you to bring your roommate? I mean, I’m not exactly keeping up with the Joneses.”
Sam scoffed. “Clearly they knew I’d hate to go alone, and they’re making things right. It’s a smooth move, if you ask me. They’re letting me take my little project.” She gave Charity a sarcastically sweet smile that received a glower in return.
“Who are they, anyway? I know plenty of dicks, but not one Richard.” Charity grinned at her joke.
Sam didn’t get it. “They”—she drew out the word—“are influential and important, and they think I am worthy of their time.”
“You’ve managed to answer my question while simultaneously ignoring it—”
“And they invited you, which means you are coming. I will not go to this party by myself, Charity. I simply will not.”
“Well, you’re going to have to because—”
Sam’s voice lowered an octave as she said, “Charity, I did not beg my parents to move you in here so you could sit in your room like a librarian and piss your life away.”
Damn it. She was bringing out the big guns.
“I’m studying for a test, though,” Charity whined. “That’s the opposite of pissing—”
“I could’ve left you in that tiny dorm room. Remember that place? Peeling paint, weird smell, probably mold in the closets. I could’ve let you huddle up in the corner, with all the other nerds, and listen to someone snoring all night. I could’ve, but I didn’t. Do you know why?”
“You secretly loathe me?”
“Because you can be cool. That’s why. You need to have friends, Charity. You need to be reminded to file your nails. And you need to get your ass to a few parties once in a while. Let me help you. Get up, get dressed, and let’s go!”
Samantha stomped from the room with hips and breasts flying, making a counterargument impossible.
Charity blew out her breath and leaned heavily against the desk. When Sam had decided the dorm rooms were too filthy, noisy, and cramped for her to contemplate staying there, not to mention the horror of the communal bathroom, she’d cried to her daddy to fix the situation. He had rented this modest house in downtown Santa Cruz. He could’ve afforded something much nicer, but the low-budget accommodations were supposed to teach his daughter a little humility.
Yeah, right. She’d used his credit card to deck out most of the place with quality and trendy furniture the likes of which Charity had never even touched before, let alone used.
Surprise of surprises, Sam had asked her assigned roommate, Charity, if she wanted to move with her. And while Charity hadn’t minded the size of the dorm room, its faded and peeling paint, or even the communal shower, she had minded the incessant buzz of conversation and drunken laughter, which had proven a distraction from her studies. Charity had promised her mother that she’d make something of herself, and by God, she would fulfill that promise if she did nothing else in the world.
Too bad the good fortune came with a price tag.
Samantha hadn’t only wanted Charity along because she thought she was cool. Not even because she was quiet, respectful, and cooked and cleaned like she was hired help. No, Sam had insisted on Charity’s tenancy because she was fascinated by a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. “Ethiopian poor,” Samantha had said as she glanced over Charity’s belongings, contained neatly in two thirteen-gallon garbage bags. Samantha just could not believe someone could live with empty closets, empty cupboards, a couple of pens, and a computer she got out of the lost and found.
Ultimately, how she’d gotten here didn’t matter. Charity was in bliss with her luck. She had a bedroom mostly to herself (guests used it, too), a big backyard to practice martial arts (which she’d always been strangely great at), and a clean kitchen.
Samantha knew all this, of course, and used it as her secret weapon when she really wanted something.
Damned foul play!
“Seriously, though,” Charity shouted, picking at her threadbare jeans and putting in a