Page 34 of Feeding Hope
While I was working, Mrs. Forbes entered the living room. The temperature felt like it dropped twenty degrees, and not only had the battery acid look not gone away, she stood extra tallnext to where I was sitting so that she literally stared down her nose at me.
“Tell me. When will this little project of yours be completed?” she asked.
Could she be any more transparent? I knew she thought I wasn’t good enough for her son. Why people assumed that because people were poor meant we were stupid always floored me. They also assumed we were lazy, cheaters, and had dishonorable intentions, but I learned long ago to let that roll off my back. They would never change their minds, no matter how much evidence they saw to the contrary.
“Our presentation is two weeks from today.”
“So then there won’t be a need for the two of you to work together again?”
Apparently, she could be more transparent. Wow. I didn’t have an answer to this question that wouldn’t come out snarky, so I remained silent.
When I didn’t answer, she continued. “Jesse really needs to select partners who match him better.”
Again, I said nothing.
“What I mean is—”
“I understand exactly what you mean, Mrs. Forbes. You mean a girl like me with no college prospects and no hope for anything other than a job at minimum wage or any sort of future whatsoever.”
She smiled coolly. “I’m glad you understand.”
Rarely did I allow my hurt to show, but today some of it eked out. It was one thing for students to form assumptions, but adults were supposed to know better.
“Do you know what my GPA is, ma’am?”
“I wouldn’t be privy to that information.”
No, but she was privy to gossip, and that wasalwaysone hundred percent accurate over facts. Not.
“I have a perfect 4.0 GPA.”
“Yes, well—”
“When I look at colleges this winter, I’ll be able to pay my way through scholarships and work-study programs. I want to work with nonprofit organizations when I graduate, and there are many degrees I could get to help me do that. Some of them are even degrees that Jesse might pursue.”
Not used to being shown up, color appeared in her cheeks. Not embarrassment. That would be too common. But definitely high emotion, and not the pleasant kind.
“Miss Mewes—”
“Lyrical,” I interrupted.
“Miss Mewes,” she began again, ignoring me. “That’s all very admirable. However, Jesse is on a very clear path to someday running his father’s company. That requires him to move in certain circles. It’s never too early to surround himself with people like himself in order not only to maintain the business, but to help it succeed. It’s not enough to be hoping to better oneself.”
So because I can’t bring any prestige to Jesse, no family connections, or business connections, I wasn’t someone he should work on a school project with? That didn’t even make sense.
“It’s just a school assignment,” I whispered. “We’re just friends.”
The color was back in her cheeks, and her tone grew dangerously hostile.
“You are a very naive little girl if you think you’re friends with my son. You’re someone assigned to work with him, nothing more. Once this project is done, he won’t have the time to continue this friendship. I’ll make sure of that. There’s nothing to gain from being ‘friends’ with my son. Not for you.”
She snarled the word “friends,” as if I were lying about our relationship.
“What exactly do you think I want to gain?”
“Rich boy. Poor girl. It’s obvious. If you can snare my son into a romantic relationship, maybe you can trap him into a situation where you can marry into money, or extort money from him at the very least.”
I laughed. “You think I’m working on this project so that he’ll sleep with me, get me pregnant, then feel like he needs to marry me or pay me off? You either don’t know your son very well, or you don’t think highly of him. We’re just friends. I see him in class or to work on this project, which we’ve only ever done in a public or chaperoned space. I’m highly unlikely to tackle him on the couch with you popping into the room every five minutes.”
