Page 72 of Lessons in Cruelty

“I wanted to get this done ASAP. But I guess tomorrow will do.”

“I have work. Tonight and tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday.”

“I work weekends too.”

She straightens, looks away, but I hear a quiet, “For fuck’s sake.” Then she ducks down again. “I’m not failing because you’re working. Call in sick.”

I stare at her, because it hits me then what a privileged life Melissa Parker must have led. She’s got to know that I work for tips, right? That I don’t get paid unless I’m there…to earn those tips.

But then I think about Kai waiting for me outside the diner.

I can afford to miss one shift if I work a double on Monday. That’ll mean cramming in more study time during the week, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.

“Let’s get it done. I can find someone to fill my shift.”

“Good.” Melissa starts walking, pointing to the other side of the lot. “I’m in the Aston.”

Melissa’s white Aston Martin is gorgeous, sleek, and almost too perfect. Just like her. I want to hate her for it, but she’s so methodical about how she treats her things, I believe she respects her possessions.

Somehow, that makes it okay. Like she’s allowed to be this filthy rich because she doesn’t take things for granted.

Guess Kai’s imagination rubbed off on me.

But in the five minutes walk to the GAZ house, I realize she’s just as ridiculously entitled as I first thought.

I stare up at the double-story building, then glance over my shoulder where the roof of AHC is still visible through the trees.

“Is it that you don’t like walking, or…?”

“Paving ruins my shoes,” she says. “And don’t get me started on dogshit.”

It’s the most enthusiastic I’ve ever heard her.

Talking about dog shit.

Wow.

Explains why she has this slightly disgusted look on her face most of the time. But like she said, we’re stuck with each other.

A girl rushes past us out of the front door as we come inside, cordless headphones clapped to her ears and an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

When she sees Melissa, she snatches the smoke from her lips. “Tiffany’s home!” she hisses, throwing an apprehensive glance over her shoulder before speed-walking down the street.

“Tiffany?” I ask.

“House mother. Despises smoking and vaping.” Melissa’s arm props up, her laptop bag swinging from the crook of her elbow. “Come on. The sooner we’re done, the better.”

I try hard to convince myself she’s not in a hurry because she wants to be rid of me.

I fail.

We walk through tall columns connecting the lower porch with the roof of the red-bricked sorority house. White trim on the windows and front door, and large Greek letters in white give the building a polished, almost regal vibe.

“Let’s go to my room,” she says, pointing to the staircase sweeping up to the first floor. I glance around as we pass through, spotting a pair of girls seated on the floor beside a coffee table near an enormous fireplace. They’re busy giggling and sharing a bowl of popcorn as they peek at each other’s phones.

Melissa leads me down a hall and through one of the many white-painted doors on this floor. There are two beds, each dressed in pretty quilts and matching pillowcases. There’s a unicorn plushie on one bed, but Melissa heads for the other side of the room, setting her laptop bag down at the foot of a floral-quilted bed.