“You don’t have to keep pretending to appease the patriarchy: I think what you did at the party was adorable.”
Was that too much? Seems like it was just enough to irritate him without giving away his secrets.
“Aw, aren’t you sweet?” Chas schmoozes, moving over to the kitchen island so he can lean forward with his palms planted on the counter’s surface. There’s a warning in his face that doesn’t quite translate to his words. “That compliment might just stick if you hadn’t been raised by a bunch of hillbilly idiots without access to the internet. I mean, come on, how the fuck do you raise some random kid that's dropped off on your doorstep without questioning things?”
My cheeks flush red as shame and anger and frustration wash over me. Does he think he’s the first genius in the world to ever ask that question? Hell, it was the first thing my grandparents asked when they found out. How come we didn’t know? How could we not know?
But a missing child in Washington state doesn’t necessarily end up on the news in New York. Sadly, children go missing in every state, every day. It’d be impossible to keep up with all of it. Besides, the world moves quickly. When my grandparents finally did get a chance to catch up on the news, I’m sure they were flooded with stories of plane crashes or natural disasters or murders.
Besides, it wasn’t like Saffron hadn’t dumped a kid off on them before. That, and she had ‘my’ birth certificate. The birth certificate of the real Dakota Banks, the one who died, the one whose place in life I took, leaving behind a ghost in Mia Patterson’s stead.
I can’t tell any of this to Chasm though, not with that awful smirk on his face. The temptation to hit him is there, but instead, I sharpen my mind and go for the jugular. Why not? He just did the same to me.
“Look, I know you’re jealous that I actually belong here. Where do you belong, Chasm? Clearly it isn’t at home because you’re never there. You don’t seem to want to be there.” He stands up straight, still smirking at me, but there’s a twitch in his smile that wasn’t there before. “And for all your talk, I’ve never actually seen you date a girl. Is it because they all run in the opposite direction when you open your fucking mouth?”
“Alright, you two,” X starts, as if he thinks he can smooth this over by lifting both palms toward us in a placating sort of way. “We get it. You don’t like each other, but you don’t have to dig for scabs.”
“Oh, really?” Chas asks, circling around the counter to get in my space. But I’m not afraid of him. Actually, the more he tries to intimidate me, the less intimidated I am. If he has to try so hard to put others down, maybe there’s something wrong with him? “Because I think I’d like to see this one bleed.” He leans even closer, dropping his voice to a sarcastic whisper. “Thanks for keeping quiet in exchange for the tutoring. Real nice, Little Sister.”
“Go home to your own family, Chasm. You do still have one of those, don’t you?” Even as I’m saying the words, I’m cursing myself for them, regretting them, wishing I could take them back. I know better than anyone else what it’s like to feel as if you don’t belong in your own home. Also, Chasm smells like peppermint ice cream and his breath is sweet and fresh. Ugh.
Yeah, yeah, I have a scent fetish for sure.
Something about what I’ve just said shuts Chasm down so hard and so fast that my head feels like it’s spinning from the insult.
“Screw you, Little Sister. You can forget about our study session tonight, okay?” He gives me a quick up and down, a dismissive flick of the eyes that has me shifting on my feet.
Much to my surprise, Chasm storms off, leaving me with the ever-silent Parrish and the frowning Maxx.
“I don't understand …” I start as Maxx gives me a sympathetic look.
“After Chas’ grandma died,” he explains slowly, casting a quick glance in Parrish’s direction, as if he’s feeling out a reaction. “And he came to live with his dad, he used to cry every day at school. His father was never home—still isn’t—and on the rare occasion he is, he’s hypercritical. Militant, more like. Nothing Chasm ever does is right. He hates being in that big house by himself—hates being with his dad even more. This is like, his second home …”
Shit.
I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Given it my worst and succeeded and now feel like crap because I made someone else feel like crap. Being mean blows, so why am I still doing it? He started it, but … Bleh. There’s no easy answer here.
