“Actually, you do attend that school,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “A school that doesn’t allow anyone in if they have the audacity to slip up in middle school—even if their parents got that application in a decade and a half ago.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off and I frown.
“But look at you, the celebrity with the mother that cares so much that she never stopped looking, the one that wrote a book about you, the one that fought tooth and nail to bring you home, and all you can do is hate her.”
“You must understand at least a little how I feel,” I snap back, feeling my skin get hot and tight. “Don’t you miss your grandma? How about Korea? I moved across the country; you moved across the world. Was there no culture shock?”
“I’m not the one whining and bitching about my rise from pauper to princess,” he says, waving a dismissive hand my way. “Don’t compare us. Trust me, Little Sister: we are nothing alike.”
“You’re right,” I say, letting my hands fall to my thighs with a slap. “We aren’t. I have a personality, interests, dreams. All you talk about are girls and how many notches you’ve got on your belt.”
Chasm squeezes the steering wheel even tighter, knuckles going white, and I know that I’ve struck a nerve, just as I intended. Immediately, I regret it. See, that’s the thing with me: I can’t decide who it is that I am anymore. The Dakota Banks I know would never try to pick at someone’s scab just to get a reaction out of them, yet I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it now.
“Sorry that you can’t be one of them?” he quips back at me, recovering quickly. “Now that I’ve seen the real you, I think Parrish was right. Three, three and a half with heavy makeup and an expert hairstylist.”
“Screw you,” I breathe, but it’s all I can manage to get out. He turns the volume back up on the music, mumbling something under his breath in Korean. I think he just said ‘suit yourself’ or ‘do whatever you want’. Either way, it was a clear dismissal.
I can’t get out of that car fast enough when we pull up to the curb. I’m about to slam the door when I realize that, despite Chasm’s lack of empathy toward me, I still owe him a thank you.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, trying on a smile that actually seems to stick. But not because of him. All I can think is that I’m about to see my sister—my real sister—and that I can use her phone to call my grandparents. Maybe if I tell them how much I hate it here they can … well, I don’t know, but just hearing their voices would mean a lot to me right now. “I really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” Chasm says, lighting up a cigarette and then grinning as he spots someone out the windshield. I turn just in time to see Lumen striding our way, dressed like she’s on her way to a date. A very odd, very misplaced bolt of jealousy stabs me right through the gut.
The hell is that about? Chasm can marry Lumen and carry her off into the sunset for all I care. I mean, I’d feel sorry for Lumen, but that’s about the extent of it.
She pauses beside me and smiles, and the expression doesn’t seem entirely disingenuous.
“Where are you off to?” she asks, giving my outfit a once-over. I suppose I’m also dressed like I’m off on a hot date. With Chasm? I glance back at him, and the thought isn’t entirely repellant which bothers me.
He’s too rude, too much of a bully. Maybe if he were nicer, and he didn’t throw himself between me and Parrish like some sort of martyr …
“Coffee with my sister,” I say, and then add, “my real sister.” In case the idea was up for debate. Kimber is anything but a sister to me.
“Party tonight at Antonio’s,” Lumen suggests, flashing me a mischievous smile. “Parrish said he might sneak out and come. Looks like you already beat him to that.”
She laughs and then climbs into Chasm’s car like he was there to pick her up all along. For all I know, he was.
A frown creases my lips as Lumen closes the door and then pauses, rolling the window down just long enough to grab my phone from my hands.
“Here’s my number. Text me if you decide to come.” She hands me my phone back and then laughs as Chas hits the accelerator and takes off.
I watch them go, weaving into the decent crawl of traffic on the small street outside of the café. After a moment, I turn and head inside, fully aware that I’m a half an hour too early.
