I ignore her in favor of watching the TikTok video. It’s just Parrish sitting on a hideous rectangular sofa in that awful, white-washed living room.
“Just met my new stepsister, Dakota, today,” he says, shirtless and gorgeous, slouched against the cushions. One elbow rests on the arm of the couch, the other holds his phone up at an angle, emphasizing the long, lean lines of his body. “As you know, I rate every student at the academy—even the poor, lost lamb that’s just stumbled into my family.” Parrish pauses, giving a fiery smirk to the camera. “Fuckability rating …” He pauses like he’s deep in thought and then shrugs. “Three. Three and a half with the right outfit. She’s just too”—Parrish gestures at his face with a single finger—“melancholy in the face for my liking.” He licks his lower lip and smirks. “Pair that with the puke-green and emo-black hair, the thrift store sneakers, and the anime hoodie and we’ve got a Twitch-streamer wannabe on our hands.”
I stop listening, closing TikTok as the blood drains from my face.
“Oh, Dakota,” Maxine starts, but I just wave off her concern like it’s nothing, like I don’t care. Instead, I’m quivering with frustration. How dare he?! Seriously. Fuckability rating? Of all the stupid, misogynistic shit. I’m so furious that I forget for a moment that I’m also supposed to be sad. See? Told you I hated that guy from second one. He isn’t just a Chad: he’s a troll, too. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s probably, like, a mama’s boy or something. I bet he’s jealous of you.”
“You’re too nice, Maxie, you know that?” I say instead, acting out a pretend yawn. I’m not just saying that: my sister really is too nice. If I give any indication that I’m about to start shit … “I think I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I pause for a second, glancing past the phone screen and out the window toward the water. That’s right. This isn’t my usual nighttime chat with Maxine; this is different. My whole life is different. “Promise you’ll really come next weekend? I don’t think I’ll survive if you don’t.”
“Oh, I’ll be there, come hell or high water.” Maxine smiles softly at me, reaching up two fingers to touch the screen. I do the same and we sit there for a while, pretending like we’re in the same room together, like old times. Until I was nine years old, I refused to sleep in my own room, choosing instead to bunk with my older sister. “X is driving me up; he has a Jeep Gladiator.”
I laugh. My sister has always been obsessed with cars. Me, I couldn’t care less. But I’m glad she’s excited.
“Until next time, I love you fierce,” I tell her, and Maxine nods.
“Until next time. Love you fierce, baby sister.”
I hang up first, biting my lower lip for a moment. My natural inclination here is to sulk. But that fury inside of me, that burning ember in my belly? It’s just been fanned into raging flames.
With that heat as fuel, I get up and crack the door to my bedroom, glancing down the hall to see if Tess is around. Much as I dislike Parrish, I’d rather not run into my bio-mom right now. The way she looks at me makes my shoulders hurt, like I’ve just been yoked to a wagon full of boulders. Heavy, that’s what her stares are. Desperate.
I slip out quietly and let the door snick shut behind me before braving the stairs. At each turn, I check for people. I am officially peopled out. Well, you know, except for the throwdown I’m about to have with Parrish.
I find the asshole lounging on the same couch where he filmed his TikTok video, scrolling his phone and listening to some god-awful Drake song. The milk carton is sitting on the table next to his bare feet. When he hears the soft shush of my footsteps on the floor, he gestures to the cushion beside him without looking up. That’s how self-absorbed he is, that he doesn’t even bother to see who it is that’s just walked in.
“About time you got here; sit your ass down,” he murmurs as I take his instruction and flop down on the cushion next to him. It takes a good thirty seconds for Parrish to look up and realize that I’m not whoever he thought I was. That Chasm guy he mentioned, maybe?
“Hello Parrish,” I grind out through clenched teeth. The song switches to … something. I’m not a fan of mainstream rap so I have no idea what’s playing now. What I do know, however, is this: Parrish smells amazing. Like, amazing-amazing. My nostrils flare to take in the scent and I hope it makes me look really ticked off. Because I am. I don’t care if the guy smells like clean linen and dewy clovers and bright citrus. He deserves a kick in the balls.
