Page 27 of Bona Fide

“What do you want?” I snap. “Surely, not to bitch about me to my best friend? Dad has his number, but don’t give him a call. He’s busy.”

Nora glances over at my sister and nudges her. “Go ahead, Phoebe.” My sister doesn’t move a muscle. Eyes still focused on the floor—I think, I can’t see her eyes.

“If you want to talk about family drama, Mother, this really isn’t the time.”

“It’s important,” Nora counters. “It just happened.”

I shrug. “Hurry up then.”

“Phoebe,” Nora half-ass coos. “Tell your brother.”

No signs of life from my sister again.

I’m about to tell them both that I don’t have time for this when Chase gently touches my sister’s arm. Immediately, she flinches away at his touch.

She’s never done that before.

It’s been a long time, minus the family reunion at one of my debates, that I’ve seen Phoebe. She used to tease Chase all the time. They used to team up on me, and they got along.

So now my curiosity is peaked.

“Do you want to speak with your brother outside?” Chase asks her. After a moment, she only nods, and my best friend eyes me with a worried look.

Silently, we both sense something is wrong.

“Alright,” I let out. “C’mon.” I pivot on my heels, and glide through the room. If Phoebe follows me, fine.

If she cowers and shit, I’m not doing this a second time.

When we are outside, I make my way around the side of the building to keep from prying ears and eyes. I hear my sister’s heels clicking behind me with each step of mine, and when I finally turn around to talk to her, it’s not just Phoebe behind me.

It’s Demi.

“What in the actual fuck do you want?” My sister still won’t acknowledge me in front of her, and I don’t like the uneasy feeling that she just drew me out here to give Demi a chance to speak alone.

I should’ve known, they were girlfriends a long time ago. What makes shit different now?

“I needed a moment,” Demi quips calmly. “You were too busy dancing with your whore to give me a few minutes.”

My eyes steer to my sister but nothing.

“What do you want?” Demi takes a step in my direction, that blue dress that she’s wearing I actually take notice of for the first time.

Different body, same dress.

Reagan was right. Demi lost her fucking shit again.

“I want her gone.”

A mirthless laugh escapes my lips. “That’s it?”

“You broke Jacques’s hand.” She might as well have said that her favorite ice cream was vanilla because there was no emotion or worry in her tone that her boyfriend wasn’t going to be fingering her anytime soon.

She doesn’t care, Demi just wants to prove a point.

“And?”

Demi’s lips quirk. “And karma is a bitch.”

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