Page 20 of Kingmakers, Year Three

It’s time to go on the offensive.

“Carter Ross might think you’re dressing up for him,” I say to Lola, “but your aesthetic has Daddy’s Girl all over it. That’s who it’s really for, isn’t it? The pink blush, the strawberry lip gloss . . . I bet if I checked that gold locket you’re wearing, it’s a gift from dear old Dad.”

Lola’s big blue eyes narrow into slits. I’ve already learned that particular tell—it means I hit her in a sensitive spot.

No time to fuck around—I have to press the advantage.

“You don’t have any siblings. And yet you’re not an Heir. Which means no matter how hard you’ve tried to please Daddy, he hasn’t named you his successor.”

The color rises in Lola’s cheeks. She hasn’t answered back.

I’m making wild assumptions, one after another, but I think I’m right.

“Is it plain old sexism? Did you fuck up somehow? Or maybe he just doesn’t know you well enough after his time away? He still sees you as his little baby. Maybe if you try really, really hard, you can prove you’re all grown up now . . .”

“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Lola snarls at me.

That’s not a denial.

In fact, that’s what people say when the facts are correct but they don’t like your interpretation.

I raise my hand.

“You think you have the intel?” Professor Penmark inquires.

“Yes,” I say. “Lola’s father was in prison.”

Lola’s mouth drops open. Her whole face is now the color of Dixie’s hair.

“You filthy little cunt!” She shrieks.

Before she can slap my head off my shoulders, Professor Penmark steps smoothly between us, plucking Lola’s card out of her hands. I can just make out the single typed sentence:

Find out what age they had their first kiss.

I’m deeply relieved that Lola failed to reach her objective. I’d rather jump out the second-story window than have the entire class find out that I’ve never been kissed, not once in my life.

My satisfaction ebbs away when I catch sight of Lola’s shaking hands and livid face. I just embarrassed her in front of the whole class. And she’s not exactly the forgiving type.

“Not bad,” Professor Penmark tells me. “You didn’t get verbal confirmation from the subject, but implied affirmation can be useful.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever received a compliment from Professor Penmark. I can’t say I enjoyed it—it’s quite unpleasant having him stand this close to me, looking into my face with those dead black eyes.

“Thanks,” I mutter, hurrying back to my seat.

I can practically hear Lola fuming behind me. Waves of loathing radiate in my direction.

Oblivious, or just not giving a shit, Rakel says, “Nice job! I thought you were fucked for sure.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I was betting on you,” Joss Burmingham says, leaning across his desk to give me a little fist bump.

Joss has never spoken to me before. I’ve got to admit, it feels good to earn some admiration outside of our programming classes.

Until Lola hisses at me, “You think that was clever?”

“It’s just an exercise,” I say. “No hard feelings.”

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