Page 102 of Betting on the Brainiac

I smile at how Tabitha is leaning in to the scratches. “I’m jealous.”

“Invalid,” Madison says. “She always picks you over me. As soon as you sit down, I will no longer exist. Give me my moment.”

I’d meant jealous of Tabitha, of course.

A sound like the muted rumble of a distant garbage truck fills the quiet, and it takes me a second, but then all our eyes are on Tabitha. It gets louder, and I grin. “She never purrs that loud for me.”

Kaitlyn’s forehead scrunches. “Is that normal?”

Madison shrugs as she smiles at the spellbound cat. “Don’t know. She seems happy.”

“I don’t know either,” I tell Kaitlyn when she looks at me. “Buncha cat noobs. Coffee is done. How do you take it?”

“Black,” Kaitlyn says.

“Vanilla creamer,” Madison says.

“You don’t know her coffee order?” Kaitlyn sounds surprised.

“She’s not a morning person,” I say as Madison’s face freezes. She’s still not awake enough to put on a solid performance. “I don’t usually need to make her coffee.”

I deliver their mugs then return to the sofa with my own black coffee and settle in. I can’t decide if I’m glad Kaitlyn is here. On the one hand, she’s a buffer. On the other, I can’t check in with Madi until she’s gone.

“Do you like working at Gatsby’s?” Kaitlyn asks.

“It’s fun,” Madison says. Kaitlyn doesn’t look convinced, and Madi frowns. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do,” Kaitlyn says.

“But . . . ?”

Kaitlyn takes a sip before answering, and when she lowers her mug, her eyes are slightly unfocused, like she’s thinking of something else. “I wouldn’t have guessed in high school you would end up there.”

Madi’s nose flares. “Why? Because it’s beneath an Armstrong?”

Kaitlyn shakes her head and studies her sister. “No. You were so different in high school.”

Now that’s interesting. I want to know more. “Tell me about high school Madison. Homecoming queen? Cheerleader? Dated the captain of the football team?”

“Think nerdier,” Kaitlyn says, and Madison rolls her eyes. “She was on the dance team. Honor roll. Didn’t date much.”

“By choice,” Madison interjects.

“Quiet, you,” I tell her. “This is Katie’s story.”

“She was into school and dance and she read a lot. Not big into parties. That started in college. By the time I got to UT, she was . . .” She trails off when Madison shoots her a sharp look. “Different.”

“You were a homebody bookworm?” I ask Madison, trying to imagine it. She’s always full of energy, looking for fun. Or more often, mischief.

“Not a homebody. Only when I knew a book was going to be better than a party,” she says. “But people change in college all the time, especially when they discover the values their parents taught them are shallow. Purely about public image. Don’t embarrass the Armstrong name. And that turns out to be a mind-bending level of hypocrisy.”

“So you do the opposite?” Kaitlyn asks. There is no judgment in her tone.

“Yes, Kaitlyn.” Madison sounds almost sarcastic. “You do the opposite of whatever they want, because you don’t have to listen to hypocrites.”

It’s not my place to step in, but I hope Kaitlyn recognizes that under the sarcasm, there’s anger. And under that, hurt. A lot of it.

“Why are you mad at me?” Kaitlyn asks.

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