Page 373 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Hate You

Chapter 1

Jude

Looks like my new stepmother is still trying to prove she’s more than just a pair of fake tits. The scrape of cutlery against crockery is the only sound in Dearth Manor’s dining hall as the Dearths work their way through the expansive dinner she prepared: roast chicken, baked potatoes, green salad, and a garlic loaf on the side.

“So, how was your first day at school?” Diana sets down her fork, chewing as she studies my little sister. Rosie’s head stays bowed, but her movements become a little more erratic when she becomes aware of Diana’s sudden interest in her.

“Rosie? Are you listening, munchkin? I asked about your day?”

Rosie’s brown eyes fly to mine in absolute panic. She ignores Diana and makes a grab for a roast potato on her plate. Diana snatches her wrist. “Use your fork.”

Rosie tries to pull her hand away, but my little sister’s never been a fighter like me. When one small tug doesn’t make Diana let go, Rosie’s chin drops to her chest in defeat.

“Why can’t you just let her eat?” I ask before tossing down a mouthful of chardonnay. It’s still almost three years before I’m legally allowed to drink, but Father reckons if we’re going to do it anyway, we might as well do it as a family. So my stepsister and I get a glass of watered-down wine at dinner and sometimes an extra beer on the weekends. I’m not a big drinker, but I like the crisp taste of white wine, so I’ll have a glass most nights.

Harper must think she died and went to heaven. She was living in a trailer park before my father decided the Dearths had a mother-shaped void in our lives he desperately needed to fill with the Barbie Doll lookalike, Diana Sloane. Apparently, I needed another sibling too, and Diana was only too gracious to add her eighteen-year-old daughter, Harper, to the family.

“What time does the bus leave tomorrow, Mr. Dearth?” Harper asks my dad. “I want to make sure I’m ready on time.”

“Thebus?” Dad’s voice drips with disgust. “Didn’t Jude tell you he’s taking you to school?”

“Don’t see why she can’t take the bus,” I mutter.

“The Dearths don’t take buses.”

“Rosie does.”

“That’s different,” he says. The slight pause makes me think he wanted to say “she’s” instead.

“Because it’s a special needs bus? How is thatdifferent?”

“Jude, don’t speak to your father like that,” Diana says in her nasal whine. I nearly give her a piece of my mind, but then Dad says, “We already discussed this, Jude.”

The tone of his voice implies many things. Among them that there’s a belt with my name on it if I keep pushing him in front of his new followers.

Ha, the cult of Dearth. How he loves his beloved worshipers.

We didn’t discuss anything. Hetoldme that Harper was under my care, and if anything happened to her, I’d be held responsible. I was fine with that kind of shit when he wastalking about Rosie—I’d do anything to protect my little sister—but Harper’s a grown-ass woman. Why the fuck is he acting like I need to hold her hand when she crosses the street?

“Thank you, Jude.” Harper looks over at me and gives me a frosty little smile as she takes a sip of her merlot, pretending she’s all sophisticated and shit.

That’s Harper’sthing.

It’s a pity. She’d be a catch if she wasn’t such a pretentious cow. Where I inherited my father’s tall, broad-shouldered build and dark hair, she takes after her mother with her petite frame. When mother and daughter are in the same room, it becomes obvious that Diana isn’t a natural blond. Harper’s blue eyes pop against her dark hair, but Diana’s baby blues look watery paired with her platinum locks. That’s not the only thing Diana’s faking. Diana’s D cups were definitely made in China.

Dad doesn’t realize he married a fake, just like Harper doesn’t realize the family living in this McMansion is far from perfect.

I ignore Harper and try to change the subject onto something that doesn’t involve my new stepfamily. “Still coming to the game tomorrow night, right?” I grab a cherry tomato and pop it in my mouth as I wait for Dad to answer.

Friday night games are Cinderhart High’s specialty. All this town produces is coal and football jocks. I wonder if it’s genetics, or if we were specifically bred so we could handle all the manual labor they had kids doing back in the day.

“That’s tomorrow night?” Dad lets out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, son, I’ve already made plans with your mother.”

“So dinner at the cemetery then?” I quip.

There’s a collection of indrawn breaths from everyone around the table except Rosie. My little sister is oblivious to all these dinner-time undercurrents I have to deal with. Thenagain, she never knew her real mother—Bonnie was gone before Rosie’s first birthday.

---