Page 214 of Filthy Elites

Her gaze snaps back to me, her pretty face set in a frown. “I don’t know. I don’t feel like we’re cool. Maybe you could sit with us today.”

“No, thanks.” I say it with a smile so she’s not offended, but I can’t imagine anything less enjoyable than sitting with our school’s answer to The Plastics. Besides, I have more important stuff to do.

Her frown deepens with annoyance and confusion. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. No offense. I appreciate the invite, I just kinda like having my lunch break to decompress and eat my food. I don’t like sitting with people.”

“That’s… so weird.”

The line moves, so I step forward and shrug. “I guess.”

She looks back over her shoulder. This time, I follow her gaze and see she’s looking to Anae for some clue as to what she should do next.

Anae’s eyes bulge at her with wordless reprimand, as if she’s gone off-script and Anae isn’t happy about it.

That’s not suspicious at all.

Mallory turns back to me, opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else, then promptly turns and walks back to her table without another word.

“Poor thing short-circuited.” I shake my head, amused at my own commentary, and shift my focus to the food behind the counter. I haven’t decided what I want to eat yet, but I’m starving, so I really wish this line would hurry up.

___

When the school day ends,I make my way home as quickly as possible.

I have a lot to do tonight. So much that justthinkingabout it exhausts me, but I suck it up and paint a smile on my face as I head inside with my school bag slung over my shoulder.

Mom is sitting on her recliner in the living room. I flash her my brightest smile. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, honey. How was school today?”

“School was good,” I tell her.

I consider letting her know I was invited to a party just so she has the impression my peers like me, but I decide not to. Knowing her, she would tell me to go and have fun, and there’s no way I’m going to that party. I’d rather spend my weekend with her doing what we already planned to do.

Dropping my bag from my shoulder, I tell her, “I’m going to take a quick shower and decontaminate, then I’ll get dressed and we can start dinner.”

“I can’t wait,” she says with a smile as I head for the hall.

“Neither can I.”

I lose my smile as soon as I’m out of her sight. Giving my bedroom door a push, I haul my heavy-ass backpack inside, trying not to think how I’ll find time to finish my homework. I started it at lunch like I have every day of this school year, but lunch isn’t long enough to put a very big dent in my workload.

I guess I’m staying up late again.

It’s what I have to do most nights in order to get everything done, but most nights I don’t have to do as much cooking as I do tonight.

Oh well.

Complaining about it—even just in my own head—won’t change anything, so I shove down the stirrings of fatigue I’m already feeling after a long day of school, and head to the bathroom for a nice, refreshing shower.

After my shower, I tie my hair up in a cute ponytail with an orange scarf, then I head to my room. I put on a white, airy peasant-style sundress—the kind I’d wear traversing the cobbled streets of Italy if we could afford such an expensive vacation. I grab my favorite sunglasses and put them on top of my head, also like I would if we were sightseeing today and the sun was still up for a few more hours.

As I make my way out to the living room, I pull up YouTube on my phone and start the first loop of Italian background music I picked to play while I cook dinner.

Mom grins as soon as the lovely music starts playing and turns to look up at me as I enter the room. “Mood music?”

“Feels like you’re in Italy listening to it, doesn’t it? Now, come to the kitchen, let’s get the smells going.” Pausing, I wait to see if she needs help, but it must be a good day today because she makes it to the center island without any trouble.

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