Page 41 of My Totally Unfair Deal

My hand flies to the back of my dress, but before I can fix it—ripppp!

The entire side seam tears open with a pop that echoes louder than the clink of silverware.

The table falls silent for one perfect, horrifying beat.

Then comes the laughter.

I don’t even need to look. I feel their delight. Someone mutters something in French. Another lifts her phone slightly under the table, angling it—not quite taking a picture, but notnoteither.

My skin goes cold. Then hot. Then cold again.

“I—” My voice catches. I clear my throat. “Excuse me, please.”

I rise too fast, nearly knocking over my chair. I don’t look back.

I won’t give them the satisfaction.

Not one tear.

Not one word.

I walk as quickly as my ruined dress will allow, chin high, stomach in knots, and disappear into the marble-lined hallway.

I feel like I’m in high school all over again—drawing the ire of the girls with the perfect hair and impossible standards. Except this time, my dad isn’t here to tell me I don’t have to go back. That I could finish the year from home.

Don’t you dare cry, Eliza. Don’t you dare fucking cry.

I rip a wad of paper towels from the dispenser and press them against my face—not because I’m crying, but because I won’t. I bend over the sink and breathe. In. Out. Again.

My reflection doesn’t crack, but it doesn’t look brave either.

I ignore the woman drying her hands at the far sink. As soon as she leaves, I head to the door to lock it behind me. I just need a minute. Maybe two. Then I’ll leave.

But it swings open before I can touch it.

Harrison steps inside and closes the door behind him, flipping the lock.

“I hate you for making me come here,” I say quietly, not turning around.

“You have far better reasons to hate me than that,” he replies.

“You knew I’d embarrass myself in front of all those snobby-ass people, didn’t you?” My voice cracks. “Didn’t you?”

“Eliza—”

“I hate the way you say my name.”

“How would you like me to say it?” he asks, stepping closer.

“Simple. Pronounce it like: You can go back home. I’ll talk some sense into your brother.”

“Eliza.” His hands settle on my waist. “For the umpteenth time, going home is out of the question. Take a deep breath.”

I do. He tells me to take another. I obey again.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

“I learned that I hate snobby people.”

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