Page 9 of My Fault
“I was telling Noah earlier about all the sports you canpractice here in the club, Nick. Nicholas plays basketball, and he’s one heck of a surfer, too.”
A surfer.How cliché. I’d thought Nicholas was sitting there bored, but he clearly noticed my disdain. He bent over the table, rested both his elbows on it, and put me on the spot. “Something amusing, Noah?” He did all he could to sound friendly, but I knew deep down I’d gotten to him. “Do you think surfing is silly or something?”
Before my mother could answer—I knew she was about to—I copied him, bending over.
“You said it, not me.” And I gave him an innocent smile.
I liked team sports, sports with strategy that required a good leader and consistency and hard work. I’d found all that in volleyball, and I was sure that surfing couldn’t compare.
Before he could respond—and I could tell he wanted to—the waitress arrived, and he looked at her as if he knew her.
My mother and William got into an animated conversation when a couple stopped to say hi to them.
The waitress was young with dark brown hair and was wearing a black apron. She laid the plates on the table and, while doing so, bumped Nick’s elbow unintentionally.
“Sorry, Nick,” she said, then turned to me as if she’d made a mistake. From Nick’s expression, I could see that something weird was going on with them.
Since our parents were distracted, I bent over and asked, to clear up my doubts, “You know her?”
“Who?” he asked, playing dumb.
“The waitress,” I replied, observing his reactions. He didn’t give away anything. He was serious but relaxed. I realized then that Nicholas Leister was very good at hiding his thoughts.
“Yeah, she’s taken care of me before,” he answered, seeming to dare me to contradict him.Well, well, well, Nick’s a little liar. Why didn’t that surprise me?
“Yeah, I’ll bet she’staken careof you lots of times.”
“What are you getting at, little sister?” This time, the term made me smile.
“How you rich people are all the same—you think that having money makes you the kings of the world. That girl hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in the door. It’s obvious she knows you.” Somewhat angrily, though I didn’t know why, I continued, “And you won’t even look at her. It’sdisgusting.”
“You’ve got some very interesting theories aboutrich people,as you call them. I can tell you don’t like them. Of course, that’s not stopping you and your mother from living under our roof and enjoying all the comforts money can buy. If you hate us so much, what are you doing sitting at this table?”
I tried to control my temper. He knew how to get under my skin.
“Seems to me you and your mother are even worse off than that waitress,” he confessed, being sure I alone could hear him. “You pretend to be something you’re not, when both of you have sold yourselves for money.”
That was too much. I was blind with rage.
I grabbed the glass in front of me and tried to throw its contents in his face.
Too bad it was empty.
4
Nick
The look on her face when she saw her glass was empty dissolved any trace of anger or irritation I might have been holding in since we sat down.
That girl was anything but predictable. I was surprised by how easily she lost her cool and how just a few words could throw her off.
Her cheeks with their little freckles turned pink when she realized how ridiculous she looked. She stared at me, then at the glass, and then to both sides of her, as if hoping to reassure herself that no one had seen what an idiot she was.
Leaving aside how funny the situation was—and it was funny as hell—I couldn’t let her act like that with me. What if the glass had been full? I couldn’t let some snot-nosed seventeen-year-old even think about trying some stunt like that with me. She was going to find out what kind of big brother she’d lucked into. I’d let her know how much trouble she’d be in if she tried to play with me again.
I gave her a winning smile, and she looked back at me warily. I enjoyed seeing the fear hidden in her eyes between those long lashes.
“Don’t do that again,” I said calmly.
