Page 64 of Enemy Crush
“I’d just rather you kept away—“ she started to say.
“Mom!” I shouted. “Everybody knows!”
Mom’s eyes widened and she froze. Her voice was a low growl. “You told him?”
I kept focused on her face. “No. Celeste and Naomi came to the market. They saw you were selling your bags online. They all know about Dad’s business folding. Celeste was saying some pretty mean things.”
“What? How? How did they find out?”
I shrugged. “I dunno but I think it was Noah Forbes. I saw him last week and he said some stuff. Mom—I think everyone knows.”
Mom collapsed onto the kitchen stool, covering her face and muttering to herself in great despair. “Gah, I dreaded this day. And that explains the strange texts I got from Genevieve St. John and Tara Dowman. Oh my, oh my.”
“But Mom? Miller stood up for me,” I said. “He told Celeste to shut it. She was making fun of you selling your bags, saying we were broke and telling me I was a liar. That I’m a terrible friend for not trusting her with the truth.”
“Ahhhhhh,” Mom’s sigh came out as a groan, the end of the world nigh.
“I told her that I’d promised you I wouldn’t tell anyone but she said I betrayed her,” I said, fighting hard to keep the tears at bay. “She hates me, Naomi too. I’m the worst friend ever.” And more words came flooding out as my true feelings erupted. “All because you were too proud to tell people the truth. You were too worried about your precious reputation. That’s all you cared about. And now I have no friends and I’m a laughing stock.” I huffed out a long breath in frustration, standing there with a glare colder than a Siberian winter.
“Qu...Quinn...” Her head dropped and her voice quivered. “I was trying to protect you, that’s what I was doing. I didn’t want...”
“No, Mom, it was all about you. You couldn’t let your Country Club friends know the truth. You were happy living a lie. You’re such a fake. And a snob.”
Mom’s throat tightened as she tried to take a breath. “I...I...no, Quinn...it’s...”
“Mom, just admit it. You do everything for show, you act like you’re better than everyone else. And you’re more concerned about keeping up with the Joneses, or should I say the Beauchamps and the Forbes.”
Mom clutched at her chest, wheezing like she was unable to suck in any oxygen. Panic raced through me as I supported her back, worried she was about to fall off the stool or have an anxiety attack. I encouraged her to breathe and poured her a glass of water, remembering how Miller had come to my rescue.
“I’m sorry, are you okay, are you okay?” I whispered, regretting that I’d been so harsh. “Mom, are you okay?”
Mom sipped the water and inhaled shakily. “You’re right. I was selfish. But aargh...Quinn, I was so angry at your father, so mad with myself for letting us get into this situation, so embarrassed.”
Tears welled and slowly slid down her cheeks, ashen but no longer gaunt.
“What does it matter what others think of us?” I said, specifically thinking of how Celeste had criticized Miller’s shirt. Like, really, a shirt? And yes, in the past I had laughed or pointed at somebody’s clothes. But why? Why did we put down people because of what they wore? Why did we think that wearing cheap or unbranded clothes was a bad thing and that wearing our expensive designer brands made us better? And it hit me that in the past few weeks I’d not worried about what I’d worn, that I’d felt freer and more myself than ever before dressed in a t-shirt and dusty jeans, a cap and no makeup. And no one had judged me. No one. All that mattered to the kids at the farm was that I pulled my weight and did my share of the work. “Does anybody really care if we’re broke?” I carried on. “And if they do, are they really people we wanna be friends with?”
Mom sniffed, rummaging in her purse for a tissue. “You don’t know what it’s like,” Mom croaked. “In a small town like this, everyone wants to know everyone’s business. People talk. It’s how it is.”
“And you don’t think it’s like that in high school?” I hissed, seething in exasperation. “I’ve virtually sabotaged my senior year because of our stupid secret. I’ve lost all my Brizendine friends and have no friends at Snow Ridge High. Some girls reached out, Elise and Blanche were so nice to me and I basically rejected them. And then today Miller helped me when I fainted. He bought me a juice and a smoothie and a blueberry tart...” I paused, suddenly remembering, “And dang, I forgot to pay him back for it.”
“What? You fainted?” Mom’s tone changed, full of concern. “Quinn? What happened?”
I shook my head dismissively. “Nothing, I just got a little dizzy because I hadn’t eaten anything. I was fine.”
She gestured her head to the direction of the lane but couldn’t keep the snobbishness out of her voice. “Hehelped you out?”
“His name’s Miller,” I stated, my anger rising. “And yes, he got me some food. You know what? You call our neighbors the enemy, but they’re not. You’re your own worst enemy. You’re the one who’s impossible. All because Annabelle Devereaux is obsessed with what other people think about her.”
Mom visibly paled, and yes, I hoped the truth was hurting. I was sick and tired of pretending that life in the Devereaux house was a bed of roses. I grabbed the bread bag and loaf and shoved them back into Miller’s backpack and stormed out, slamming the door shut in the process.
My breath came in fast pants as I jogged down the driveway, slowing to a walk when the Trask house came into view. I didn’t want to knock on their door a sweaty mess. The latch of the gatecaught as I struggled to open it and I waited on the doorstep to regain my composure. Just as I was contemplating leaving the backpack right there, the door opened before I knocked.
Miller filled the doorway, but gone were the jeans and the flannel shirt he’d worn earlier. Now he was wearing a pair of running shorts and a muscle tank. “I heard the gate,” he said as if an explanation was necessary as to why he’d opened the door.
I don’t know why I stood there staring, eyes trailing from his shoulders and arms all the way down to his legs, pretending I wasn’t totally checking him out. (I was.) As for my brain, that had malfunctioned and wasn’t engaging with my vocal cords. After what seemed like an eternity, I had the sense to thrust his backpack into his arms.
“Oh...thanks,” he said, peering into it and grinning at the sight of the breadstick, “thanks, cool.” He looked back to me with a frown. “Are you okay?”
