Page 51 of The Endowment Effect

In retrospect, high school was where things really got out of hand, discovering his glowering brown eyes had developed hypnotic, panty-decimating super powers. She discovered feelings for him she couldn’t hide from others. Specifically, her mother.

Like that, her objective changed.

Instead of maligning him and reveling in the intense vindication of exposing his faults, as she did when they were younger, she set out to protect him. The only way to do that was to turn the tables by exposing her own faults. If necessary, maligning herself.

Sitting up in her spartan bed at night with her arms behind her head, she would strategize what shenanigans she could get into the following day that would finally turn his head irrevocably to hers, while at the same time keeping him at a distance.

It was twisted thinking. Of course she knew that now. She attributed it to raging hormones and poor parenting.

Wheeling her bag to the hallway, she opened doors and peeked inside until she found what looked to be a guest bedroom. Confirming that assumption was Mia’s backpack sitting on the bed.

Pushing it aside, she pulled out her iPad from the side pocket of her bag and clicked over to FaceTime. Within seconds, her heart warmed at seeing Angus’s craggy face with wiry eyebrows always in need of taming.

“Yawright, lass?” he asked, his eyebrows coming together like a Brillo pad.

Tears sprang in her eyes, despite doing her upmost best to stem them. Angus could barely tolerate tears from a woman.

“Goanae no dae that,” he scolded with little heat. “Talk to mae. Is wee Mia awright?”

“She’s fine,” Birdie assured him, glad someone had their priorities straight.

She added, “She’s about to learn the true meaning of incarceration, but until then, she’s fine.”

“She’s had a word wi’ her da, then?”

“Yes, he assures me he was kind to her, so that’s good.”

“Aye, so why the tears?”

She shook her head, the waterworks slowly turning into a truly embarrassing deluge. “People hate me here, Angus.”

He grumbled, his voice gravelly. “So, who stole your scone?”

“It’s… it’s not like that. I never told you this, but I didn’t have a very good reputation when I was…” she sucked in, “… younger.”

“I no believe such things,” he croaked. “All lies, I’m sure of it. Why, a lie is halfway aroon Scotland afore the truth has its boots on.”

“Well, grab on to those boots, because I’m considered no better than a criminal in this town.”

“Yer head’s full o’ mince.”

“I’m serious.” She ran her fingers across the bumpy threads of the bedspread. “I may have given them cause to believe everything they think of me. Back in the day, I hadn’t quite developed strong coping skills,” she hesitated, “or communications skills.” Her eyes narrowed. “Anger management issues might’ve also been a problem...”

“I canno believe such things about ye,” he said carefully. “Yer mither was a right carline, filled yer heid wi’ nonsense and gibberish.”

She sniffed, “What’s a carline?”

“A witch. Yer mither be a right witch.” His voice softened. “Despite her, ye be a sweet lark, lass. When ye say otherwise, yer jist opening your mouth to let yer belly rumble, ye are.”

Dear, sweet Angus.

The brawny man only saw the good in Birdie. The post Wayward Birdie, that is.

If he only knew.

Wiping her eyes, she gathered herself. Maybe Angus was right. She was no longer that emotionally unstable girl starved for affection and thirsty for attention.

To Angus’s point, she was a good person.

---