Page 6 of Contempt

“Hey. Landon blew me off,” I explain, since she knew he was supposed to give me a ride home. “Can I ride home with you?”

“You want to come to my place?” she asks, mildly surprised.

“I know the wicked witch is home now, but I think Landon is taking some girl to his house to hook up with, and I’m not really interested in being there for that.”

She grimaces sympathetically, popping her trunk so we can stow our backpacks. “Yeah, of course you can come over. We can squeeze in some homework before I have to stop to make dinner. I can’t believe they gave us so much on the first day.”

“It’s Baymont High; I would’ve been stunned if they hadn’t.”

Hannah mumbles something about how many hours there are in a day, then she walks around to the driver’s side.

The ride to Hannah’s is peaceful.

I text Mom to let her know there was a change in plans and I’m going to Hannah’s instead, but I’ll be home for dinner.

Then I flick through social media and pull up Brittany Benson’s account. She posted a picture of her and Landon driving down the road with the wind blowing through her hair. She’s flashing a peace sign.

I close the dumb app and shove my phone into my purse.

I look up when we pull up to the gate outside Hannah’s house. She has a grand, beautiful home even though Hannah doesn’t have any money herself. She should. The house was hers, but her dad left it and everything else to Anae’s terrible mother when he died and now Hannah’s destitute. You can’t tell by her digs, though.

That’s kind of how I feel moving into the Atwaters’ mansion, but I know I don’t have it nearly as bad as Hannah.

We used to go to her room when I came over to study or do homework together, but last year Hannah was moved out of her childhood bedroom and stashed in the attic. There’s not enough space or light up there, so we head to the kitchen to study.

Unfortunately, being in the kitchen means we are more accessible to her horrid roommates. I guess technically they would be considered her family, but they in no way treat her like family, so I won’t dignify them with that title.

The evil stepsister comes in while we’re working, and Hannah immediately tenses up. Anae notices and likes it, smirking as she walks to the refrigerator to get herself a bottle of water.

“I’m not interrupting your little study date, am I?” she says, her heels clicking across the floor as she approaches the table.

Hannah shakes her head wordlessly, focusing her attention on the page of notes she was just reading through.

Anae’s gaze flickers to me. She looks me over briefly, her eyes cool and disinterested. “You’re still around, huh?”

“Apparently,” I murmur, turning the page in my textbook so she gets the message that we’re busy and goes away.

“Parker something, right?”

“Johansson,” I offer, even though I’m sure she doesn’t care.

“So, are you two in love, or…?”

I do not like where she’s going with this. My gaze flickers to Hannah, her face warming because she, too, knows where Anae is heading.

I don’t fan the flames by answering her. Bullies are like fires; they should be deprived of oxygen and smothered out of existence.

I try to ignore her as I jot down a short answer to the next question on my homework assignment, but it proves impossible.

When she sees neither of us will swallow her cheap bait, Anae leans down, locks a slim arm around Hannah’s neck in a mockery of closeness, and murmurs, “No, I guess not. You’re still sad that your last girlfriend left, aren’t you?”

Rage heats my blood to simmering. On impulse, I look up at Anae and say, “Are you still sad your boyfriend did?”

Hannah’s jaw drops and her gaze darts to me, her eyes wide with horror.

Anae’s eyes flash with cool anger and I get the tingly sensation at the nape of my neck animals must get when a hunter focuses them between the crosshairs of a deadly weapon.

“She didn’t mean that,” Hannah says quickly. “She was trying to be funny. Parker’s not funny, that’s all you need to know about her. Tragically unfunny. It’s practically a condition. There should be fundraisers to raise awareness. She was just joking, though. She didn’t mean—but it was a bad joke. Parker, tell her you’re sorry.”

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