Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Makeup I’d asked her to help me with an hour ago.
She said she was too busy, yet here she is, standing there in yoga pants, hair tossed up into a messy top knot, clearly not doing anything productive.
She could have helped me.
“I have that banquet tonight. The one where I’m receiving my grant.”
“A scholarship thing?” I can see her eyes roaming up and down my back. “It looks like you have date.”
I draw in a breath, not sure how much I want to tell her about Kip, or how she’ll react. She knows nothing; not since the night she whispered in his ear and propositioned him.
He still hasn’t told me what she said, but what else could it possibly have been?
“It’s a bit of both, I guess?”
“Are you going with someone?” She’s interested now, studying her nails in that way she does when she’s pretending not to care. Feigning disinterest when she’s insatiably curious.
It’s such a bitchy thing to do.
Why can’t she be happy for me?
“Yes. I’m going with someone.” I purposely omit details, knowing it’s going to drive her crazy not knowing who my date it.
One of her hand flops over, wrist holding it out. “Well? Are you going to tell me who it is, or what?”
“You know Kip Carmichael?”
“Yes.”
“He’s taking me.” Or I’m taking him. Whichever.
“Sasquatch is your date?”
“Yes.”
If sarcasm could form a laugh, Mariah pulls it off. “A guy named Sasquatch is taking you to your engineering banquet. Nice one, Teddy. Way to raise your expectations.”
The applicator wand of black mascara pauses over my lashes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
No one has anything bad to say about Kip, other than a few guys who think he’s an asshole—so I don’t know why Mariah has that look of disgust on her face.
Or is it something else?
“You sound…” Jealous. Bitter. “Petty.”
“I’m not being petty. Like I care who your date it. It’s one night; it’s not like you’re actually dating the guy.”
I say nothing, instead, resume my primp session by uncapping a tube of mauve lip tint.
“Unless you are.” She’s standing up straight now, arms crossed, a slight glare across her brow. “Are you dating him, Teddy?”
“I think that’s what I’d call it, yeah. I’m dating him.”
“Since when?”
“Since…” I count back a few weekends, trying to figure out the timeline. “A few weeks.”
“A few weeks! What the hell, why didn’t you say anything?”
I laugh, careful not to smudge my lipstick. “Why didn’t I say anything? Are you serious? You haven’t noticed I haven’t been home the past three weekends? I could have been dead somewhere—you never even text me anymore.”
“If I had known you were screwing Kip Carmichael, I probably would have been more worried.”
I turn to face her, aghast. “And why is that?”
“Because. He’s deplorable.”
Deplorable? I laugh again. “I can’t believe you right now. What do you have to be jealous of?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why would you say that about my boyfriend?”
“So he’s your boyfriend now?” Mariah’s own laugher comes out cold. “Two seconds ago you were just dating.”
“Who are you?” I whisper. “I have done nothing but be a good friend. This entire year, you’ve been horrible—honestly, Mariah, you care more about parties and guys than you do about me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Liar.” I’m grateful for these heels when I stand at my full height—grateful for the added inches, so my roommate and I see eye-to-eye. “Tessa and Cameron are always happy for me. They lent me these clothes.” My hands sweep down my body, over the fabric of my dress. “They offered to come help me get dressed. You? Said you were busy, and you’re not doing anything but watching TV.”
“I have homework,” she argues.
“It’s Saturday. Since when do you study on the weekend?” The answer is never. “And how many times have I dropped everything for you? To help you. To do your makeup, or borrow a car so I can drive us places, or spot you money—money I do not have—for something when I’m broke. I always find a way, Mariah. Always. You never do the same for me anymore.” I take a breath. “I don’t know what I did to make you resent me, but I’m sick of your shitty attitude.”
There. I said it.
“Wow, Farmer Ted—tell me how you really feel.”
My nostrils flare at the moniker I hate so much; neck bristles. She knows I hate it and used it on purpose.
“I just did.”
We glare at each other, in the small bathroom of our apartment, but something in her gaze—the way she’s watching me a bit warily gives me pause.
Softens my stance a little.
I cock my head, waiting—because I know there’s something she wants to say.
“Everything is so easy for you.” Mariah says it slowly, in a low tone of voice.
It’s not what I’m expecting her to say, not at all.
“Are you insane?” I blurt, damn certain my eyes are bugging out of my skull. “Nothing comes easy for me. What are you talking about?”