Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“How much are the shoes?”
“I don’t want the shoes, B. I want to go to a different school!” she wails.
“Okay. Okay.” I try to calm her down so real tears don’t come, but leaving Franklin isn’t an option so I’m going to have to get her these boots she’s talking about. As I enter the town square on our way home, I spot the jock I fought with earlier. If I’d taken him up on his offer, I’d probably be able to buy those boots no problem. I swing into an empty parking space. “Hold on, Belle. I see someone I need to talk to.”
“Whatever.”
She sounds down and I hate that. I climb out of the car and hail Mark.
He spins around with his fists up. I hold out my hands. “Bro, I’m not here to fight. Do you still need that project worked on?”
He eyes me suspiciously, hands still raised. “Maybe. Why?”
“I’ve had a change of heart. So long as you have what I need, I’m available to help you out.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” I just need the money.
Chapter 6
Melody
I stand inside Missy’s Bakery looking over the array of desserts. “You really are an artist,” I tell her. She takes her time with each dessert and I can tell she puts her heart into making all of them. I’m hoping that I can cheer my mom up with one of them. She has a sweet tooth so hopefully this will brighten her day a little.
“That’s a real compliment coming from a real artist.” I smile at her, feeling my face heat. God, if only I was a real artist. I’ve spent many afternoons here using the bakery as a getaway. Missy would let me take up a table eating all the cupcakes I could handle while drawing in my sketch pad.
“Thanks. I’ll take two of those.” I point to the rose-shaped cookies. “And three of these unicorn cupcakes.” I lick my lips, knowing that one of them will be my dinner tonight.
“It matches your hair.” She boxes them up for me. I give her my credit card to check out. I never feel bad about spending my father's money. Maybe I should but I don’t. I don’t want half the crap that I slide his card to pay for but I do it out of spite. I don’t think it’s working. When my mom spends money he gets pissy but he never says anything about what I spend. He lets me coast by without a damn word. For now, anyway. That’s only because I’m playing by his rules. That’s all that matters to him. It’s when you start diverting from the way he wants things that the problem comes in. My mom tends to engage in long fights with him. Me, on the other hand, I avoid him like the plague. There’s no changing him so why even try? He is set in his ways but still I do whatever needling I can on my mom’s behalf. It’s not like the man doesn’t have the money to burn. I’m pretty sure he makes deals under the table, abusing his power. I just have no way to prove it. How else does he have so much damn money?
It isn’t even the abuse of power that bothers me. It’s the fact that he uses it for evil instead of doing good for others. I get that the world is full of shitty people but what if the good people learned to play their games but only better? I think a part of me is hoping that it’s something that I can do if I have to be pushed into the big corporate world. Maybe I can learn to play their little games better and smarter. Thoughts of having to follow in my father’s footsteps into the political world have me feeling depleted. My father would be oh-so-proud to see me there. I would hate every minute of it but I’d do it if it meant burning his world down.
“Here you go.” Missy hands over the cupcakes. All of my evil plans feel depressing and I push those thoughts aside. I walk out of the bakery and decide to sit on the nearest bench to enjoy my treat. Maybe I can stop thinking about Mr. Hot Shot for a few minutes. Oh God. I nicknamed him. This really isn’t good.
I go back to thinking about what I’m going to do next. At least I understood my trigonometry a little better after today. College applications are being sent out as we speak. Mine is sitting on my desk at home. Every time I think about my future as some crony in my dad’s world, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. My hopes and dreams of having a career in art will never come to fruition. I sit on the bench, planning to eat one of the little unicorns now to make myself feel better when out of the corner of my eye I see Mark. Please don’t come this way, I silently plead to myself. I heard someone punched him today. I’m sorry I missed that. He’s a dipshit and had it coming, I’m sure.