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“What’s the project about?” Maeve prompts.
Although I’m pretending to be distracted by shrimps, I’m riveted by their conversation. God, I can’t wait for high school to end so I can start fresh in college.
“We’re working with a private security company, so I can’t say.”
“Exactly what the world needs,” I mumble sarcastically, “another door camera.”
“Ana!” Sergei reprimands with a frown.
“I’m kidding!” I say, my face heating when I meet Bryce’s gaze.
Is anyone surprised that he’s staring with the most placid, neutral expression? Like he’s bored but patient. Just once, I wish he’d see me as a person instead of an annoying creature to be tolerated.
“Anyway,” Maeve begins cautiously, “we’re glad you could join us, Bryce.”
“Wouldn’t pass up this amazing dinner. Much better than the can of beans I have at home,” he says appreciatively before clinking a beer with my brother.
“Are you busy this week? If you’ve got a free afternoon, can you do me a favor?” Maeve asks.
The realization of where she’s heading with this line of questioning propels me to my feet. The rough movement makes my chair fall back.
“Maeve, you are not asking him about that!”
“About what?” both men ask at the same time.
“Ana, please. He can be so helpful.”
“No!” I state. “I don’t need his help. Excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite,” I say weakly. All my energy is spent quelling the itchiness behind my eyeballs.
I set the chair upright, walk away from the table, and go to my room. Once the door is closed, my butt slides down and lands on the floor.
It’s one thing to adjust to a new school as a senior, a whole other thing for everyone to make a big deal out of it. I’m gone by this time next year. Who cares if I don’t make friends or enjoy high school? Lots of people go through their teen years that way. That’s not what bothers me.
It’s that all I’ve ever known is how to fit into my old life: look pretty, entertain effortlessly, laugh on cue. My entire social skill set is useless in the middle of Ohio. Everyday interactions puzzle me. People see me as nothing more than a ditzy rich girl.
The worst part? Sometimes I look in the mirror and that’s what I see too.
What if this sense of uselessness follows me when I leave?
What if all I’m good for is formal balls and country club brunches?
What if social decorum and expensive fashion mark the height of my achievements?
What if wanting to be more than some rich dude’s wife is delusional?
Knock, knock.
“Go away, Sergei,” I say, wiping tears I hadn’t realized escaped.
Of course, he would try to comfort me. Being my big brother, he feels responsible for my adjustment throughout the move.
“I’m fine. If everyone just stopped talking about me like a social experiment, that would be great.”
“It’s Bryce.” His low voice sends a shiver down my spine, because I’m embarrassed by Maeve’s request on my behalf. My body’s reaction has nothing to do with how close he sounds, like his mouth is right against the door.
“I’m sure Maeve sent you up. Tell her you did your duty, but the spoiled brat won’t leave her room.”
“Maeve didn’t send me up. And you’re not a spoiled brat.”
