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Tapping my cell, I check the time, then exhale shakily. If I’m going to school, I need to leave, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move. Neither my sister nor Hawthorn contacted me again last night, and even though I’m glad, a part of me is terrified that I’ve pushed away the only people who aren’t going to attack me when I walk through the school doors.
I’m not worried about physical violence, but I’ve been awful to a lot of people for a long time, and now that I’m powerless and unimportant, I know plenty of people will be looking to get their revenge.
Forcing myself to leave the bathroom, I grab my bag and room key and open the door before I can talk myself out of going. For the first time ever, I wish I knew how to drive, but I don’t. Mom said it was undignified to drive myself places when I had a driver whose job it was to take me where I needed to go.
As I climb into the back of the town car I ordered, I curse myself for listening to her. If I had my own car and knew how to drive, I could park at the back of the lot, then sneak into school once everyone else was already headed to their homeroom. But there’s no such thing as a discrete arrival in a black town car.
If everything works out like I planned, I’ve timed my car to get me to school exactly five minutes before the bell rings. I won’t be the last person to enter the building, but the majority of the other students will already be at their lockers, and apart from a few stragglers, there shouldn’t be a huge crowd of people on the steps to witness my arrival. I know there’s no hope of me going unnoticed, but this way I won’t have to deal with the entire school whispering and staring at me the moment I get out of the car.
Pressing my stomach with the palm of my hand, I try to quell the wave of nausea that rushes over me the moment my car slows to a stop in front of the school. If I wasn’t such a bitch to everyone, then maybe there could have been someone waiting for me, but instead there’s nothing but a handful of people whose names I don’t know, because I never deemed them important enough to learn.
Calling on all my years of self-important bravado and etiquette classes, I wait for the driver to open my door, then climb out of the car with my head held high and an air of confidence that is so brittle a single glance could make it crumble. Lifting my bag onto my shoulder, I stride to my locker, ignoring the surprised gasps and amused snickers I can hear around me.
The moment I take my seat in homeroom, Olivia Lockley slips into the seat beside me. “Oh my god, Penelope, is it true?” she asks, her eyes wide and horrified. She’s the younger sister of one of the guys on my great-grandfather’s list, her family is old money, but they were never prestigious enough for my parents to even consider me marrying her brother.
“Is what true?” I ask, turning to face her, my expression masked by my now shaky air of superiority.
“That you’re destitute?” she shrieks.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Don’t be absurd, Olivia.”
“Fine, not destitute, but is it true that the money’s gone?”
“The money isn’t gone, it still exists, but if what you’re asking is if I’m still in line to inherit it, then the answer is no,” I tell her dispassionately.
“What happened?” she gasps, standing up and taking a physical step back from my desk like my lack of inheritance could be contagious.
“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business,” I snap.
“Wow, there’s no need to be a bitch,” she sneers, looking down her nose at me as she turns and moves back to her desk, two rows behind mine.
My eyes fall closed, and I pull in a deep, shaky breath. Four days ago, when I was going to be worth billions, I could have told that girl to lick the dirt from my shoes, and I’m pretty sure she would have done it just to carry my favor, and now she’s calling me a bitch to my face.
Perhaps if it wasn’t true, I might argue, but if anyone here really knew everything I’ve done, they’d be calling me a monster, so a bitch feels mild in comparison. But her questions have confirmed one thing: everyone here already knows…I just wonder what version of the truth they think is the real one.
Now that my sister got herself placed in almost all of my classes, I know there’s no way I can avoid her for long. Homeroom seems to take forever as I try to ignore the way everyone is talking about me, but I still dally leaving the room because I’d rather deal with gossiping kids than face my sister.
“Penelope.” I hear my sister’s voice a moment before she barrels into me, her arms wrapping around me as she pulls me in for a hug. I freeze in the middle of the hallway, the physical contact from her unexpected and, honestly, a little weird. Our family are not huggers, in fact, we’re not tactile at all. I can probably count on one hand how many times either of my parents have hugged me. But then Izabella has never been like the rest of us.
When I don’t reciprocate her embrace, she pulls back, looking at me quizzically, like she’s worried I’m about to implode or something. I see the flash of hurt in her eyes as she steps back and melts into Gulliver’s arms when he appears behind her.
“Are you okay? Where are you staying?” she asks quietly.
“I’m fine, I’m at a hotel for the moment,” I tell her stiffly, still confused by why she cares.
Since that night at the party when I got so drunk I was sick, we’ve become less hostile toward each other. But the will’s broken, it’s done and over, our parents won’t care about her and Gulliver now, so I don’t understand why she’s even speaking to me. Maybe I’m just such a terrible person, that her being nice makes me uncomfortable, or maybe I’m suspicious enough to assume it’s all an act, and I’m waiting for her to enact the revenge she so rightfully deserves to get on me. I deserve her hate; I want her hate because I have no idea what to do with all this concern she keeps showing me.
“What hotel? Why don’t you come and stay with me and Gulliver? That’s okay, isn’t it?” she asks her fiancé.
“Of course,” he says, looking down at her with so much love I feel a little sick.
It’s not that I begrudge my sister and Gulliver’s happiness, it’s more that I don’t know how to deal with it. Seeing the two of them together is the first time I’ve seen a couple who genuinely care for each other. I know it started out as a lie, but even I can see that it’s real now. A part of me hates it, but the other part is jealous, because even when every man I met was falling over himself to marry me, I was never going to have what they have. Marriage was always going to be an arrangement for me.
“No, thank you, I’m fine where I am,” I say, shouldering my bag and turning to leave, not wanting to spend more time than I have to with the happy couple.
“Wait, where are you going?” my sister asks.
“Class,” I say, not turning to look at her as I continue to walk away.
