Just as I’m wiping my tears, the front door of the mansion swings open.
I glance up to see Eliza standing there, a smug smile plastered on her face. She holds something in her hand, and it takes me a second to realize what it is — a tissue box.
“Yoohoo, honey!” she calls out, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Here’s a box for your move.”
Before I can react, she tosses it, and it lands with a dull thud on the grass beside me. Alex and his friends are behind her, laughing, their faces illuminated by the warm light spilling from the doorway.
The door slams shut, but not before I hear the echo of Alex’s laugh, deep and satisfied. It’s the sound of that laugh that makes something inside me snap.
The hurt doesn’t fade, but something sharper and stronger slices through it — anger. White-hot, searing rage that clears away the fog of despair.
I wipe my eyes and look down at the tissue box, the cheap cardboard that’s supposed to represent my eviction notice. They’re all laughing at me, and it’s like I can hear the unspoken words: pathetic, weak, stupid.
I’ve had enough.