For the next several weeks, it seems the Idols are content to watch and wait. But if they think they’ve beaten me that easily, they’ve got another thing coming. At Lower Banks Middle School, a stunt like that would’ve been met with closed fists and blood spatter. I’m not saying I’m going to start a full-on brawl with the Idols (surely the cowards would gang up on me, and I’d lose), but watching that book burn, while upsetting, was not the final nail in my coffin.
“Parents’ Week starts on Monday,” Miranda says, settling beside me in the ‘cafeteria.’ Not exactly the best descriptor for this place. That word denotes red plastic trays, pizza on paper plates, and long lines. This is... nicer than the nicest restaurant I’ve ever been to. The sign outside says ‘Dining Area,’ but the students here just call it The Mess. “Are yours coming?”
I take a bite of my pasta and try not to wonder how much this plate cost the scholarship fund.
“My dad should be here,” I hedge, trying to decide how best to describe my mom. The full truth is too hard to say aloud; it cuts like a knife, and I’m already bleeding from the scene on the yacht. “My mom... remarried and moved.” Yeah, across town. From the trailer park to a mansion. “She lives in Grenadine Heights actually, with my sister.”
“You have a sister?” Miranda asks, her glossy pink lips parting in surprise. “Would I know her?” I shrug my shoulders in response because the last thing I want to say is: maybe, but I don’t. “And how did I not know you had a sister?” she continues when I stuff my mouth with more pasta.
As Miranda frowns at me, Andrew stops by our table and pulls up an extra chair. Pretty sure he and Miranda have been getting into trouble for hanging around with me, and yet, they still do. I’m starting to wonder if I might actually be making real friends with the pair of them.
“You have a sister?” he repeats as I sigh and swallow my food, picking up my water glass and staring at the clinking ice cubes.
“Her name’s Isabella. But she’s three years younger than us. She just started sixth grade at Grenadine Heights Middle School.” I take a drink of my water and hope this story ends here. Now I’m kicking myself for bringing my mom up at all. See what I mean? I’ve already got that tight, sick feeling in my stomach.