She turns on a heel, stalking back to her car.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I call after her. My wrist throbs. Goddammit. I’d just gotten over a thigh strain, and I was looking forward to running without pain for once. “Hey, you!”
“I’m sorry,” said the red-haired one. Vivian. Yeah, the name suits her. She purred with disgust. “We don’t acknowledge dripping garbage.”
They pile into the car. Then reverse. I jump out of the way, glaring daggers at them. The girl who shoved me rolls down the window.
“What is your fucking problem?” I ask. “Who are you?”
“Oh, you’ll learn about us pretty soon,” says the girl named Vivian. She leans across the console, giving me a patronizing wink. Her eyelashes are so heavily layered in mascara, it’s a wonder she can even keep her eyelids open. “Very soon.”
“Look, new girl. I know all about you,” says the girl in the driver’s seat. “And you’re going to wish you’d never even heard of WJ Prep.”
“Why do you care?” I ask.
“You’re scholarship scum. And if I ever see you running through my neighborhood again... ” She breaks off with a laugh then fixes me with a glare that turns my insides cold. She smiles, her tone now hauntingly playful. “I won’t miss you next time. Ta-Ta!”
With a peal of tires, she spins out, the red lambo taking off down the street with a scream. The smell of exhaust lingers in the air.
I stand there for a few moments, letting the waning sun bake my feverish skin. My heart rate calms its erratic pounding. I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the sky. What the heck just happened? Suddenly, all the beautiful houses I had been passing look ominous. It could be a combination of the darkening sky or the recent interaction I’d just had, but I notice that the windows are dark. Of nearly all the beautiful houses, only a few have their lights on.
The need to leave strikes me. I start running again. My wrist has recovered somewhat, but each jarring step reminds me that I’ll need to ice it tonight.
Who was that girl? And how did she know who I was?
* * *
My step-dad, Brendan, is cooking dinner when I arrive home. It smells heavenly, and my stomach is growling.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, giving him a kiss on his gruff cheek. “Whatcha making?”
“Hey, Ophelia. Spaghetti and meatballs,” he says, looking at the timer on the oven.“Just a little over ten minutes on the meatballs. Sauce is simmering. Hand me that packet of pasta by your left hand. Please.”
I do as he asks. “Here. I need to shower.”
“Yeah ya’ do,” he says, not looking at me. He’s a focused cook, and I can’t help but smile when he says, “You absolutely reek.”
“Thanks,” I call out sarcastically. Brendan has been my dad since I was ten, though he’s been with my mom much longer than that. He’s more of my dad than my bio-dad, who I’ve never met and who I never really want to meet. He skipped out on my mom just months after I was born.
Brendan is a large teddy bear. His physically imposing form throws some people off – not to mention his tattoo sleeves and scruffy beard. But in my entire life, I’ve never once considered him anything other than my dad, and he’s loved me as he would a daughter.
The duplex we are renting has two bedrooms and one bath, but it’s cozy and recently renovated. I grab my shower stuff and a change of clothes before hitting the shower. The hot water works out all my knots. But the strange, uneasy feeling that’s twisted in my gut doesn’t go away. As I towel off, the blonde girl’s cruel smile flashes in my mind.
Next time I won’t miss.
Jesus, what kind of girl goes around threatening to run people over?
Apparently rich and entitled assholes.
My wrist aches a little, so I pop a couple aspirin from the cabinet. After I change, I join Brendan in the kitchen.
“When’s Mom getting off?” I ask.
“Her shift ends at 8:30, so pretty soon.”
As a Registered Nurse, Mom sometimes works odd hours. But she was able to get a job lined up at Golden Hills Community Medical Center even before we left Oklahoma. For the past week, she’s been in training. Brendan has a couple of interviews lined up this week. There was always a demand for an Electrical Power-Line guy, but I can tell he is getting antsy playing domestic.
I play with my phone as Brendan finishes up cooking. He hands me a plate and I fill up. The first thing we did when we moved in was to finish unpacking the kitchen. Mom doesn’t like eating off plastic plates.