“He’ll be back,” Dixie says, patting my knee and giving me a sympathetic smile. It nearly makes me crack. I may not be strong, but I don’t want anyone’s pity. It makes me vulnerable, and I want no part of that. Not in public.
Daddy’s already halfway down the aisle, obviously not needing my agreement for him to ditch us. Royal scowls after him, then scoots over and slides an arm around my shoulders. “What do you think?”
“That he’s going to make us sit with the headmaster?” I offer, trying to smile.
He frowns even more deeply and squeezes me against him. “I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t talking about him, though, were you?”
“No.”
“It’s… Intense,” I admit as the band comes on, and everyone in the stands sings along with the fight song. It’s more like a college game than a high school game. Only the small stadium with the banks of lights at the ends, the scruffy real grass on the field, and the family atmosphere speak of a high school game.
The cheerleaders cede the field to a row of six majorettes. I spot Dolly among them, not a stitch of pink in sight. She looks one hundred percent bombshell in the fitted black leotard with gold sparkles glinting like stars from the stretchy fabric. Her curves put mine to shame. While I’ve never been unhappy about my “perfect Cs” as Veronica called them, Dolly must wear an F-cup. Her hips are wide and round, too, but she’s not built like a Kardashian. Her belly curves out a bit, too, and her thighs aren’t leaving a gap anytime soon. She’s just a big girl all over—tall, curvy, and thick.
“I think I just spotted my first wife,” Duke jokes, obviously looking at the same person I am. It’s hard not to look at her. All the majorettes are wearing the same thing, but no one is wearing it quite like Dolly. Her blonde hair is done up in a tall updo, and she’s wearing potent red lipstick and fake lashes so black and long that they don’t even attempt to look real. They have gold glitter in them that catches the light when she moves.
Royal nudges me, and I follow his nod to see Daddy waving for us to join him. He’s standing beside a tall, thin man with receding salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp nose. Beside him is a blonde of indeterminate age who could just as easily be his daughter as his wife.
Great. Time to smile and be a good Dolce daughter.
“Sorry,” I mutter to Dixie. “You don’t have to come with us.”
She looks between Daddy and us. “Crap on a cracker,” she says, her eyes widening. “That’s my aunt.”
“The one who just married the mayor?”
“The one who called me unkempt,” Dixie confirms.
“I’ll just go say hi,” I say, anxiety flaring inside me at the feeling of being pulled in two directions like I was with Veronica. I want to be a good friend, but I also want to be a good daughter. I want my father to be happy, but I don’t want to violate the rules of friendship—and not just the dorky list Dixie made—by telling him something they wouldn’t want an adult to know.
“It’s okay,” Dixie says. “We’ll all be happier if we pretend we don’t see each other. I usually sit over there with the other freshmen, anyway. Come sit with us when you get done.”
Dixie goes off to mingle with some people who are apparently her friends even though she never sits with them at lunch. Maybe it’s something that happens at football games here. It brings everyone together, the whole town cheering. At a game, everyone wearing black and gold is a friend. At a school this small, it’s inevitable that people will fall into the groups where they fit best. Even the outcasts usually get shuffled together. And Dixie’s too chipper to be an outcast. I’m happy for her if she’s making other friends, even if it does awaken my insecurity. Rules of Friendship aside, Dixie’s not the Darling Dog anymore. I am. If she wants to call me toxic and stay away from me, that’s fair. She’s more than fulfilled any obligation to me.
A tightness builds inside me as we gather our things. I imagine mingling with the crowd, saying hi to random people from school, not worrying about anything but the outcome of the game. But I already know I can’t escape who I am. Who we are. Where my father goes, we all go. When Daddy says jump, we jump. When he says we’re going to be the primo family in this town, we make it happen for him.
As we arrive beside him, Daddy gives the twins a stern look, a silent warning that they’d better behave. My brothers aren’t exactly model citizens.
Daddy introduces his new friends as Mayor and Mrs. Beckett.
“It’s wonderful to see some fresh faces at Willow Heights.” Mayor Beckett grips my hand a little too long, examining my chest a little too long. Ew. I tug my hand away, making sure my face doesn’t betray my disgust. I’ve dealt with plenty of Daddy’s slimy business associates in my life. I’m supposed to be the little angel, too innocent to even notice when they leer at my body and “accidentally” brush my ass when I walk by. At least they’re all smart enough not to make a real move. If Daddy didn’t have them killed for that, my brothers would make it happen.
“You and the mayor sit in the crowd for football games,” I say to Mrs. Beckett as we take our seats. “Let’s just say that never happened at our private school in New York.”
I expect at least a chuckle, but Mrs. Beckett only raises her brows and picks an invisible speck of lint from her black pantsuit. “My husband thinks it’s important to look like one of the people.”
“And he’s absolutely right,” Daddy says. “You have to know what’s going on in your town if you want people to trust you enough to come to you with important issues.”
He’s too busy kissing the mayor’s ass to notice he just pissed off his wife, who obviously wants to be sitting in the one box up by the announcer. Or more likely, to be at home having a cocktail and watching the game on TV.
“Do you guys come to all the games?” I ask Mrs. Beckett. “Or just the one that’s your entire town?”
“Most of them,” she says, casting a withering look at her husband, who’s busy chatting with Daddy about new businesses coming to town and how it helps the economy.
“Do you always sit on our side?” I ask, giving her my best conspiratorial smile. “Or do you have to sit with Faulkner High fans every other year?”
“Well, we’re here as mayor, but his daughter also cheers.”