It’s my archnemesis.
Under my breath, I mumble, “I was looking for leftovers to pack for your lunch, since I hear another maid quit.”
“You two know each other?” I hear Charlotte say from above me.
If hating each other’s guts counts as familiarity, then yes, we are best friends.
I pull myself out of my tangled position, face to face with the world’s biggest egomaniac, Courtney Kerr. Wearing a pencil skirt, a silk halter top, and platform suede heels, she twists her signature shade of red lips into a sly smile.
“Hi, I’m Courtney Kerr.” She reaches out a bronzed arm to Charlotte, pumping her hand up and down.
Glancing down at Charlotte’s hideous yellow-gold watch, she coos, “By the way, I love, love, love your Tiffany. They don’t make anything that isn’t timeless. My daddy gave me a bracelet, and it’s my favorite piece of jewelry . . . so far.”
“Thank you.” She lovingly touches the black leather band. “I’ve got a good husband.” Turning to me, she asks, “Are you both in the same grade?”
“Yes, we are, and in fact, we’ve gone to school together most of our lives.” Courtney elbows me. “Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Is this your new mom?” Courtney twirls her Fendi wristlet around her bony wrist. “Another foster family didn’t want you? By this point it would seem you’re the common denominator.”
I retort, “Is this where Brandon has started taking you on dates? I mean, I guess I get it. He didn’t want to be seen in a public place you’d run into any of his friends, and it’s cheap, perfect for a . . .”
She loses her composure, and her face falls flat. “Oh.” I clasp a hand over my mouth. “That’s right—he dumped you last week. So sorry.”
“Speaking of friends, where are yours?” Courtney tosses her long, silky blonde hair over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s right, what friends?”
The question stings, but there’s truth to it—I really don’t have any friends. I would never invite anyone to my slum apartment, and my free time I spend with Justin or alone.
Or babysitting the other fosters Diane has.
Charlotte seems fascinated by this interaction as her eyes dart between us like it’s a tennis match and she’s contemplating who’s going to lob the next ball and who’s going to serve it back like a steaming pile of shit.
Ignoring her, I spin on my heel, leaving both Charlotte and Courtney in my wake.
When I get to the counter, I pay the tab, not only annoyed that Charlotte’s still standing with Courtney but also peeved at what Courtney might be saying. Neither of them makes a move to come toward the cashier, so I have no choice but to go back to the booth, where they are both chattering like long-lost friends. As I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, I almost sink through the black-and-white tile when Charlotte insists on giving Courtney a ride.
I shove my hands in my pockets to try to keep from elbowing Charlotte in the ribs.
“Will you just let your mom know I’m dropping you off?” Charlotte gives me a small smile, then Courtney.
“Sure.” Courtney shrugs. “Though it’s probably easier to first drop off Eliz-a-beth, since she lives on the way to my side of town.”
I seem to be the only one who catches the subtle snub about what side of town she lives on—the wealthy, snooty side.
“If your parents are so rich, why don’t you have a car?” I turn to Charlotte. “No, let’s not drop me off first, Charlotte. I want to make sure you’re safe from Courtney. She’s kind of a psychopath.” I fire back at Courtney, “And what did I miss? Where are we giving Courtney a ride?”
“We are not giving Courtney a ride; I am.” Charlotte pats my shoulder. “Since you are dog sitting in my neighborhood, it makes sense to drop Courtney off first.”
As we walk out of the diner, I hiss, “What the hell are you doing, Courtney?”
“Just acquainting myself with another part of your life.” She gives me a grin. “Just be glad it’s not Justin.”
When she says that, I have to hold myself back from landing a punch across her jaw, wanting nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied smugness off her face.
“Shotgun,” she hollers, rushing to the passenger side. I slide into the back seat, buckling my seat belt harder than I need to.
“Thanks for dinner, Elizabeth.” Charlotte smiles haughtily into the back seat. In return, I give her narrowed slits in the rearview mirror. Courtney doesn’t stop babbling, and I tune out, staring into the darkness, the city slowing down in terms of traffic noise.
Suddenly, bright lights flash behind us and sirens shrill.
My natural inclination is to crawl away and hide from the sound like I did when I was a child, covering my ears against the noise. Touching my wrist, I feel the hardness of my scar. It’s a reminder that this time the whirl of red and blue sirens is meant for someone else.
It’s funny. I used to think that the police meant “safety” and “trustworthiness.” They catch the bad guys and the crooks, and they proudly wear a badge of honor. It wasn’t until my father was locked up that I became less sure about their public acts of service.
I close my eyes against the glare, going back in my mind to that awful day, easily the worst of my life, that ended with sirens, law enforcement, and handcuffs.
“Was I speeding?” Charlotte asks out loud, speaking to no one in particular. I see a look of horror on her face as she glances in her side mirror. The squad car’s riding her bumper, impatient for us to stop.
“What did I do?” She swipes a hand across her face. “What could I have possibly done?”
I wish I could tell her that I know what she did, but Courtney still hasn’t stopped rambling. Biting my lip, I realize that the metallic taste of blood is better than accidentally screaming at her and giving up all my cards.
Because I know everything.
And what Charlotte seems to forget is that you can bury lies for only so long before the truth surfaces.
Face flushed in embarrassment, she asks, “Was there a traffic sign I missed?”
Courtney shrugs, finagling a piece of gum out of her wristlet.
Muttering, “It’s late at night; maybe I only paused at a stop sign,” Charlotte slows to a crawl, piloting the Jeep to the side of the road as gravel crunches underneath the tires. She shifts it into park and hits the hazard lights.
“Probably,” I add, “because typical Courtney can’t shut up until something’s shoved in her mouth.”
Glaring over her shoulder at me, Courtney starts to reach into the pack of gum. “Did you want a piece?”
“Sure.”
Shaking the pack near her ear, she shrugs. “Oh, I’m sorry, guess I chewed my way through all of them. That was rude of me, especially since you really needed the breath freshener. Please tell me you don’t kiss Justin with that mouth.”
“Girls,” Charlotte warns, “can you please be quiet?”
Trying not to smirk at Charlotte’s trembling hands on the wheel, I lower my lids against the offending brightness of the headlights behind us.
Now the police intimidate her?