“So, you should probably spill it.”
“There’s nothing to say, people are stupid.” Chastity pushes the food around on her plate. “I hate people.”
“We know that’s true. Is it a boy?”
She drops her fork and glares at me. “Really, Mom?”
“What?” I raise my hands in surrender. “Most of the time, when a girl is this…fine…it’s usually about a boy. They’re kind of dumb, you know?”
I can’t make out what she says under her breath but I swear it was something about mothers are too.
“It’s not a boy.”
“Is it your teachers?”
Chastity is often frustrated by them, since she’s pretty advanced. She’s in the gifted program and still she’s bored. It’s one of the things I despise about living in a town with very few kids, a lack of options—and funding.
“No, Mom, stop. I’m fine. I just…I had a bad day and I really hate people.”
I can understand that sentiment.
“Hopefully tomorrow is a better day.”
She huffs and starts eating again.
I start to eat my meat loaf and a few moments pass before Chastity slams her fork down. “You know what I hate? Girls. They’re so mean.”
And here we have it. “What happened?”
“She thinks she’s so perfect and pretty. She’s not. She’s not perfect!”
Chastity has never fit in. No matter how many playdates I set up or sports I tried to get her to try, she never enjoyed it. Instead of makeup, she’d rather study the ingredients of makeup to let me know all the hazardous things inside of them. When I tried to get her to do cheerleading, we quickly learned that clapping and doing any other motion at the same time was not her strong suit.
I’ve always described her as an old soul. She doesn’t understand why things fascinate the kids her age. She wants to talk about politics, animal rights, and spend her time learning instead of gossiping.
Her hand taps on the table, reminding me I haven’t asked her who she’s talking about.
“Who?”
“The new girl.”
Someone new? How did anyone move into this town without a bulletin going out? “We didn’t have anyone new move in.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes we did, and the mean girl is in my class.”
“Who?”
Chastity ignores my question and starts a rant like I’ve never seen from her. “I offered to let her sit at my lunch table and she laughed and said she’d rather not be a loser on day one. Do you believe that? How would she even know that? Why am I a loser, because I’m nice?”
Now it’s my turn to feel an extreme amount of guilt. Many moons ago, I would’ve said something like that to Nina if she had offered for me to sit with her. In fact, I probably did.
I was the mean girl or at least friends with them all. So many times I would say things because I had to. It was better to fit in with them than be on the outside. I regret it.
My heart breaks a little that my daughter is on the receiving end. “You’re not a loser.”
“I know that. And I’d rather be a loser than a horrible mean girl. I’m so tired of them acting like they own the school, prancing around with their perfect hair and perfect makeup. I hate them! Someone needs to tell them that they’re not going to be popular forever.”
“Most mean girls only act mean because they’re afraid to let other people see their flaws.”
Chastity knows the stories of my…reign. “You can’t defend her, Mom. After lunch, she was telling people how I tried to get her into my cult. Cult! Then—” Chastity pauses, and I nod to encourage her. “I don’t want to say it.”
“Why?”
She traces the wood grain in the table and I keep quiet. She does this when she’s mulling over something uncomfortable. I used to push, but I realize how the introspective moment helps her focus and handle the excess of emotion.
“Because it’s about you.”
Like I haven’t heard it all? “Believe me, sweetheart.” I wait for her to look up. “There’s nothing that can be said that will hurt me.”
“She said at least her mom didn’t have to trick her dad to have a baby.”
This town needs a damn hobby. I don’t know why Teagan bashing is still the cool thing.
“And you said she’s new?”
“Yeah, they just moved here yesterday and she started school today.”
“I guess my mistakes of the past precede me even for out-of-towners. Not that you’re a mistake,” I tack on. “You know people like to make up their own versions of the truth.”
She groans. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you!”
“I’m not upset, Chas. I hate that it’s affecting you, that’s all.”
I couldn’t care less about what people think of me anymore. I sleep just fine at night with how things happened with Keith. There was no tricking or missed birth control. I didn’t drug him and screw his brains out while he was unconscious. That happens to be one of my favorite stories, though. I weigh 110 pounds soaking wet, and he’s over 250 pounds. If someone actually believes I could maneuver his dead weight, arouse him to the point of having sex, and impregnate myself, they have bigger problems than I do.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Oh, I’m reminding myself of all the rumors I’ve heard.”
Chastity shakes her head. “Why can’t these people get over it?”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“This is why I like animals. They’re not stupid.”
Sounds like someone I used to know and be best friends with.
I release a sigh, knowing that animals are for her what painting is for me. “And why I paint, because it’s not stupid.”
“You paint because you say it calms you,” she says with a shrug.
It does calm me. I started painting after Chastity was born. I never really considered myself artistic, but Nina made me go to some wine-and-paint thing and I kind of liked it. Now, it’s what I do when I feel like the walls are closing in.
“Doesn’t working with animals do the same for you?”
“Yes, and I do it because people are horrible and animals love you no matter what.”
“I can’t argue with you there, but at the same time, you can’t defend me or worry about what people will say. Unfortunately, the man who gave me you is famous. He’s never going to fade away, and whether your father starts to suck at football or wins the Super Bowl, we’ll have to hear about it. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. You can’t. We have to suck it up.”
“I hate sucking it up.”
I nod. “Me too. So…” I grab my fork. “What’s this new girl’s name?”
Chastity leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Everly Hartz. As in Dr. Hartz’s granddaughter, so I can’t even avoid her in my happy place.”
And suddenly, I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Chapter Three
Teagan
Fifteen years old