In fact, I punched him in the face a day after I met him because they’d slashed my books and scattered the pages all over the hallway.
My dad always taught me to stand up for myself and I did.
Countless times.
I’d break into their lockers and steal their homework. I used to key their cars. One time, I even got into this big fight with one of the girls in his inner circle because she hid my clothes after a gym class and sent boys into the locker room to gawk at me. It became a whole big thing at school.
For years, I’ve plotted ways to murder them.
To murder Zach.
I would have too, if he hadn’t gone away. But now he’s back and I’m acting like I’m in school again.
I’m looking left and right, walking very, very slowly lest I slip on something. Something like a banana peel, deliberately planted so I’d step on it and so people could laugh at my ungainly, curvy, jiggling body.
I’m jumping every time someone calls my name. Someone laughs and I tighten my muscles and narrow my eyes, preparing myself for the punch line, which I definitely think involves me. I’m flexing my fists, remembering the right technique to make one like I’ve been teaching Art. I’m thinking up ways in which I can fight back.
I’m drowning in anger and hate and I haven’t even seen him yet.
Gah.
So in order to regroup and act like an adult, I’ve shut myself up in the service closet by the kitchen. The party’s on and I’m supposed to serve champagne, instead of drinking it myself and sitting on a large mopping bucket.
But whatever.
They’ll survive without me. A lot of the cleaning and cooking staff are serving tonight, including me. I used to be a waitress back on the south side and I need the extra cash, so I always volunteer for such events.
Suddenly, the closet rumbles and shakes, making me yelp. Dust falls from the ceiling and the tray full of champagne flutes set on the floor vibrates.
Someone’s knocking at the door.
“Cleo.”
My tensed shoulders sag at the familiarity of the voice. It’s Tina.
I press a hand to my heaving chest, lean over and unlock the door, letting her enter. In contrast to me, her blonde hair looks put-together and she looks very polished in her uniform. I’m pretty sure my mascara has smudged with the nervous sweat and I’ve already chewed off my lipstick.
“What are you doing in here?” she asks, her expression concerned in the meager light of the yellow bulb.
“Trying to regroup myself.”
“By hiding?”
“Hey, don’t judge.”
“Fine. I’m sorry.”
Tina takes a seat beside me on an upturned bucket. “You okay?”
I shake my head.
“You drunk?”
I bring two fingers together. “Maybe a little.”
She nods, as if she understands. “Grace says thank you.”
I smile. “Yeah?”
“Yup. Mr. Grayson was all red by the time he left. He couldn’t keep his hands off his crotch.”
Laughing, we high-five.
A few beats of silence. Then, “It’s really happening, isn’t it?” I swallow. “This isn’t a nightmare or anything?”
Tina shrugs. “I could pinch you, if you like.”
“I pinched myself a dozen times. So yeah, I think it’s real.” My elbows dig into my thighs. “I think he’s really back.”
I can feel it.
That’s the whole problem, actually. That I can feel it. Feel him.
I know he’s out there, in that ballroom that I almost broke my back cleaning. He’s probably mingling with people, namely his minions. He’s drinking, laughing, smirking like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Like his coming back didn’t ruin everything.
Mr. Prince.
Is that what I’m supposed to call him now? While I strip his bedsheets and take out his fucking trash?
I nod. “What if he picks up where he left off?” I blurt out my biggest fear, wringing my hands. “What if he tries to do something… bad? Get me fired or something? What if I can’t get my house back? I have so much more to lose now. This isn’t prank wars or whatever.”
“Look, calm down. You don’t know what’s going to happen,” Tina explains, grasping my hands. “And you won’t know unless you go outside and face the situation. People say he’s visiting for a few days. Maybe he won’t notice you. It’s a big house. How many times have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Prince? Not many, I bet. Besides, if you keep hiding and don’t work the floor, Mrs. S will fire you anyway.”
I sigh. She’s right.
“God, I hate him.”
“I know. That’s all you ever talked about when he was here.”
“Well, duh. He freaking ruined every second of my life while he was here. He even ruined my prom.”
God, the prom.
The worst memory of my entire existence.
I was so happy that night. All dressed up in my navy blue skater prom dress with my leather boots. My make-up was all dark and heavy. I basically looked like a badass Cinderella ready to lose it. Her virginity, I mean.