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Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

Page 92

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“Go to the car, Sammy,” I say.

He frowns.

“Now,” I snap. He runs off into the distance. I glare at the blonde little bitch. “Why, exactly, is Willow in trouble?”

“She’s been picking on her teammates.” Julian growls. “She’s grounded indefinitely.”

“No, she hasn’t. That’s a blatant lie and false accusation.” I narrow my eyes. “The bullying is the other way around.”

“Miss Brielle, I demand you go and get Willow, bring her to me, and I will make her apologize this minute.” His fury is palpable.

Something snaps again, and I step forward

“I will do nothing of the sort.” I point to the mother. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. If your evil daughter comes near Willow again, I will have her charged by the police for harassment and assault.”

The mother gasps, and the other parents all stop to listen to what’s going on.

“Why, that’s ridiculous,” she cries.

I turn to the blonde bully. “Go near Willow again, sweetie, I dare you.” I sneer.

Her eyes widen in fear.

“Miss Brielle!” Mr. Masters snaps.

“Who the hell is this?” the mother asks snootily.

“I’m your worst nightmare. Now get a leash on your girl before I involve the police.”

She puts her arm around her daughter. “Come on, dear, let’s go home. It’s been a traumatic day. This woman is a hooligan.” She glares at me and storms off.

I turn to Mr. Masters. “Are you kidding me?”

“Are you kidding me?” He growls.

“How dare you!” I snap, and I storm my way back to the car.

“How dare I?” he calls as he follows me. “How dare you?”

“Oh. I dare, all right,” I shout as I arrive at the car.

Willow and Sammy are standing wide-eyed at the car, waiting for it to be unlocked. I don’t think they’ve ever seen someone as angry as I am at this moment.

Mr. Masters drops the chairs on the ground and pops the trunk of his car, and the kids dive into the back seat to escape the fury. I get in the front and slam the door hard.

He opens my door. “Don’t slam my car door!” he yells.

I open it and slam it again… harder.

The kids are sitting frozen in the back, afraid to speak or move in case we turn on them.

Their father gets in his precious car and revs the engine before he pulls out in a rush.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

I have to say it.

“How dare you?” I cry out.



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