Page 54 of Rebel Summer

His eyebrows raised in excited shock, mocking me. “Maybe one day you’ll have little politician babies.”

I pushed against his arm and scooted my chair up to the desk, intent on ignoring him. For some reason, Dax was bent on unnerving me at every turn, and I wouldn’t allow it.

“Will you guys talk about politics and the weather the whole time you’re together, or do you think you’ll branch out into the stock market or global warming?”

“Look at all those big words you’re using.”

“I’m not wrong, though,” he said, smiling like a cat toying with a mouse.

“No, you aren’t wrong. You even used the words in just the right context.”

“Shut up, Books.”

“You’re not wearing that.” My dad’s eyes trailed down my clothes, from my cutoff shorts to an old school volleyball t-shirt rolled at the sleeves, before giving me a look of disgust from his place at the kitchen table.

“Hey, Dad. Nice to see you too.”

“Hi. Go change.”

Earlier that day, I had finished my morning shift at the cafe and let Cat and Jane convince me to skip out on Legos and hit up the farmers market and the beach. I couldn’t really say no without it seeming like I wanted to hang out with Dax. But as it turned out, a few hours at the beach, recharging under the warm island sun, did wonders for my outlook on life. Of course, now that I was about to be a high-class babysitter for a politician, showing up smelling like sunscreen and contentment wouldn’t be tolerated.

I raised my hands. “I don’t have clothes here.”

“Well, you can’t wear that. Go put on the bridesmaid’s dress from Mariah’s wedding. You need something nice.”

Mariah’s dress had been beautiful, but my boobs could not pull it off. It left too many gaps where there shouldn’t be gappage. Not to mention, there were probably still glass shards stuck in the fabric.

“It doesn’t fit. I’m just taking him to Beach Break, right? I’ll be way overdressed.”

“I don’t care.” My dad’s tone became clipped. “You are representing me, and the Foresters are here to potentially donate a lot of money. If they like what I’m about and they like the island, it could be tens of thousands of dollars for my campaign. So, yes, you can put on something nice for your date.”

“It’s not a date,” I seethed.

“She can search through my closet,” Angela said, striding in from the kitchen, her brown hair tied up in a high ponytail, looking impossibly beautiful in joggers and a fitted t-shirt.

Dad looked at me and nodded toward Angela. “See?”

My chest grew tight, and any coherent words seemed to vanish from my head. I knew he would win. He always won. I had already agreed to this date. Angela and I shuffled through her closet, but nothing would fit. She was at least a size smaller than me, and her boobs were a couple sizes larger. The bridesmaid’s dress was my best option.

I flung my closet open and pulled out the blue dress. The soft silk felt good on my skin, though I’d never admit that to my dad. I added a few more curls in my hair, taming the sun-ripened mane into something soft and presentable before applying some of Angela’s blush and mascara and walking back downstairs. My dad wore gray suit pants with a white shirt and tie and was leaving to meet Mr. Forester at the resort.

“Thank you. You look nice.” My heart stalled at his compliment while my body filled with reluctant warmth at his words.

But alas, he wasn’t finished.

“Ivy. I can’t have you screwing this up. You need to be nice and charming. No alcohol and no sleeping pills.” He opened the garage door, sending one more icy blast over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. “I can’t afford to lose another sponsor.”

The door slammed shut.

Another sponsor.

It was the way he would build me up only to slam me down. Casually throwing out knives instead of words, always insinuating that I was the problem. Never yelling or shouting. His words were quiet. Controlled. Matter of fact. It was soft how he bit and quiet how he shattered.

But he couldn’t break me anymore. I wasn’t going to let him. The second his golf cart was out of sight, I ran back upstairs and changed into my ratty shorts and old t-shirt that smelled like coconut sunscreen.

When I passed by the kitchen, Angela gave a quiet gasp as she took in my new outfit.

“I don’t think your dad will?—“

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