Page 18 of The Good Girl

Frowning so hard my forehead feels tight, I look between them. “What? When? Oww—”

“Third strike.” A sharp pain spreads down my arm, from where she's punched my shoulder, her knuckle catching on my nerves.

“Christ, Tabitha!” I stumble and lift my hand apologetically to the cashier, who looks over at us with a look of disapproval. Her stern face waivers when she notices the Silvercrest uniforms we’re wearing.

Attie pulls away her arm from mine, hand travelling down to my wrist. With a chuckle and a vice-like grip, she drags me towards the classics sections and begins searching for a book. “She’s right, it was your idea.”

I feel off kilter, like my brain is trying to reboot like an old PC. Why would I suggest tattoos? “When?”

As Attie crouches down to look at the bottom shelf, Tabitha looks at the next bookshelf over. Her mouth twists as she thinks about it. “Five years ago maybe, when we spent the holidays skiing in Aspen.”

I remember that one. My father had insisted we leave early so that he could send me to an intensive dance program. Apparently my form in ballet had been lacking, which meant I needed additional training from the retired prima ballerina he’d invited over from Russia. Mistress Ivanov had been ruthless, and just a little cruel as I’d spent the remainder of my holidays exhausted, stretched beyond anything I’d ever thought capable and practically living in the damn ice baths she’d insisted I take. I dreaded waking up every morning and knowing that no matter how hard I tried, I would still never be good enough. I swallow the memories bitterly. “You spent the holidays, I was only there for five days.”

“Two of which you spent with your nose in a book.” Tabitha reminds me. She didn’t realize I was hiding from them, the other Society children. I wanted to put a little space between us in a pathetic attempt to minimize the jealousy I’d feel when we had to leave. Because I always had to leave. My father didn’t want me to waste time with the other Legacies because he thought they would corrupt me and I’d be distracted.

“Re-reading Jayne Eyre again for the billionth time while you avoided Tristan.” Attie makes a triumphant sound as she finds the book she’s after and flicks through the pages.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I sigh. “I didn’t avoid him, and it wasn’t the billionth time.”

I was steering clear of him, because five years ago he still wanted to be my friend and I couldn’t handle that. There were so many strings attached, and the easy relationship we had, the simple childhood friendship was tainted. Looking at Tristan and knowing the power he would one day hold over my life made me feel sick to my core, and I couldn’t face him or the gentle way he would call me Lena.Now, I’m hardened to it,I tell myself, well…it didn’t affect me the same way it once did at least.

“You were avoiding him.” Handing me the book, I can see she’s opened it to the page that inspired my thoughts that day. “It’s also when you started talking about freedom, and life choices. Remember?”

My throat feels dry and it almost feels hard to swallow as I manage to chuckle, fighting back this strange emotion that I can feel creeping up my throat. “Yeah, my father wasn’t very impressed and my mother accused me of attempting to start a riot.”

Tabi snorts. “I think Aunt Addywantedyou to start a riot.”

Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one confined to this life. Tabitha and Attie may appear to love their golden lives, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t recognize the gilded bars for what they were any less than I did.

My phone vibrates in my blazer pocket, and I see my father’s ID flash as I open the message. “Under 500 calories from now on” with an image of me sitting on the grass under a tree in school with Serena. It’s from some silly gossip blog, that I’d never even heard of. The angle isn’t flattering, my shirt and posture giving my body rolls, making me look bigger than I actually was, and that wouldn’t fit with my father’s image.

It was the angle.

Not me.

There’s nothing wrong with my body,I tell myself.

I’m an athlete.

I work hard.

But that rational voice gets quieter the longer I look at the image, I hated that there were always eyes on me. I was careful, I never took risks, I behaved. I was a model daughter. So why did it always feel like I was a failure? It’s like there’s a pain in my chest, an ache that spreads as I’m frozen to the spot. Then suddenly, it’s not an ache…it’s a spark. It’s a simmering ember that makes me sling my arms around my cousins’ necks.

My mouth pulls into a grin and it’s almost like an out-of-body experience as I hear myself snarling, “I’m in. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Sixteen

Tristan

Itold Atlas that we’d hang out at the lake cabin on the weekend, but I head over there on my bike anyway since I don’t have any more classes this afternoon. Well…none that I want to attend. Lots of families had cabins down by Lake Windsor (Clay’s family may own the land), and The Council members were no different, but Tabitha’s was the one we all used, because her parents were not exactly the outdoorsy types. Preferring to spend their time jet setting or getting on their Yacht in Port Ellesmere, leaving us Legacies to party it up with the other rich kids from Silvercrest Academy. Tabi’s brother, Easton, used to throw legendary parties at the cabin before he’d gone to college, and now the baton had fallen to his sister.

Letting myself in with the key we all have, I’m not surprised to find Hunter sitting on one of the large red couches. Tabitha’s mother had chosen to go for a ‘traditional’ cabin vibe, with lots of wood, plaid, deer horns and furs. Downstairs was almost all completely open plan, with large windows that looked out over onto the lake and down to the dock. The bar was tucked away in the corner, and the kitchen had a huge breakfast bar we usually played beer pong on. Sofas were in the middle of the space, gathered around a stone hearth and a huge fireplace while a huge staircase led the way to seven bedrooms upstairs. Seven, it seemed, was a magic number in The Society.

“Wanna talk about it?” I say as I throw myself over the back of the nearest sofa and give him a serious look. I said I didn’t want to speculate or get involved, but I knew all too well how isolated our life made us. No one else could understand him like I, or one of the others could. That made it my duty to ask, even if I didn’t really want to.

“Not really.” He takes a swig of the bottle of Jack he’s nursing. He looks tired, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Hunter is the laissez-faire, fun-loving member of our little band of misfits, so it’s odd seeing him like this. Unsettling.

As the golden only child of his family, Elijah Kingston worried that his wife, Catrin, had been too soft on him. We were afforded our extravagant lifestyles because at the end of the day, we were still obedient to The Society when it mattered, but a spoiled Legacy was more likely to be unreliable. How do I know that? Because it’s something my father drilled into me extensively, and always laced with threats.

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