Page 23 of The Pawn

Someone took my things.

Chapter 12

It isn't hard to figure out the culprits. The redhead and the dark-haired girl from the sitting area are leaning up against the wall of vanities, smirks playing on their faces, joined by the girl who was painting their nails. Something about the third girl is familiar; I feel like I've seen her somewhere while I was doing my research.

"So." I eye the three of them, suddenly aware of the fact that the bathroom is empty now; the makeup and hair dryer girls are gone, including Holly. "I guess you three must have taken my clothes. How original of you to copy something straight out of a made-for-TV movie from the nineties."

"We wouldn't know," says the dark-haired girl, holding her fingers out delicately to let her nail polish dry. "None of us have ever watch that shit on a... what's it called? Tape player?"

"VHS tape," chimes in the redhead.

"Thanks Georgia. You're a peach."

"Welcome Veronica."

The gears turn in my head. I may not know these girls yet, but soon I will—and I'll know their secrets too.

"So, what did you do with my clothes?" I peer around them towards the sinks, then stalk to the toilet stalls and push the doors open. "Stuff them down a toilet and flush? Because that's bad for these old pipes, you know."

Nail polish girl rolls her eyes, stark freckles standing out on her tanned skin, her features a unique mix, from the Roman nose to the monolid eyes and straight black hair. "People likeusdon't worry about things likepipes.It's not like we're plumbers."

"Is that what you are?" asks Veronica, a condescendingly pitying tone in her voice. "A teenage plumber putting her hand in shit?"

I don't bother to tell her that's not how it works. No doubt she'd just make fun of me for knowing.

"You know, if you were thinking of pranks to pull, you could've been a little more original." Pacing around the bathroom, I find my clothes in the top of the trash. There are three sets of eyes on me; shame courses across my skin. "At least the girls who bullied Martha Hayes got her killed in a fire.That'snever been done before. Live up to the example your foremothers set and brainstorm a little before you pull this shit."

I'm going to have to do it, I realize. The clothes I can live without—it looks like they cut holes in them anyway. But my cell phone is irreplaceable, at least on my budget, especially with the money from working on the Rosalinds not coming in for quite a while. Not to mention it has a wallet case that I slipped my ID inside, and I won't be able to eat without that ID, much less get into my dorm. The fee to replace it is also out of my reach.

So I lean forward, hold my breath, and fish my cell phone out of the back pocket of my shorts.

Ignoring the hoots of laughter behind me as the girls watch me rummage around in the trash.

Georgia says, through tears, "For something 'unoriginal' that sure was fun to watch. I didn't think she'd actually do it, but you were right Veronica! Trailer trashdoesknow where it belongs."

Jerking up, I glare at all of them, even as my bluetooth earbuds reconnect to the phone and start playing music in my ears. This time it's a Red Velvet song, so poppy and upbeat I have to pause it, because it doesn't fit the fiery rage I feel inside.

"I guess the only thing you guys fight with is classism and ignorance." I stare them straight on, smirking as my mind places the third girl, and I remember where I saw the redhead. "You're Heather Tan, right? Of the Hong Kong Tans. I guess it makes sense you'd have to make fun of me, since you're a lonely little girl whose father doesn't love you enough to want to even be in the same country as you."

The other girls gasp, and Heather clenches her fists, staring me down. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" I cock my head at her. "I guess we'll find out on Parents' Weekend next semester. Say what you will about where I grew up, but at least my daddy loves me." A twist on the truth—my dad only ever showed his "love" by not hitting me the way he hit my brother—but these girls don't need to know that. "Of course an ignorant girl like you would assume every southerner grew up in a trailer park. You probably haven't ever stepped outside a boarding school."

"And?" She tilts her chin up, a smirk on her face. "So what?"

"So," I tell her, enunciating every syllable, "don't you think it's a bad sign? After all, your father owns property from here to Shanghai, but he's never taken you on a tour ofanyof his buildings. Unlike your younger brother Phillip, who's posed to get everything and then some."

I shake my head in her direction, putting on a faux pitying voice. "Too bad you're such a dumbass. You'll need to get a good degree from a good college if you want to survive out there in the real world. But your daddy doesn't love you enough to evenpretendlike he wants to groom you for the family business."

"How dare you!"

She lunges towards me and puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing so hard I go flying into the stall at my back. I barely manage to brace myself enough to keep from falling into the toilet, one hand grabbing the stall door, the other jerking the towel up while keeping a precarious hold on my phone.

My ankle smarts almost instantly, but it's all worth it for the look in her eyes.

Nothing kills a mean girl's spirit like the truth. And if there's one thing rich, spoiled girls don't have, it's love from their distant parents. My mom would welcome me home with open arms, even if it meant sleeping on the couch of her tiny new apartment and giving me her bed. I doubt their parents would say the same, and they have guest rooms to spare.

"Now now, Heather." The redhead steps forward and tugs her friend back, a sharp expression on her face. "We know better than to act like that. And of course, as a Rosalind, I can't let you start a fist fight. Though I'll look over youaccidentally stumblinginto the new girl, since that's clearly what it is."

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