Page 41 of Filthy Rich

I throw a bag of gummy bears and a pint of ice cream in my bag and head for the front. Octavia’s trying to peek into my basket, probably trying to figure out what I might make with ice cream and Pasta Roni, but I’m going to keep her guessing.

“Just the twenty.” I point at the register four down from mine that’s lit up. “You go down there.”

She tries to steal one more look in my basket and then finally trots away. I don’t take the register in front of me—I swing farther right and check myself out. I always do better at self-checkout because no one’s staring me in the face, so I’m less likely to be recognized. When I go to pay, I actually have three dollars and eleven cents left, so I throw in a pack of gum and a pair of nail clippers to add volume.

We’re spotted on the way to the car, and we run again. When I grab her hand, she startles a little, but then she smiles.

People smile at me all day long. Sometimes they’re paid to. Sometimes they’re smiling with the adoring grin of a fangirl. So why does her smile make something inside my chest spin round and round? Is it because her eyes sparkle? Is it because her voice is so melodic I could listen to it forever? Or is it something else?

On the way back to my place, she tells me about the years of voice lessons it took to polish her abilities. I don’t bother telling her I spent just as long for a far less impressive product. While she’s talking about one of her voice coaches and his obsession with her keeping her shoulders squared up and back, she’s waving her arms and ranting. It’s one of the cutest, most dynamic things I’ve ever seen.

I’m really looking forward to her reaction when the Korean food shows up. I can hear her now, squawking about how unfair it is that I didn’t even bother making her something.

“Why aren’t you talking?” She frowns. “Did I say something stupid?”

My eyes widen. “Not at all. I’m enjoying listening to you.”

Uh-oh. Her frown grows. “I’m not a circus act, you know.”

I laugh. “You’d be a good one. You remind me of Seren—she’s the most dynamic speaker I’ve ever met.”

“I remind you of your mother?” She grimaces. “Dear Diary. First date went badly. I reminded him of his mother.”

I reach over and take her hand. “I don’t know. I think it’s going pretty well.”

She clams up like I stuck duct tape over her mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. I’m taking that as a win.

“Tell me about your family,” she finally says. “I really only know Bea.”

Shoot. My family’s a tricky topic. “Well, you know I have a dad,” I say. “He’s locked up, so that’s complicated. He was almost eligible for parole when some administrator discovered that he’d helped the prison warden siphon about eight million dollars during the past year, and then he refused to divulge where it was hidden, and he got more time added to his sentence.”

“Oh, no,” she says. “That’s terrible.”

“He’s only been caught twice in his life,” I say. “But I agree it was pretty bad timing for the second one to happen then.”

“Wait.” Her hand stiffens in mine. “Are you saying it’s terrible that he was caught or terrible that he stole that money?”

“Both?” I ask. “I mean, he raised me for the first ten years of my life, and if you’d asked me right after he went to prison and I was being honest, I’d have said the only bad part was that he got caught. But now?” I shrug. “I guess Dave and Seren have rubbed off on me.”

“I should hope so,” she says. But she doesn’t pull her hand out of mine. That’s something.

“I do think things are more complicated than a lot of people make them out to be. They’re more complicated than my dad led me to believe, too. My dad didn’t have an easy life, and people took advantage of him a lot. It was a natural next step for him to do the same to others. But now that I’ve met Dave and Seren, now that I know there are good people out there. . .” I shrug. “I guess I learned there’s another way.”

“A better way,” Octavia says.

She’s like them—the Fansees. She lives squarely in the white. Maybe that’s why I like being around her. For the same reason, things could get a little uncomfortable if she spends more time with me. Most of the Fansee family—foster or biological—doesn’t really get shades of grey. Bea does, thanks to her mom. I think that’s why she and I work and Emerson has never really liked me much.

I’ve killed the conversation with talk of my dad, I suppose. Luckily, my apartment’s close. That’s why I chose that Super Target. I pull into my normal space, and I wonder whether this car’s going to get ticketed. Exactly no one will believe it’s mine.

Right as I kill the engine, Octavia says, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I turn toward her. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t say it’s a better way when I don’t know all the details, but I would usually say?—”

I release her hand and then I cover it with mine and squeeze. “It’s fine. You’re right, of course. Stealing money from other people, no matter who they are or how unscrupulous they’ve been, isn’t as good as working hard to earn it yourself.”

“He’s still your dad though, so it’s complicated,” she says. “I get it.”

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