Page 15 of Ice Princess

And later found out that Buddy had stolen the money from his mother in order to pay for his wasted grand gesture.

Rather than blame her son, the little thief, Marjorie put the blame on me.

In a way, I understand her. Right or wrong, in this town—it’s family over everything.

That’s partly why the Lady Luck Society—once a well-intentioned community service club—turned into a wealth-flaunting, ego-stroking, status symbol for the powerful families in Lucky Falls.

Carol tilts her chin up. “Rebel, why don’t you stop the antics and tell us what you want?” ‘So you can leave’ is the silent but very obvious end to that statement.

I lean forward. “Did you hear that the community wellness building on the southside of town had a broken pipe since last Tuesday? The kids have been doing after school programs next to moldy walls and buckets of water.”

Carol frowns.

“What about the park where little Shelly Jenkins had to get a tetanus shot after scraping her elbow on that broken swing? Oh, and the road to the farms out west is full of pot holes so deep, falling into one takes you on a journey to the center of the earth.”

Gunner makes a choked sound that resembles laughter, but when I look over, his eyes are as bored as always.

Marjorie stares pointedly at me. “The riff-raff on that side of town have no idea how to take care of anything. It’d be a waste to spend any more time or money on the southside community buildings. You should know since you’re?—”

Carol lifts a hand.

Marjorie bites back her words.

“Since I’m what?” I tilt my head and say what they’re all thinking. “From the trailer park?”

The Davis sisters twitter.

Marjorie pulls her lips into her mouth in glee.

Carol clears her throat. “Rebel, you’re mistaken. The Lady Luck Society is not responsible for the projects you mentioned. Maybe take it up with the city council.We,” she makes a circle that includes the Ladies but does not include me, “are not the ones you need to speak to.”

I look at all the chilly faces around the table. No one cares. They really, genuinely, don’t give a hoot.

Carol Kinsey leans forward, her short, black hair swooping in front of her eyes. “How about this? I’ll pass along a message to my brother that you have some concerns and you two can talk about the changes you’d like to make inyourcommunity.”

I stiffen.

There it is.

Us vs. them.

The trailer park residents, the blue-collar workers, the poor, struggling farmers who don’t have half the legacy or financial power that the Kinseys do—we’re not acknowledged as a part of this town.

I’ve seen it all my life. Felt it more keenly than most.

But it’s never been more obvious than now.

My fingers curl into fists beneath the table.

I had no intentions of stepping into this perfume-spritzed pile of dog doo-doo today. My original plan was to keep my head down and work independently as I’ve always done.

But after hearing Carol’s high and mighty recount of the Lady Luck Society’s history, righteous indignation burned inside me.

I couldn’t stay still.

It was impossible.

And now, I’m getting the urge to do something foolish.

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