Page 49 of Disharmony

“He better be after all the money I’ve been paying him to coach you,” Rita grumbles. If this is how she treats her only daughter, I shudder to think how she treats her staff on location. “We have a lot at stake. Performing in the final show is your debut, but it’s not only about you. It’s about our family. We have a reputation, and I am relying on you to uphold it.”

With the final crushing blow, Rita turns her back on Tiffany and storms away. I stifle a laugh as her stilettos sink into the mud. Fame and fortune has many perks, but it can’t buy you a loving family.

My mom was the opposite of Rita. In grade school, bullies stuck gum in my hair. It was so bad that I had to shave my head, and I cried until my eyes were almost swollen shut. Mom sat me down and explained that they were only picking on me because I was special. She taught me to embrace my differences as I grew up. My dad and Brick didn’t understand my love of metal, but she pushed me to explore it.

Branches crack under my Vans, and Tiffany’s head spins around.

“Who’s there?” she calls out. There’s a hint of fear in her voice, afraid of someone discovering her world isn’t as perfect as she pretends. She sees me and wrinkles her nose. “Are you stalking me now?”

“I couldn’t help but hear what your mom said,” I say awkwardly. I don’t like her, but I can’t stay silent after watching her mom tear her down like that. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Tiffany mimics and laughs coldly. She flips her hair over her shoulder nonchalantly. “I’ve never been better. I have the solo in the final show, which is more than can be said for you. Lucy did a better job at rehearsals, and I’m hoping McCallister will finally see sense and drop you entirely.”

She marches off before I have a chance to reply. Hurt people hurt people. It’s a toxic cycle, and while it doesn’t make it okay, I have more pressing things to worry about.

My cell buzzes in my backpack. A confrontation with Tiffany didn’t dampen the glow of knowing a message from Ripper is waiting.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to swim?” Cookie asks as she tucks a towel under her arm. She’s wearing a sunflower patterned one-piece, with a golden kaftan over top. She looks at my denim shorts and black vest. “I can lend you a bikini.”

“I’m good,” I reply, shooting her a tight-lipped smile and hoping she won’t push me further. “Let’s go before I miss the best spot to watch the sunset.”

“Considering what happened with McCallister, you seem in a good mood,” Cookie says as we lock the cabin behind us. “It’s unprofessional to call you out like that.”

“Somehow, I don’t think being professional is top of his list,” I reply drily. “But, if it’s any consolation, he doesn’t seem to like Levi York either.”

“Interesting,” Cookie says. “What do you think of Levi?”

I shrug. “He’s quiet. The moody sulky type all girls think they can change.”

“Better that than being arrogant,” she points out. “Whenever I see Zach or Damon, they’re followed by an entourage. Damon acts like he’s too good to speak to anyone, and Zach tries too hard to be nice that it makes me nervous.”

I don’t mention my coaching session with Zach earlier in the day. The less people who know about my angry outburst the better. I change the subject. “Who is going to the beach tonight?”

“It was supposed to be a small gathering,” Cookie says, then rolls her eyes. “But the twins love any excuse to have a party, so most of the camp will be there. Those guys can’t keep anything low-key.”

It’s a hot day, the type of heat that makes it hard to breathe, so I’ll be happy when the sun sets.

“Great,” I reply, hoping Tiffany will be too busy perfecting her technique to show up.

Cookie tells me more about her plans for the final show as we head to the beach. When we arrive, the smoke from the fire and the pulsing music invite us to the water’s edge, where campers splash around under the waning sun. My ghostly pale skin makes me stick out like Casper among all the gorgeously tanned limbs. Am I the only person who turns into a lobster if I don’t layer SPF like I’m trying to drown in it?

“I’ll sit over there,” I say, stopping at a comfy-looking rock, away from the others. “I’ll join the party later. I just want to finish up something I’m working on.”

“All work and no play.” She nudges me playfully, then waves at the twins who have spotted us from the water and are taking turns trying to drown each other. “Take a break at some point, yeah?”

“I will,” I promise.

The other non-swimmers are split into smaller cliques across the sand. Their turned backs and sideways glares make me feel as welcome as an off-tune guitar. Tiffany’s opinion has made me a social pariah in the Camp Harmony hierarchy, and no one wants to be guilty by association.

Screw them. Why would I want to hang out with a bunch of kiss asses, anyway?

Working on my lyrics isn’t so bad, especially when Ripper could give a second opinion.

Me: Maybe I can share some of my work with you…

He responds instantly.

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