Page 53 of Enemy Crush
I hadn’t had a chance to watch any of my tv shows, read a book, scroll through social media or call Dad. My bathroom didn’t have a bathtub so I used the main bathroom down the hallway, pouring in some scented bubbles, lighting the candle Mason had given me, setting up a speaker and music and a bath pillow. I intended to relax until the water went cold. There had been no time all week to tend to my sore muscles, aching from the non-stop work. The warm water and gentle jets were soothing and I laid back and checked my phone. Seemed I’d missed a lot. Celeste had posted a lot of dance trend videos and it was devastating to see I’d been replaced by Ashlyn, a girl Celeste had once deemed a try-hard. Well, Ashlyn was now well and truly part of the dance squad. One video had received thousands more views than usual and I read through the comments, though immediately wished I hadn’t.
Love the new lineup
Great addition
Love this so much
You guys are better than ever
The comments themselves weren’t horrible, but the replies were...devastatingly unkind.
Yeah, Ashlyn is a real improvement, Celeste had answered to one, andWe’re really rocking it nowandYep, better than before.To every comment, Celeste or Naomi, though not blatantly dissing me, managed to show their preference for Ashlyn.
I clicked onto our various group chats only to find there were no messages at all. Nothing to me, nothing between Celeste and Naomi. The unoriginally named CNQ had always been our major chat, but it was obvious the girls had created new chats. So without blocking me, they had theoretically locked me out of their conversations.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the pillow, air ceasing to flow through my lungs. Not meeting at the cafe had been unfortunate timing, or so I’d convinced myself, but it was now crystal clear that I’d been deliberately left out, was no longer in the loop, however you wanted to say it. It was an ache that reached my core, that sunk my spirits, that caused tears to flow.
There was little consolation in the messages received from Elise and Blanche. Elise wanted me to help with a survey and Blanche had texted again, reminding me to reply asap, but it was probably something about Art Club and would be too late now .
With my finger tips wrinkled and the water cooling, I got out, smelling sweet and florally, but switched up the scent for citrus and bleach. I scrubbed the tub, wiped the walls and mopped the floor, all the time fighting the tears. Cleaning demanded focus on the basic details, and I needed that distraction more than ever.
The next week I fully immersed myself in the harvest, working harder than ever, taking only short breaks to eat and drink and then carrying on. My stomach felt heavy, like it was filled with rocks. Knowing Celeste and Naomi had basically cut me from their lives was gut-wrenching and the need to keep the family secret and stay away from Miller was draining. As soon as Miller entered the lunch shed, I’d leave. I couldn’t have him asking questions. I’d repaid him the money, meaning I owed him nothing. My only salvation was the endless potatoes rolling past me on the conveyer belt. Many times I was offered other roles, helping with pipes or driving the truck, but I didn’t mind picking out the dirt clods, in fact I found it therapeutic.
When Shayla searched me out and asked me if I could do the Farmers Market again, I was about to say no. The chance of running into anyone from my old school was mortifying, but Shayla mentioned the possibility of staying on after her baby was born, and in my desperate position, I’d be a fool to turn it down.Plus, I’d actually enjoyed working the stand, almost like retail was in my blood.
The other factor to consider was working with Miller Trask. And not just because it would make keeping the secret more of a burden, but...I didn’t know how I felt about him. I was doing great in staying away from him, but Ididn’t likestaying away from him. Even though we barely spoke, in a bizarre way, I missed him.
“Is it okay if I check with my Mom first?” I asked Shayla. “It’s just I don’t have a car at the moment so she’d have to drop me into town.”
“Of course, by all means,” Shayla said, “and if transport is a problem, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Thanks, I’ll you know tomorrow?”
“Absolutely,” Shayla said.
With the harvest coming to an end, we worked our latest evening yet and though some kids had gone home at the dinner break, I volunteered to stay on. The more hours I worked, the more money I earned and it didn’t matter how tired I felt, I had to keep going. I’d learned that a couple of the boys, Kurt and Arlo, were on the basketball team and every morning they would go to the school gym and shoot a few hundred shots before we even left for the farm. To me, that had sounded crazy, but it left me awestruck.
Dirty, dusty, dead on my feet, I virtually collapsed into the van for the ride back to school. So tired, I slid into the first available seat, unaware that Miller was not yet in the van. Seconds later, he plonked himself on the seat next to me. I jolted from drowsiness to wide awake in an instant.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I answered back.
“Long day.”
“Yeah, long day,” I parroted, straightening myself and leaning slightly away from him. I hated to think what I looked like. I’d stopped wearing makeup after the first week, realizing that nobody cared if my eyelashes were long or my lips lined to perfection. Nobody cared if I had dry hands or broken fingernails or dirty clothes—which I did. This version of me was pauper, not prep school princess. And yet, I’d never felt more like me.
I’d discovered layers of myself that I hadn’t known existed. That I liked physical labor and hard work. I liked to be hands on, busy doing something, seeing immediate results, whether it be a spotless mirror, a freshly mown lawn, a painted backdrop or a bag full of potatoes.
I sensed Miller look over at me, even though my eyes were glued to my scuffed dirty sneakers. I became hyper aware that my breathing had become stilted, the act of getting oxygen into my lungs no longer natural but requiring effort.
“You doing all right?” Miller asked.
I glanced across at him, flashing a small smile and nodding, my voice coming out small, “Yeah, just tired.”
“Aren’t we all,” Miller said, stretching out his arms and clicking his knuckles.
I winced at the popping sound—and he noticed.
