Page 80 of Disorder (Elite of Elmwood 2)

Blinking innocently, I replied, “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with it.”

“Maybe not directly, but your boys did,” he snapped.

Angie jumped in before things got ugly, steering the conversation back to a more pleasant topic. “We’re so proud of how Carter is playing this season.” Funny, since she had never been to a game, probably because Carter didn’t want her there. “He will be scouted in no time.” She lifted her glass in salute and helped herself to half its contents.

“We’re proud of him too.” Ava turned her shark smile on to me, and it seemed to broaden just a little. “Everybody at school is rooting for Carter to go pro. Right, Josie?”

I wondered if I could throw my knife hard enough that it would lodge between her eyes. Or maybe in her chest, that might be easier. Though the thought of Ava with a beautifully carved knife handle protruding out from between her eyes made me smile back at her, at least. “Oh, sure. He’s Mr. Popularity.”

Steven topped up Angie’s and his glasses with white wine. “Carter has nothing to worry about. He’s already received several promising offers from schools.”

This was the first I’d heard about them. Then again, I’d been absent for the last few weeks. A lot happened while I was away, except… I didn’t give two shits about any of it—any of them.

“Congratulations.” Ava beamed.

“Have you decided where you will be attending college?” Angie asked Ava.

The two of them launched into a discussion about her top two favorite schools and how she’d already applied. I played with my salad, pushing the cherry tomatoes off to the side.

“What about you, Josie? Have you thought about where you will be applying?” Ava asked smugly.

My head snapped up at the sound of my name. I more or less had checked out of the conversation, but Angie was all too eager to respond for me. “Josephine is going to Hamilton University, isn’t that right, honey? She’s been talking about Hamilton since she was five.”

“That’s the plan,” I said, slapping a forced grin on my face.

Salad plates were cleared away as the staff brought in the main course. “Didn’t you and Ava get into a fight a few weeks ago?” Steven asked. “The same week Carter got detention, wasn’t it?” He looked to Angie for confirmation, as if it just occurred to him. Why would he bring that up?

Ava opened her mouth, but I answered before she had the time to say a word. “It was a misunderstanding. Girl stuff.” I speared a stalk of asparagus and bit off the tip while looking at my stepbrother, who rolled his eyes.

Rage flashed behind her eyes, and she lifted a hand to touch her injured cheek, but she recovered quickly. It made me wonder what she had said to the police. If she denied being a part of the attack.

Angie delicately cut into a piece of chicken. “It’s no secret Josie is having a hard time making friends, which is why I’m so glad to have you over for dinner.”

“Mom!” I gasped, reverting to old habits. I couldn’t keep up the farce. Not with Ava. Not with Angie. Not with Carter. Fuck this. Why was I pretending to like this girl? We were enemies, and I no longer would play her games. “Ava and I are not friends. We’ll never be friends.”

Silence fell upon the table, silverware suspended midway to a mouth or a plate, but I didn’t give two shits. Screw decorum.

I didn’t have any.

Ava dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

I stabbed a potato aggressively with my fork. “I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s start with fuck off.”

“Josephine,” Angie hissed. “I will not allow you to speak to our guest so.”

Carter threw his head back and laughed.

I ignored my mother and the deep scowls from Steven, who seemed to be struggling to keep up with my sudden change in attitude. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.” I pointed my fork at her, spattering sauce all over the pristine white tablecloth.

Ava’s eyes brightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” I retorted shortly. “You’re not a dumb blonde, Ava. You’re a cunning redhead.”

She angled her head to the side, regarding me with a tight smile. “What does that make you? A dark-haired witch?”

Finally. The bitch emerged. “Yes. You’re going to wish you never met me,” I said bluntly, meaning every word of the threat.

Angie stood from the table, tossing her napkin onto her barely touched plate. “Josephine, I think it is time you went to your room.”

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