"How did you con
them into adopting you? Like, you're gonna be rich when they kick off. Both of them
are so old. You have got to tell me how you did it."
Why? So she could con
someone into adopting her?
"I didn't do anything.
I was only six when they adopted me." I barely managed to hold back "remember?"
because of course, the only time Sylvia paid attention to me back in school was
when I stood between her and what she wanted. "Right place, right time, right
people, I guess." I couldn't really say my parents were warm, loving people
who were looking to share their love. Sylvia would not understand at all.
"Some people get
all the luck." She straightened up and shook her head, with that calculated,
slow kind of movement that I swear she had to practice in the mirror. How else could
she get her curls to respond like that and lay just so on her shoulders? "You're
rich. Who would have thought it? I mean, you don't act it."
"What does acting
rich mean?"
"Well … not dressing
like that, for one thing." She fluttered her fingers at me.
Then she stopped, frowning.
My deceptively casual outfit was brand new. Mum and I spent half a day at Selfridges
with a personal shopper, putting together outfits. Mum liked casual, but she also
liked quality. She liked stuff that lasted. Yes, sometimes she wore jeans so heavily
studded with rhinestones that she almost couldn't lift her legs to walk, but she
also liked good quality, casual fashion. For the first time on the trip, I wasn't
wearing my usual comfy jeans with an overshirt and T-shirt.
"What's wrong with
my clothes?" I had to ask.
"Better get your
money back from that shopper chick who was helping you spend all Pop's money,"
Harry said, leaning into the doorway. He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out,
then straightened out his expression when Sylvia turned to look at him.
"You have a personal
shopper?" she drawled, her disbelief so thick in her voice, the pitch slid
up the scale about an octave. "What is your problem? Why are you acting like
you're a stupid poor hick all the time?"
"How should I act?
Like a spoiled brat arrogant snot who thinks she should run the world, and just
makes herself look like a brainless twit?"
"Like you?"
Harry added.
Sylvia let out a steam
whistle shriek and launched herself at me. How unfair was that? Harry said it. She
never would have realized I was talking about her until he said it.
No comments:
Post a Comment