chapter 12
802 Words
Chapter 12
The house was unusually quiet when Betty returned from school. Marlon had dropped them off, and Dean had waved goodbye, promising to text later. Tasha had begged her to come over and dissect every interaction, but Betty needed space. Silence. Breathing room.
She climbed the stairs, eager to hide in her room and shut the world out — or at least avoid the boy who had kissed her like she mattered and then treated her like she didn’t.
Her bedroom door creaked as she opened it.
Chris was inside.
Sitting at her window seat, knees drawn up, hoodie pulled low over his face like he belonged there.
Betty froze. “Seriously? Do you not knock? Or live in your own room?”
Chris didn’t look at her. “Window was open.”
She shut the door behind her, too tired to argue. “Well, close it on your way out.”
“I saw you with Dean.”
“Is that why you’re sulking in my room?”
He looked up then — sharp, unreadable. “I’m not sulking.”
“Sure. You just decided this was the best place to... what, spy on me?”
Chris stood. “You’re really falling for that guy?”
Betty crossed her arms. “What’s it to you?”
“He’s not into you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“He’s doing it to get under my skin. And it’s working.”
She stepped closer. “So you admit it. You are jealous.”
He scoffed, eyes flashing. “Don’t flatter yourself, Betty.”
She blinked, stung. “Then why are you even here?”
“I don’t know!” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to be the new one. The unwanted one. And maybe I thought you weren’t as naïve as you looked.”
“Oh,” she said coldly. “So I’m stupid now?”
Chris stepped closer. “You’re infuriating.”
“And you’re pathetic.”
Their eyes locked — electricity humming between them.
Chris looked down at her lips.
She stepped back.
He didn’t follow.
Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Whatever. Do what you want.”
He brushed past her and out the door.
Betty stood there, heart thudding. Angry. Confused. She hated him.
Didn’t she?
Betty stared at the message on her phone like it was a mistake.
Laura: Be ready in 20. We’re going shopping.
No explanation. No warm tone. Just a command, like always. Still, twenty minutes later, she was outside, waiting as a sleek black SUV pulled into the driveway.
Her mother sat in the backseat, sunglasses on, expression unreadable. The driver opened the door for Betty, and she climbed in without a word, her body tense beside the woman who’d once held her as a baby but now couldn’t even look at her for more than a few seconds.
The silence was thick. Laura finally spoke without turning her head. “You need proper clothes.”
Betty frowned. “For what? A new personality?”
“For someone living under this roof,” Laura replied, clipped. “You represent this family now.”
They arrived at a boutique that looked like it belonged in a fashion magazine. Inside, everything gleamed — polished marble floors, soft lighting, and clothes that looked like they were made for models, not girls trying to survive the leftovers of a broken life.
Laura spoke to the attendant while barely glancing at Betty. “She’ll need schoolwear, something decent for dinners. Keep the colors tasteful.”
Betty bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or ask her mother if she even remembered her birthday. But instead, she was swept into a dressing room, arms full of neatly folded clothes she never would’ve chosen.
She was pulling on a soft navy blazer when her mother stepped in.
“It fits,” Laura said, her tone empty.
Betty looked at her in the mirror. Not at the blazer. At her mother.
For a brief, fleeting moment, she saw something in Laura’s reflection — a flicker of tiredness, or maybe sadness. Betty’s throat tightened.
She didn’t want the blazer. Or the shoes. Or any of it.
She just wanted her mother to ask how school was. To laugh at something stupid she said. To hug her.
She wanted warmth.
And in that moment, she realized just how starved she was for it.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, voice low.
Laura met her eyes in the mirror, her expression unreadable. “No. But you’re here now.”
Betty looked away. Not because she was angry — but because if she didn’t, she might fall apart.
- Writer
