Even The Weak Can Be Wicked (PLAYBOOK #2)

JESSICA I have a theory. Life is like cooking. Some people have a knack for it and they immediately know what to do the moment they enter the kitchen while others fail up. They could put the craziest things together and somehow it will still be delicious. My former roommates, Vecker and America are one of each. Odessa Vecker, is the flawlessly beautiful Russian composer with eyes bluer than a clear sky. She has more talent on her little finger than most people have in their entire bodies. I have known her since the first day of school and the girl can do no wrong, so she’s obviously the first type of person in the kitchen—the natural cook. She is kind, selfless and humble. She doesn’t know it yet but I was there the first time she met Liam Griffith—the delectably hot, campus playboy who turned her life upside down. I am not talking about their awkward first meeting at the greasy diner but the one where we were both too drunk to stand and this golden haired boy with a perfect smile came to the rescue. The night was blurry but I remember Liam locking us in his car and telling me to honk if anyone caused trouble. He didn’t even hesitate to help two strangers who desperately needed to drink water and take a nap. He was just as drunk but I will never forget the long pause that occurred when they stared into each other’s eyes that dizzy night. It was like when lovers from a former life finally found each other in the next one. He smiled, she blushed and the rest was history. I knew they were meant for each other even when they were both in denial or too drunk to see. After sobering up, we went back to the party and we never saw Liam again but when an opportunity presented itself, I made sure they met because I trusted in that look of fate. They might be apart now but I still do. America Viscount, is the gorgeous heiress with the heart of gold. She is a true empath, one that cares about nature and recycling and not causing harm to living things. She has a smile that can start world peace and has hope that knows no end. Whatever random things she put together somehow became the best memories. We got close after the first semester and I know became a better person because of her. She is true, free spirited and caring. She doesn’t know it yet but my biggest regret is hurting her. I have made a lot of mistakes in my life but losing her was my worst because she was the first person ever to give me that look of fate. It was like our friendship came from our former lives and we were meant to be platonic soulmates. I was closer to Odessa but I felt it in my bone, that America and I were written in the stars. We might be apart but I still believe it which is why I can’t explain with words, the regret I feel for sleeping with her boyfriend John B. I guess I should talk about me now but I should mention, I never cared to learn how to cook. I want to blame it on being British but Gordon Ramsey, immediately comes to mind. That is why being here, alone and in a kitchen that is currently up in flames is not a surprise. Sleeping with your best friend’s boyfriend will do that for a person and did I mention I cheated on my other best friend’s twin? Yes, Vecker’s twin brother and America’s boyfriend. I suck. I am aware of how much I suck and how I am a terrible slut that can’t keep it in her pants. There is nothing bad anyone can say, that I haven’t thought of. I want to blame the alcohol or the gross thing that led to me wanting to be that drunk. I want to blame John B who didn’t stop me or Vecker for not being home that day. I even want to blame my mother for dying. Or the culture shock from living in America but the truth is, I am the third type of person in the kitchen. The one that walks in and reaches for the bottle of wine while she orders food on their phone. The one that doesn’t bother to buy pots and pours her alcohol in mugs instead of glasses. That’s me, Jessica Beer. I wasn’t always like this—a hot mess, I mean. Junior year, everything was spotless in my dream kitchen that I shared with my two best friends. I had finally buried the stubborn stains of Jess-Ann Beerbottom and I could see my reflection on the marble counters. I had my dream body, dream life and everything was almost perfect. The stunning, kind boyfriend who was great in bed? I had him. Healthy, beautiful and fun friendships? I had them too. A roof over my head? I had it. School? I was killing it. But again, that was junior year. Now it is over and summer is about to begin but pay in mind, my kitchen is still up in flames. Only ashes are left at this point because I have nothing—absolutely nothing. Boys? I hope to never see one till I die. Friends? At least Vecker still talks to me. A place to stay? I am working on it. School? I am currently pending a disciplinary meeting because I refused to screw my sleazy Chemistry Labs professor. But that’s not the worst part. No, I am currently looking at the worst part and it is in my father’s eyes. He left Loren (my stepmother) back in Manchester which means he has no sounding board, no one to cool him off. The cherry on top is, I get my temper from him which means my burning kitchen is about to explode. Being in a public campus coffee shop won’t stop either of us, I just know it. “Who even are you?” My father can’t seem to see past the breast augmentation or rhinoplasty surgery. In his defense, I have changed both physically and character wise since he last saw me. Even though I stopped dying my hair, removed my nose ring and although I am wearing Jess-Ann’s white peasant blouse with khaki slacks and loafers, I look nothing like her. My intense exercise routine and tailored diet makes sure of that. My hair is flat and off my face and I have no makeup on but I am still Jessica. I look nothing like the girl he dropped off in Oakwood University, freshman year 3years ago—nothing like his precious Jess-Ann. The girl I used to and never want to be. “Dad,” I want to reach for him but my hands are trembling under the table. My amour is weak from facing Felix, Odessa and America. I sadly no longer possess Jessica’s stealth and tenacity which is a shame because it took a long time to build it up. “You dropped pre-med to do this?” He gestures at me with disgust, “I have been pouring thousands of dollars into an Ivy League school so you could do this?” His hand is trembling for a different reason. “Just let me explain,” I know he won’t understand but I still want to try. “Explain?” He scoffs in ridicule, “I left my pregnant wife because there is a high chance you are getting kicked out of school for cheating!” I flinch at the tone in his voice, even though he didn’t scream. “I told you, I didn’t cheat.” I got a perfect score and my professor doubted it because I have never done it before but, “I swear. I studied and earned that mark.” Dr Gerald is a sleaze. He literally threatened me because he made a move and I rejected him, my results were the perfect reason he needed to get me kicked out and tarnish my academic reputation but I won’t let him get away with it. Oakwood University, is all I have left. I sacrificed everything to be here and I won’t leave so easily. “How am I supposed to believe you?” The title of Dr. Harry Beerbottom is the only reason he is not causing a scene yet. “You have been lying to us for years.” “Dad—” distinct chatter stops all around. “Loren’s sister found your Instagram.” He leans in and whisper yells “the f*****g tattoos, the piercings and red hair? You used our money, my money to alter yourself!” “Dad—” eyes begin to turn to look at us. “Money I gave you to buy a car. Money you were supposed to use wisely but instead you—” He moves his hand over my body and shakes his head, “you are half your size. You speak weird and you dropped pre-med.” “Dad—” even the staff is coming from behind to see the show. “Where is my daughter?” He genuinely asks and it breaks my heart. “Who are you? What did you do with my baby girl?” “I’m sorry,” I wipe my nose because I am crying. Words can’t describe how sorry I am that I disappointed him but I was drowning in Manchester. I was an outcast, invisible and worst of all, I was very unhappy but he didn’t see that. He didn’t see me and the most horrible part is, he still doesn’t. Loren raised me since I was 3 but everything reminded me of a woman I didn’t know. A woman people kept telling me I looked nothing like because she was a beauty queen and I was the overweight, loser with a skin condition. I’m not kidding, the girls at my first high school made sure to remind me and when I finally changed schools (because of Loren), it was like I disappeared completely. Everyone ignored me and acted like I didn’t exist at the boarding school I changed to, which was somehow worse. Like I wasn’t even worth seeing. “Are you sorry enough to change back? If you are right, once they clear your name, you can change schools, come back home and do an extra 3years in Manchester studying pre-med at Oxford or Cambridge.” He pulls out his phone to type something, “you were smart enough to do a lot of STEM courses with your arts program but—” Did he say Arts program? I am a first class, drama major at one of the best schools in the country and he calls it an Arts program? “No.” I am barely audible. “Jess-Ann.” My father’s voice attacks mine and his eyes thin to form a dark look similar to a wolf’s. Dr Harry Beerbottom has left the building and my temper is rising from the ashes of my life like a phoenix. I might be sorry but I don’t regret anything I did, especially dropping pre-med. “It is not an Arts program,” I ball my fists and ignore the attention on us. “And I’m never going back to Manchester, let alone to do an extra 3years in university.” Is he crazy? Oxford or Cambridge? I am 21 and he wants me to start again and for what? So he can be happy? “I am meant to be an actor, I love theatre and performing. I like the way I look now and I love being in America,” things might have gone to s**t but “I love being in Oakwood.” I am clearer because I will be damned if he takes me back to that place. There is not enough money in the world to take me back there. “Enough,” his hazel eyes meet mine in a death stare I grew up avoiding. My father is kind but he is very strict, his death stare is equivalent to a disappointed look a parent gives a naughty child but it scared meek Jess-Ann not me. “I called you because I needed help from my father, not Dr—” “I said enough!” He slams his fist on the table and the chatter around us halts once more. “I have had enough of you. You have a choice JESS-ANN,” he emphasizes the name. “Either you get ready to transfer or you find someone to sponsor your final year.” “Dad—” my lips part in shock. “I’m done. The lies, switching majors, the frolicking in America alone. I pour thousands into a top Ivy League for you to study medicine, not to dance half naked on stage. It’s either you make a decision and come back home to do pre-med like we discussed and planned or stay here but without my money or support.” My breath hitches a “please” as tears prick my eyes. “You have to decide if you are my daughter or if you are Jessica Beer?” He opens his wallet and throws a couple of bills on the table. See, definitely the worst part. By time summer began, I was homeless, single, lost all my friends and now family, broke and cut off and under investigation for something I didn’t do. The worst part, the one that kept me awake at night was being alone through it all. Which is why I rather order my food, I am s**t cook and even worse at this life thing. That’s who Jessica Beer is.