Hate me

Aspen

A little over a week has passed since they found Candi’s body and apparently people are over it, because no one is talking about it anymore. 

She’s officially forgotten. 

I stab at my mac and cheese as the clatter in the lunchroom picks up. 

“Are you okay?” Brie asks, looking equally down. 

“I’m fine.” Stab. Stab. Stab. “Okay. Not really.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

Not really, but I find myself doing so anyway. 

“Where do I begin?” I start ticking things off with my fingers. “The fact that no one cares about the girl who was murdered? Or that I still haven’t heard back from any colleges…including Stanford, which I have my heart set on.” 

She winces, and it’s enough to let me know that she most likely heard back from tons of colleges already, and I’m screwed. 

I place my fork down since I’m probably starting to resemble a homicidal maniac and I don’t want to scare her. “I’m also supposed to put together a stupid prom committee and—” I stop talking and eye her hopefully. “Do you want to be on it?” 

She shakes her head profusely. “No, thanks.” 

Yeah, I didn’t think so, but still. Can’t blame a girl for trying. 

“I don’t want to be on it either. Hell, I’m not sure if I’m even going to prom.”

“Well, if you’re ru

Yeah…she’s right. 

Which means I have to get a dress and shoes. 

I place my palm to my forehead and groan when I realize. 

Brie’s eyes widen. “What?” 

“Nothing.” 

Except…I can’t even bring my boyfriend to prom because he’s forty-eight years old and married. 

“Ever wish you could press reset on your life and have a do-over?” 

She snorts. “I used to all the time.” 

The bell rings and she stands. “I gotta go. My next class is all the way on the other side of the building and I still have to stop at my locker.” 

I smile as she walks off. Brie’s been more talkative lately and coming out of her shell a little. If I had to guess why, I’d say it might have something to do with her boyfriend, Colton. 

At least it’s something positive. 

Well, aside from Whiskers. 

According to Knox, she’s overstaying her welcome, but I think he kind of enjoys having her around, too. 

The other day I noticed a small litter box next to her blanket and since I didn’t buy it for her, it must have been him. 

Grabbing my lunch tray so I can throw it in the trash, I get up from the table.

My next class is History, and it’s my favorite…mostly because I get to stare at Mr. Donati and his gorgeous blue eyes for forty whole minutes. 

I do a quick sweep of the classroom as I walk in. My stomach drops when I pass by Shadow’s desk and notice she’s still absent. 

The last time I saw her was when she was hysterically crying on my front lawn. 

I’ve tried bringing it up to Knox, but he said it wasn’t his responsibility to keep tabs on the bitches he screws. 

He’s a real class act. 

Shoulders sagging, I take a seat at my desk and whip out my history textbook. 

  I pull up the Uber app on my phone and tip the driver before I step out of the car. I normally try to save my money, but Knox came up to my locker after school ended and said he had something to do so he couldn’t give me a ride home today. 

Given he looked like he was in a rush, I didn’t press him about it. 

The house is quiet when I walk inside and place my knapsack down in the mudroom. 

“Trent, is that you?” my mother calls out from upstairs. 

“Nope. It’s me.” 

Your daughter who you couldn’t care less about if you tried. 

My eyes land on the half-empty bottle of wine on the island in the kitchen. 

Surprise, surprise. 

I bet if I turned myself into a bottle of merlot, she’d finally pay attention to me. 

Stuffing those feelings down, I pick up the pile of mail on the counter and shuffle through it. 

I freeze when I see one addressed to me. From Stanford. 

It’s thick. Thick is good, right?

My hands are shaking so badly, I almost drop the envelope on the floor as I open it. 

I close my eyes, silently praying to whatever God exists that I got in, because I’ve wanted this for so long. 

I feel like I’m going to faint the moment I see the words, congratulations and scholarship. 

I did it. 

I worked my ass off for years, trying to reach this one goal, and it finally happened. 

My heart squeezes. I miss my dad. 

Despite his mistakes, I know how much he wanted this for me, too. 

I wish he were here to share this moment with me. 

I sprint up the stairs and run into my mother’s bedroom. She’s lying on the bed with a glass of wine in her hand, her eyes looking bleary as she stares at the television. 

Hopefully, this news will snap her out of it because who wouldn’t be proud of their kid getting into a prestigious school?

“Mom.” I frantically wave the envelope in the air. “I got into Stanford!” 

“Okay.” She tips her glass, causing her wine to slosh over a little. “Shoot. I just washed these sheets. Trent’s go

“Mom,” I repeat, because it’s clear she didn’t hear me the first time. “I got into Stanford.” 

She blinks. “What’s Stanford? Is that a club or something?” 

“No. It’s a college. A fantastic college.” 

The college of my dreams. 

She nods, not looking at all impressed. “Well, congrats—wait a minute. What’s the catch? How much is this going to cost, because Trent—”

“Trent can go fuck himself because he doesn’t have to pay for a goddamn thing.” I slap my chest. “I got a scholarship.” 

I earned it on my own. Without anyone else’s help. 

And with the money I saved up from stripping, I’ll have enough to pay for books, clothes, food, and whatever else I’ll need. 

And if I keep dancing until the summer ends, I could earn enough that I won’t even have to work for the first couple of semesters. I can focus on studying full time. 

“Watch your mouth, Aspen.” She holds up her glass. “And get me another refill.” 

Disgust rolls through me as I stalk out of her room and back down the stairs. I honestly don’t even know why I bother anymore. It’s the same story with the same tragic ending. 

I only do it to myself. 

Fishing my phone out of my purse, I call someone who does give a shit. 

But Leo’s phone goes straight to voicemail. 

He once told me I could call his office if there was ever an emergency and I couldn’t reach him. 

Getting into Stanford seems like a pretty big deal to me. 

“Leo Knox’s office,” a chipper female voice answers. “This is Tiffany speaking. How may I help you?” 

I cradle the phone between my shoulder and cheek. “Hi, is Leo there? This is…” I stall because I didn’t think this part through. “Aspen…his niece.” 

Ugh. I hate myself. 

“Leo’s in an important meeting right now, but I’m his new assistant. Can I take a message?” 

New assistant, huh? That’s news to me. 

“Um, I guess just tell him I called.” 

“Sure thing, hon.” 

Sadness fills my chest as I hang up and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. 

I have the best news and no one to share it with. 

A smile touches my lips. On second thought, that’s not true.