Two weeks. Two long, miserable weeks of mind-numbing boredom and people testing my patience to the point of snapping, only to reel me back in at the last second.
The damp June air didn't help my mood, nor did Frankie's endless chatter about her fast-approaching birthday. Another week and Saturday would be here, bringing with it the grand spectacle the family insisted on throwing. Every so-called prestigious figure they knew would be in attendance, turning the estate into a carnival of wide smiles and backhanded compliments. Thrilling.
At the moment, I was relaxing on the outdoor cafeteria lunch table, not the chair, because the table felt like the only thing sturdy enough to support the weight of my growing irritation. Frankie had run off to grab lunch, leaving me to sit here and stew in my thoughts.
Blanche, of all people, was seated across from me, looking just as out of place as I felt. Frankie had somehow wormed her way into convincing her to join us, which was a miracle in itself. Normally, Blanche wouldn't have been caught dead sitting out here with anyone, let alone me.
As much as her presence irked me, I was too drained to care. My mood was already ruined, thanks to the delayed shipment of my products. Another week of waiting because of customs clearance nonsense. Of course, things just had to be difficult when I was already on edge.
I sighed for what felt like the fifteenth time, staring at the empty table in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie returning with a tray in her hands. Beside her was some guy—probably one of her male student friend—carrying another tray.
She set the tray in front of Blanche with a bright smile before taking the one from the boy, and he beamed at him, sounding syrupy sweet. "Thanks, David."
The boy smiled back sheepishly, retreating as quickly as he could.
It wasn't until Frankie flicked her fingers in front of my face that I realized I was grimacing. "Relax," she said, rolling her eyes. "The snacks brand today are recognizable, but I didn't know what you'd like, so I didn't get you anything."
I waved her off. "No worries. I'll get it myself."
Grabbing my phone and the sleek black cafeteria card from my bag, I slid off the table. The hierarchy of these lunch cards was admirable: black for the elite, white for the middle class, and a deep beige for the lower class. Classic Royal Beacon High.
I'd barely taken two steps when someone bumped into me, nearly spilling their smoothie all over my uniform.
Could this day get any worse?
The girl didn't even apologize, just muttered a half-hearted "Oops" before taking another sip of her drink. Her expression screamed anything but remorse.
She tilted her head, smirking. "Not the way I imagined meeting the founder of Aura herself, but hmm." First of all, as much as I like it, they all make Aura sound like a renowned, famous,. marvelous, top one brand, secondly, her gaze dragged over me, in a slow once over. "Facial card didn't decline, but the body isn't giving."
A hush fell over the cafeteria, all eyes turning to us.
I raised a brow, already teetering on the edge of snapping off whoever this was' head. Body isn't giving? Are you fucking kidding me?
She was definitely the kind of girl who considered having the ribs on display as the perfect body.
I am slender, fit, athletic, beautiful, perfect height. Hell! I have the body of the perfect Hollywood star if not barbie herself, but sure, let's hear the malnourished one tell us about perfect body.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" I asked, my voice dripping with disdain. I paused, holding up a hand. "Know what? Don't care. Just get the fuck out of my face."
Her smirk widened. "That's not the way one should treat a prestigious customer, Miss Torres." Her voice was sickly sweet, almost mocking.
I rubbed my temple, "Mondays never disappoint, I guess."
"Apologize," she demanded suddenly.
"What!?"
"You heard me." She tilted her phone toward me, the screen glowing as if to emphasize her point. "You know what people will say when Nancy leaves a bad review? Nancy always buys the best, so when Nancy leaves a bad review, things don't end well."
Okay, why the fuck was she speaking in third person's point of view?!
Oh. Wait! So this was Nancy. Like the fancy Nancy with the star boyfriend.
I turned, catching Frankie's meek nod out of the corner of my eye to confirm my suspicions. Great. The prime minister's daughter was finally making her grand entrance to me. Never really thought she was the Nancy.
"You think I'm joking?" She probed, suddenly sounding annoyed like I was slurping smoothie and dancing to flopped song. "What do you think people will say about you? About your business? I didn't even like the shoes anyway, faded after a week."
mm…
Her posse chuckled behind her, like she'd just delivered the punchline of a killer joke.
I stepped back, giving her a slow once-over too. "Are you sure you got the shoes from Aura? I'm pretty sure I don't see size 78 on our shelves."
I didn't wait for her response, just the dramatic gasps I've come to noticed every girl made like a dick was suddenly shoved up their ass. What fucked preppy school was I transferred to?
I mean, Bellaire still topped my list.
Anyway, my mood was officially ruined, and staying here wouldn't make things any better, so I turned to Frankie, ignoring the glaring and murmurs. "Sign me out of my classes. I'm off. Practice too."
Frankie nodded quickly, sensing I wasn't in the mood for conversation. "We'll push the vote to tomorrow. Bye!"
I didn't respond, striding past the gawking students, Nancy and her entourage included.
Body shaming me? Really?
If there was one thing I was confident about, it was my body. The nerve of that girl to try and drag me down with such a cheap shot.
SHE LOOKED FUCKING MALNOURISHED!
And she thought the body I worshipped every morning wasn't it?
Yes, fancy Nancy came back from her suspension earlier than the school intended, especially because of the vote and the cheer competition, but honestly she really didn't catch my eye the few times I saw her the past week, I'd seen her floating around the school, but I hadn't paid her much attention. She didn't match the image I had in my head of the prime minister's daughter. She wasn't polished or refined—she was too rough, loud, and obnoxious.
Vegas was turning out to be much weirder than Mexico.
Two to three weeks here and I was already over it. From being forced to "practice" with the cheer team to dealing with students who decided to try their bully card luck because they didn't believe I owned Aura, it was all ridiculous.
Aura wasn't even that big of a deal. Sure, it was a growing business, but it wasn't Chanel or Gucci or Dior. The bad awareness I'd been getting lately was ridiculous considering the fact that the state with the lowest buy count was Nevada.
Heavens. This city was exhausting.