Daphne nearly chokes on her own ire.
She leans forward from her spot beside her brothers, fingers curling around the edge of the bench in front of her as if the wood itself might give her strength. Her lips form furious shapes. She mouths words that carry venom even though no sound comes out:
"Stand. Up. Now."
Her hand even makes the motion, flapping upward like she's some kind of royal issuing orders to a lowly servant. And that's the moment—the glorious, golden moment for Heidi to put Daphne in her place.
All morning, she has let the girl talk down at her. Let her make those sharp little comments, those cutting observations about how Heidi doesn't fit, doesn't belong, doesn't measure up to their world of glossy perfection. Daphne has been relentless, and Heidi, who is tired and overwhelmed has taken it.
But not this midnoon.
