The uniform landed on the floor with a dramatic flop, and I swear my mother's glare got even harder—if her eyes could shoot lasers, I'd be ash by now. She stood there, seething, her hands trembling just enough for me to notice.
"What," she spat,"is that?" Never seen her so mad like this. I'd shit my pants when I was six if she explode like this.
I tilted my head, keeping my expression as neutral as I could muster, even though the irritation bubbling inside me was threatening to spill over. "What does it look like?" I asked, my voice deliberately calm. "It's my cheer uniform."
Her nostrils flared, and I watched as her chest rose and fell heavily. "Cheerleading," she said slowly, like the word itself disgusted her, "is for paupers. For people who have nothing going for them in life. And you," she jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in my direction, "are not one of those people."
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom."
"This isn't a joke, Elizabeth," she snapped, taking a step closer. "Do you know how hard your father and I work to give you everything? And this is what you choose to waste your time on? Jumping around in front of a crowd, pretending to be someone's mascot?"
"Are you serious right now?" I shot back, standing up from the bed, thanking the heavens the headache didn't hit me again or I'd me mad as hell. "Cheerleading isn't just 'jumping around,' okay? It's a sport—one that takes actual effort and skill. Not that you'd know anything about that, looking at your school records."
Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell I'd hit a nerve. "Don't talk to me like that," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I am trying to protect you. Cheerleading is a distraction. It's going to make your grades plummet, and then what? Do you think any of those Ivy League schools you're supposed to be aiming for will care that you were the best at waving pom-poms?"
"Oh, please," I scoffed, crossing my arms. "I'd make it with or without cheerleading, so stop whatever bullshit you want to pull and leave me the fuck alone!. You don't care what I want, you just want me to fit into whatever picture-perfect mold you have in your head! What is wrong with you?"
Her mouth tightened into a thin line, and I could see the anger simmering behind her eyes. "I am doing this for you, Elizabeth," she said through gritted teeth. "Everything I do is for you."
I rolled my eyes, the sarcasm dripping from my voice as I said, "Oh, yeah, you're such a saint. Thank you, Mother, for trying to ruin my life for me."
Her hand shot out, and for a second, I thought she might actually slap me. Instead, she pointed toward the uniform still lying on the floor. "You have a choice," she said, her tone icy. "It's either that ridiculous excuse for an outfit, or your new car. Cheerleading or the car. You can't have both."
I stared at her, disbelief flooding through me. "Are you seriously blackmailing me right now? Over cheerleading?"
"I'm giving you a chance to make the right decision," she said, her voice smug, like she thought she had me cornered.
I laughed bitterly, throwing my hands up in the air. "Unbelievable. You're unbelievable. You think you can control everything about my life, don't you? Well, guess what? I'm not your little puppet, and I'm done listening to you! Not like I was going to cheer anyway, but fuck you!"
Her face twisted in anger, but before she could say anything else, I pointed toward the door. "Get out," I said, my voice rising.
"Excuse me?" she said, she looked like she just heard me say I was fucking her husband.
"You heard me," I said, glaring at her. "Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Room."
For a moment, she just stood there, her eyes boring into mine like she was trying to intimidate me into backing down. But I didn't budge. "Get rid of the trash before you come downstairs. And I mean NOW!" Finally, with an angry huff, she turned on her heel and marched out, slamming the door behind her.
The room was silent for a long moment, and I just stood there, my chest heaving as I tried to calm myself down. My gaze drifted to the cheer uniform lying on the floor, and I walked over, picking it up and shaking off the imaginary dust.
"Ridiculous," I muttered, throwing it onto my chair. But deep down, I couldn't help but feel a spark of satisfaction. She looked so mad.
Without giving it much thought, I pressed the service button near the bed. Tiffany wasn't around—she was off handling that task I'd given her earlier—so whoever was next in line would have to deal with me.
Within moments, the door creaked open, and one of the younger maids stepped in, her posture straight, her hands clasped in front of her. She was new, I realized.
I didn't waste time. "Here," I said, tossing the uniform in her direction. It landed against her chest with a soft flop, and she scrambled to catch it before it fell to the floor.
"Take this," I continued,"Wash it, dry it, and make sure it looks perfect. Then give it to Frankie. Got it?"
Her eyes widened slightly as she nodded, clutching the uniform as though it was some sacred artifact. "Yes, Miss Blakely."
I raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if she'd scuttle out like she was supposed to. Instead, she hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers twitching nervously against the fabric.
"Is there a problem?" I asked sharply, narrowing my eyes.
"N-No, Miss," she stammered, bowing her head quickly. "I'll take care of it right away."
"Good," I said, waving her off with a flick of my hand. "And don't mess it up. Frankie might not care about details, but I do."