Tasha looked at him, hearing something else behind the words.
Mrs. Sandra relaxed, seemingly satisfied. "I'm going shopping. Want to come along?"
"No, thanks. I'd rather stay in bed."
Mrs. Sandra nodded and walked away, her heels echoing down the hallway. She glanced at Tasha's pale face once before disappearing.
As soon as she was gone, Clinton leaned in.
"I enjoyed it," he murmured with a smirk.
Then he turned back into his room, door closing behind him.
Tasha closed her eyes.
What had she been expecting?
She hurried down the stairs and disappeared into the quiet of her room, the only place where she could finally let the tears fall.
***********
"Fine. I admit it. I'm jealous," Vivian confessed, her voice catching as she collapsed onto the bed. She threw an arm over her eyes, shielding herself from the weight of what she'd said. A long, bitter sigh escaped her.
Beside her, Anna sat cross-legged against the headboard, her notebook open on her lap. She twirled a pen absentmindedly, eyes skimming a textbook on the human brain. But even the clean logic of neuroscience couldn't explain the chaos boiling in Vivian's chest.
"It's just... unfair," Vivian muttered, her voice thick. "She has everything, the hair , curves, face, and now she's with him too. And now she has him, too."
The words scraped raw from her throat. Jealousy coiled in her, choking every rational thought. That girl, that girl she found so intimidating. And now she was living under the same roof as the boy Vivian had admired for years.
"I wish it were me instead," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
Anna didn't respond at first. When she did, her voice was edged with weariness.
"Seriously?"
Vivian didn't need to look to know Anna's shoulders had sagged.
"You're sitting here, drowning in jealousy, when you should be thinking about your life. You still don't have your job back, Viv. It's been a month. Mr. Bobby never called after that so-called two-week break. Shouldn't that worry you?"
Vivian said nothing.
Three weeks after her suspension, she finally dragged herself back to the bar, hoping to remind the owner of his promise. But Mr. Bobby wasn't there. She was. The red-haired girl, Clata. The one who always seemed two steps ahead, and now she was running the place.
Disgust bloomed in Vivian's gut. She didn't stay. Just turned on her heel, rage twisting her insides, and dialed Anna. Her voice trembled with venom when she said it aloud:
"They went public."
She could barely breathe through the betrayal. Mr. Bobby had known the tension between them. Still, he'd handed her the role Vivian had fought so hard to earn. He might as well have slammed the door in her face.
Now, three days into the fourth week, she was still searching. The job boards blurred into each other, hope thinning. She understood why Anna was worried. Her mother was drowning in the debts her late father left behind, and Vivian had become the reluctant pillar holding everything up.
Why couldn't she be like other girls her age, free, unburdened, unbroken?
But there was no freedom. Her father had gambled everything away: their house, their security, their peace. And then he died, leaving her and her mother to pay for his recklessness.
She watched her mother waste away under the weight of it all. Once elegant, now worn. Hands cracked from work, eyes shadowed from stress. No time for self-care. No softness left. Just survival, selling meat by the roadside, hoping each sale brought them one step closer to breathing room.
Vivian clenched her fists. Her father had ruined them. And yet, her mother still whispered through cracked lips, "Take care of yourself, sweetheart."
But how could she?
Vivian reached for her phone, scrolling with numb fingers, as though waiting for a message that might save her life.
"Maybe," she murmured, mostly to herself, "if I can pull one of them, I could clear the debts. Finally live like I belong there."
Anna let out a tired sigh. "And what if you don't pull anyone?"
Vivian smirked faintly. "Then I'll try again."
Anna frowned. "You wouldn't. Not with that hair."
Vivian's hand flew to her scalp, smoothing the strands just starting to grow back, thanks to the hair tonic her neighbor swore by. It wasn't much, but it was something. She'd damaged her hair after trying to copy a style on the internet.
A knock interrupted. Anna's mother peeked in, smiling gently.
"What are you two up to?" she asked. Her velvet scarf matched the loose woven blouse she wore, her usual nurse's uniform traded for something soft. After too many grueling shifts, she had finally taken a day off. But rest, it turned out, could be lonely.
"I'm heading out for a bit. Do you girls need anything?" Her eyes lingered on Vivian with the warmth of someone who had long accepted her as family.
Anna looked up from her notebook. "Didn't you take the day off to rest? Where are you going now?"
Before she could answer, Vivian perked up. "Strawberry ice cream and cheesecake, please!"
Anna's mother chuckled, amused.
"That's too much sugar," Anna muttered.
"Oh, cut it out," Vivian teased, giving her best pleading look. "Please, ma'am?"
"Of course, my dear," Anna's mother said, her voice warm. She glanced at her daughter, quiet, thoughtful, but Anna didn't argue. With a smile, the older woman disappeared.
The room fell quiet.
"I wish I could go to the party," Vivian said wistfully.
Anna didn't look up. "What party?"
"Harrison's. His birthday. It's all over the internet."
Vivian ran a brush through her hair, catching glimpses of herself in the mirror. "You have opened your phone today, right?"
Anna sighed, snapping her book shut with a little too much force. "No, Vivian, I haven't."
Vivian grinned over her shoulder. "You're so boring."
Still, Anna opened her phone and scrolled. There it was: the party. Photos, gossip, whispers. One photo caught her, five boys around a marble table, all sharp edges and casual arrogance. It looked like a scene from a movie.
"They look like they own the world," Anna muttered.