Page 45 of Selling Innocence
“Oh yeah? I guess it is about time for that. I haven’t eaten all day! There I go, forgetting to eat.” The woman narrowed her eyes toward Kenz. “That’s probably not something she deals with, is it?”
Ouch. Sometimes the viciousness of women astounded me. Men, we tended to use our fists to deal with things. When pissed, we either ignored it, settled it with a good fight, or threw a few vulgar insults then moved on. Women, though, they could identify the exact thing that would wound someone the worst. They spotted that weak point and attacked it with amazing precision.
Even if untrue—and it sure as fuck was untrue to imply Kenz had any issue with weight—those sorts of ugly words stuck.
And the other part? The incredibly obvious fishing for an invite from this woman might as well have been a huge flashing sign above her head—notice me!
However, I saw no way the woman might prove useful and no desire to waste time playing a part around useless people. “Well, maybe next time we’ll all go together! I’d invite you, but we made reservations at a busy place and it’s too soon to add another.”
The woman stuck her lips out in a pout that made her look like a toddler puckering up for a kiss. “Here, at least take my contact information. Kenz there can survive on her own for a little while—she’s used to it.” She jotted down a string of numbers on a piece of paper she tore from her sketchbook and pushed it across the table to me.
“Sure.” I tucked the scrap into my pocket.
“Well, that’s it for today,” the professor at the front of the room said. “Your end-of-year exhibits are coming up. I know it seems like it’s a long time from now, but it sneaks up fast. Don’t procrastinate, because rushing is the death of art. If you have any questions, please reach out to any of your professors. We’re here to help, after all, and that exhibit will determine your placement next year—and whether you have a place or future at this school. Now, have a good weekend.” He offered the last part with a smile, as though to erase the sting of the rest of it.
Then again, this was one of the workshop classes Kenz had, where each student worked on whatever they wanted to, giving them time to apply their skills rather than listen to a lecture.
And Kenz had spent the entire time staring at an empty piece of paper.
What was her problem? Just stress? Or maybe she was the spoiled rich girl I thought, and she knew she could buy her spot next year no matter if she worked hard or not.
Kenz packed her things, so I did the same, tucking my tablet into my messenger bag. It was easier to fake it on a tablet, which meant I could play the part of art student by having pre-made pieces already saved there. I didn’t look much like a bodyguard, so being her friend was a far easier tactic.
On our way out, a number of students stopped me. They all offered me that same charming smile, the one I hated.
It was fake, just a mirror of my own false smile. They liked me because I knew how to play them, how to get the reaction I wanted. Life was easiest for charming people, so I’d learned easily how to play that part. It opened every door that I needed.
People talked when they liked someone, and I was an expert at getting people to both like me and to talk.
And each time someone stopped me, Kenz paused and stood by my side, silent but not rushing me, either.
It also reminded me that despite so many people knowing her, she rarely interacted much with them.
“You look good today, Char,” a girl said as she got off the elevator just before we got on.
A quick glance gave me the rundown. Holland Kissley, twenty-five, got in on a scholarship, hard worker but parties too much because she struggles to say no to her old friends. Her facts rested on an index card in my head, the same as all the others, just bits of information filed away for future use when I needed them.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “Is that a new skirt? You wear it well.” I dragged my gaze over her, pretending to be smitten.
Yet I didn’t feel a thing. I never did.
The doors slid shut, closing Kenz and me in alone. I let the smile fall away, noting the ache in my cheeks, the throbbing of my head from playing the part for so many hours.
“Are you going to eat at that disgusting place around the corner again?” I shuddered as I recalled the cheap hole-in-the-wall diner she adored, that she dragged me to most days.
Kenz turned to look at me, a line between her eyebrows. “Why do you hate me?”
Her words took me by surprise, the last things I expected her to say. “I don’t hate you.”
“Right.” She turned her gaze from mine again, staring instead at the corner of the elevator.
I should let this go. I knew nothing good would come from this conversation. Let her think I hated her if she wanted—what did it matter to me? The last thing I needed was for her to know more about me, for me to admit to anything that might give her a weapon to use against me.
Despite warning myself, though, my stupid mouth opened and asked, “Why do you think I hate you?”
“You always smile when you talk to other girls—no, to anyone. You’re nice and you’re kind and you’re sweet. Then, as soon as you’re alone with me, you change.”
“And?”