They don't play to win. They play to hurt.
Sterling Academy's irresistible reputation all came crashing down last year when a list of the 'top thirty girls too...' had been anonymously published.
Now recovering from the pits of hell the media dragge...
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WEDNESDAY.
HE SMELLS too much like cologne, he's trying to cover the smell of a woman's fragrance up. I know the look of guilt, I'm used to it. But, not even the most expensive cologne can cover up my father's sins.
"Papi, how was your flight?" I ask, fake excitement washing over my tone. I might be doing too much, but at least I'm doing something.
"It was good Nai, did you take care of your mom?" He asks, dark eyes trained on mine.
There it is, a familiar aching behind my heart, 'take care of her.' How about you do it? I'm not her husband, it's you. I didn't vow to love her for the rest of my life when I got up at the altar, you did.
I don't say any of this of course. Instead, I plaster on my best sweet smile across my face. It's so strained that from the reflection of one of the glass doors, I manage to make out the fact I'm showing way too much upper lip and not enough teeth.
"Of course," I answer, releasing a steady breath.
I can tell he's about to retreat by the way his eyes dance over the door behind me, but there's no other day I can ask him. There's no other day I know for sure he'll be here.
"Papi?" I perk up, "For school we have to do research papers on old cases that have already been investigated, and instead of searching online, I was thinking maybe I should get real documents. So I was wondering if tomorrow I could head down to the office and use one of the old cases? I promise I won't use people's real names."
His face twists and jagged lines of wrinkles appear at the base of his forehead. Dad doesn't have any grey hairs to accompany his ageing face, but if he did it would probably be from yelling at the TV while football played.
"I'm not sure Mija," He frowns. "The cases are pretty confidential, even the ones from a decade ago aren't to be publicised. I could get in real trouble," Dad pouts, but it's one of those that has power laced behind it. I know he can get me in, it's his firm after all, but he wants me to beg for it. He wants to know I still need him, even if I don't talk to him.
"But it's for a project," I plead, pulling the face dad always said made him drown. "And if I don't get a high score, Lora is probably going to beat me."
Lora is some daughter of some distant best friend and now turned enemy of my fathers. Money separated the two, when it was money that brought them together. How ironic, how greedy, how real.
"No one beats my daughter. Ever." Even in his sleep-deprived state, my father has fire in his eyes. Anger burns deep within, whether it be the truth that he doesn't want me beat or out of pure spite, I don't care enough to read between the lines.
"I know that's what I'm trying to say!" I whine.
"Alright I'll see what strings I can pull. Be ready in the morning, I'll take you to the firm with me.."
