Read Online Confessions of a Queen B* by Crista McHugh - Free Book Online
Authors: Crista McHugh
Ads: Link
closer, staring at it as though she expected it to turn into Chucky. “How did you get it to stop crying?”
“There’s a sensor in its mouth that recognizes the bottle.” I took it out to show, reviving the wails of displeasure from the doll. Peace returned as soon as I put the bottle back in the doll’s mouth. “I’m getting graded on how well I take care of a doll that’s meant to mimic a real baby.”
“Definitely realistic.” She returned to her iPad. “Is this the first day of the project?”
“It’s the third.” It didn’t surprise me one bit that she slept through the screaming on Tuesday night. I suspected she’d taken an Ambien that night. “Brett and I are switching off every night, though.”
“Who’s Brett?”
“My partner for the project.” No need to explain anything else, like the way I seemed to lose IQ points whenever I was around him.
“That’s nice of him to help out with the baby, unlike your father.”
I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue. I was used to the jabs she threw at Dad whenever she got a chance. What little I remembered of the divorce was messy. Mom had caught him fooling around with his graduate assistant. He claimed she’d driven him to it because she was too busy working all the time. In truth, I didn’t care. My parents were better off split than they were together.
Thankfully, the front door slammed before I had to listen to any more. Taylor stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “What are you doing home this early, Mom?”
She finally looked up from her iPad. “Geez, you make it sound like I’m never here.”
“You aren’t,” I replied and began the burping part of the doll’s cycle. Maybe Brett was right about this being a drill. It was almost becoming second nature now. Perhaps there was some minute shred of a maternal gene in me.
Taylor dumped her cheerleading bags on the floor and sat on the barstool next to me. “It’s just strange having you here at dinner time, that’s all.”
“Sounds like we’re overdue for a family dinner, then.” She handed Taylor the tablet. “Which salad do you want?”
“She always gets the Greek salad, dressing on the side, extra kalamata olives,” I answered. I’d ordered from this restaurant enough times to have it memorized.
Taylor nodded. “Yep, my usual.”
Mom looked at her as though she was a stranger before entering the order. A few clicks later, and she put the tablet down on the counter. “Time to get comfy.”
Once she left the kitchen, Taylor pounced on the iPad and started typing in a web address. “I don’t know what you did, but those videos are down. See?”
She held up the tablet so I could see the site, which said the videos had been removed by the user.
“Glad to know the secrets of your cleavage are safe—at least, until some guy tries to get to second base.”
She smacked me with the iPad. “You are so crude sometimes.”
“You’re the one insisting on wearing the inserts.”
She gave me an exaggerated huff. “And here I was, trying to thank you for getting them taken down.”
“Wait, what was that?” I held my hand up to my ear. “You’re thanking me?”
“Whatever. But for once, I’m glad the biggest bitch in Eastline is my sister.” A hint of sincerity laced her voice, and she gave me a hug.
My throat started to swell, blocking off any words that could ruin this rare display of affection from Taylor.
She rolled off the barstool. “I’m going to change and get started on my homework. Let me know when the food gets here.”
And just like that, I was back to being alone in our barely used kitchen.
Chapter 7
“One step forward, then two steps back. The school administration announced today that there would be zero tolerance for sexual harassment of any kind. Then they unveiled next year’s cheerleading uniform, which is an inch shorter than this year’s. Way to go, Eastline!”
The Eastline Spy
June, Sophomore Year
Friday morning was
“There’s a sensor in its mouth that recognizes the bottle.” I took it out to show, reviving the wails of displeasure from the doll. Peace returned as soon as I put the bottle back in the doll’s mouth. “I’m getting graded on how well I take care of a doll that’s meant to mimic a real baby.”
“Definitely realistic.” She returned to her iPad. “Is this the first day of the project?”
“It’s the third.” It didn’t surprise me one bit that she slept through the screaming on Tuesday night. I suspected she’d taken an Ambien that night. “Brett and I are switching off every night, though.”
“Who’s Brett?”
“My partner for the project.” No need to explain anything else, like the way I seemed to lose IQ points whenever I was around him.
“That’s nice of him to help out with the baby, unlike your father.”
I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue. I was used to the jabs she threw at Dad whenever she got a chance. What little I remembered of the divorce was messy. Mom had caught him fooling around with his graduate assistant. He claimed she’d driven him to it because she was too busy working all the time. In truth, I didn’t care. My parents were better off split than they were together.
Thankfully, the front door slammed before I had to listen to any more. Taylor stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “What are you doing home this early, Mom?”
She finally looked up from her iPad. “Geez, you make it sound like I’m never here.”
“You aren’t,” I replied and began the burping part of the doll’s cycle. Maybe Brett was right about this being a drill. It was almost becoming second nature now. Perhaps there was some minute shred of a maternal gene in me.
Taylor dumped her cheerleading bags on the floor and sat on the barstool next to me. “It’s just strange having you here at dinner time, that’s all.”
“Sounds like we’re overdue for a family dinner, then.” She handed Taylor the tablet. “Which salad do you want?”
“She always gets the Greek salad, dressing on the side, extra kalamata olives,” I answered. I’d ordered from this restaurant enough times to have it memorized.
Taylor nodded. “Yep, my usual.”
Mom looked at her as though she was a stranger before entering the order. A few clicks later, and she put the tablet down on the counter. “Time to get comfy.”
Once she left the kitchen, Taylor pounced on the iPad and started typing in a web address. “I don’t know what you did, but those videos are down. See?”
She held up the tablet so I could see the site, which said the videos had been removed by the user.
“Glad to know the secrets of your cleavage are safe—at least, until some guy tries to get to second base.”
She smacked me with the iPad. “You are so crude sometimes.”
“You’re the one insisting on wearing the inserts.”
She gave me an exaggerated huff. “And here I was, trying to thank you for getting them taken down.”
“Wait, what was that?” I held my hand up to my ear. “You’re thanking me?”
“Whatever. But for once, I’m glad the biggest bitch in Eastline is my sister.” A hint of sincerity laced her voice, and she gave me a hug.
My throat started to swell, blocking off any words that could ruin this rare display of affection from Taylor.
She rolled off the barstool. “I’m going to change and get started on my homework. Let me know when the food gets here.”
And just like that, I was back to being alone in our barely used kitchen.
Chapter 7
“One step forward, then two steps back. The school administration announced today that there would be zero tolerance for sexual harassment of any kind. Then they unveiled next year’s cheerleading uniform, which is an inch shorter than this year’s. Way to go, Eastline!”
The Eastline Spy
June, Sophomore Year
Friday morning was
Similar Books
