She still remained on her chair.

I tilted my chin up. "Do you know what's happened to my life?"

She made a disgusted sound and hissed at the same time. "Are we back to this? You knew my marriage wasn't working out. You should be happy for me, Samantha."

"Happy?" My voice cooled. "It happened a week ago."

"Would you rather I were in an unhappy marriage?"

"How could I tell? You were fake all the time."

Her eyes threatened to bulge out and she sucked in a dramatic breath. When she talked, it was forcibly controlled, "What are you talking about?"

"You're the fakest person I know. Why are you really pissed off? Is it because I missed your precious family dinner?"

"I'm fake?" She started to stand up.

My eyes went flat. "So much that I can't stand being fake. I'm real all the time, mom. Congratulations. I have no friends because of it."

"I'm fake?"

"This is news to you?" I laughed as she drew closer.

There was a stillness to my mother. Her anger was so vivid, but I was past caring. My body ached. My hands hurt. And I was tired, so tired of everything.

She stopped in front of me.

I met her gaze and my hands formed into fists. "What do you want? Tell me what you want me to say so I can go to sleep."

Her voice grew soft. "You missed dinner tonight."

"We're back to this?" I mocked her. "Your precious dinner?"

"It was an important dinner."

"I highly doubt it." I started to leave, but she caught my arm.

She hissed, "I am talking to you."

"Not anymore. I'm moving out as soon as I'm eighteen. That's all you need to hear from me."

"What?" she gasped.

"Reality check, mom. This is your life. This is your boyfriend. I don't want any part of it. I want to be home with dad again. I want to move in with him."

"You. Will. Not. Live. With. Him." She had to take breaths to calm down. Her arms started to tremble, her chin was rattled. Her eyes clung to mine in a beseeching manner, torn between pleading and commanding.

"Why not?" I tested her. "He is my father, right?"

Her mouth shut in a firm line.

"Doesn't he have some right to see me? Don't I have a right to see him? Why is it always your way? You didn't give me any choice. You said we're moving and we did, just like that. We moved because you said so. Well I don't want to be here. I don't want to be a part of your boyfriend's family. This is your thing, not mine."

"You are my daughter."

"Am I? Are you sure? How many nights have we eaten together since the move?"

"I wanted—"

"It would've been once, tonight. And that's because it's what you wanted, not me. You've stopped being my mom the second we moved in here. The only role you fulfill is his girlfriend as the wannabe wife of James Kade."

Analise went white around her mouth. Her arms jerked up in balls, but she forced them back down. Her arms shook and her hands started to tremble. She choked out, "You will respect me—"

"Where's my respect? As your daughter, don't I get respect?"

"I am your mother—"

"I wish you weren't—"

She slapped me. The force of her palm pushed me back a few steps and I cradled my cheek as I whirled back to her. She stood there, ashen in the face and with her hand still in the air. The palm was spread out and she looked from her hand to me in disbelief.

The pain was numbing. And a part of me wanted more, but I said, "If you slap me again, I'll hit you back."

"Samantha…" She darted towards me.

I jerked away and retreated to a far wall.

"I…" Her eyes kept spinning around the room, from me to her, to her hand, and back to her feet. "I…" Then her face cleared and she looked back up. She spoke in a calmed voice, too calm. "The dinner tonight was important to me."

I narrowed my eyes.

She swallowed and hung her head again. "I wanted you there."

"You want to know where I was?" I didn't wait for her answer. "Running. I've gone running almost every day since we got here. I run until my body can't take anymore and then I go to sleep and I get up, go to school, and I can't wait until I can do it all again. I don't want to feel anything, mom, because sooner or later, we're going to be out of here. Have you thought about that? What happens when he breaks up with you?"

"We're getting married."

I hesitated for a beat. "And I repeat, what happens when he breaks up with you?"

"Didn't you hear me? James proposed to me. We announced it tonight at dinner."

"Oh," I bit out. "Well, then I'm so sorry your daughter wasn't there to represent your side of the family. He had his two sons, right? Their friend too?"

Her eyes narrowed again and she was still, so still.

I laughed, mocking. "And you looked at your side of the table and there was my empty chair. You were humiliated, weren't you?"

"Yes." Her teeth were gritted together.

"I'm humiliated every day we're here. I'm humiliated you left dad for this—"

"You will watch your words."

"I won't. Why should I? You don't watch yours." I pressed a fist into the side of my face. My hand had grown numb and I laughed. It rumbled from the bottom of my stomach and gurgled out. The sound sent chills down my own spine. "I love you. I'm divorcing you." A pause. I glanced up and held her eyes. "Your father loves you."

Her eyes went wide and she paled again. This time she was as white as a sheet.

I let out a deep breath, one to calm me, but the storm started to take over. "Your father will always love you. I'll always love you. I'll protect you. I'll put you first in my life." My mouth twisted into an ugly smile. "It was all lies, wasn't it, Analise?"

"You know," she breathed out. She looked horrified.

"Why are you marrying him? You just want to find a new daddy for me? David couldn't keep lying to me anymore?"

"That wasn't….this isn't…Oh, Samantha…" A sob came from her.

"Stop it," I snapped out.

Her mouth clenched shut and she watched me. A tear came to her eye.

"You don't get to feel bad for yourself." My whole body started to shake. "I wish I'd never been born from yo—"

She swung her hand wide and it smacked against my cheek. This time it hit across my nose and as my head was thrown to the side, I tasted blood. I glanced up, felt my insides churning, and fisted my hand. I threw my whole body behind.

I watched her in slow motion. She looked from my face to my hand and her mouth formed a small o. Her eyes widened, but then something caught me. I was hauled backwards in the air and against something. I tried kicking free, but an arm held on tight around my waist.

"Samantha!"

"Let me go." I kept kicking, until I heard laughter from behind.

"You could help," a male voice reverberated from behind my ear.

"I think you got it under control."

I was swung around and I saw Logan, James, and the friend in the doorway. Logan wiped a hand over his face as he continued to laugh. The friend was fighting back a smile and James gave me an emotionless expression.

I doubled my struggle.

Mason's arms tightened around me.

"Let me go. I won't hit her."

He grunted and dropped me.

I swung around and he watched me with caution.

Then I swiveled on my heel and went to bed. Not a word was spoken behind me and when I left the next day, Mousteff gave me a sheepish smile as he handed out his brown bag. I took it as I passed and met my da—David a block away. He was quiet when I got in the car, but I felt his attention. His eyes raked over my face, but he didn't say a word. I breathed out in thanks when we pulled into the parking lot. I hurried from the car before he got out of his side and I was in the school early enough so no one was in the hallways.

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion.

Jessica and Lydia kept their distance. Jill Flatten sneered as she passed by once. Her arm was curled around Jeff's. He avoided my gaze and stared straight ahead. Then there was Becky. She gushed about the Kade brothers and how they had talked to her. She asked once about my hands and I lifted them. It was funny. I'd forgotten about their pain until she asked, but then she started to gush about Adam Quinn in the next breath.

Apparently, he told her that he did want to ask me out.

My hands had started to hurt again, but I listened to her story and tried to block the pain out. I asked her when he said he wanted to ask me out. She looked the other way while one of her shoulders jerked up in a shrug.

Adam Quinn never said a word.

Over the next week, things were at a bypass at home. Analise avoided me. I avoided her. And the boys seemed to have disappeared.

It was perfect.

When I got to school on Thursday, the rumors started.

I was a whore.

Jeff dumped me because I had herpes.

Lydia and Jessica were my friends because my mother bribed them.

My own dad hated me, he barely talked to me.

Then I cornered Becky at her car one day and demanded to know where the rumors had come from.

She squealed as she got red in the face, "Lydia."

My eyebrow rose up.

"And Jessica."

I waited.

"And Jill Flatten. She really hates you."

"I knew it."

Then Becky said in a small voice, "And Ashley DeCortts."

"Wait—what? Why does she hate me?"

"Because Adam likes you."

I rolled my eyes. The guy didn't give a damn. When'd she drop this obsession of hers?

"What else could go wrong?" I muttered under my breath.

The back door burst open at that moment and the football team jogged across the parking lot on the way to the field. Their spikes clattered against the tar and the sound was soon deafening.

"Hi," Becky squeaked with a small wave.

I turned to see that Adam Quinn had fallen to a walk as he drew close. He stopped with his helmet in one hand and a water bottle in the other. Up close, I saw why so many girls wanted to love him. Striking blue eyes, golden curls with streaks from the sun, and a square jaw that would've sent romantics swooning. Hell, they already did.

He towered over us with shoulder pads that made his already muscular shoulders larger. His chest tapered down to a slender waist and he grinned at Becky. His eyes scanned to me. "You need a ride home, Becky?"

"No." She sounded breathless. "My mom let me use her car this week."

"Good old Nancy." His grin brightened. "Am I still invited for chili and cornbread this weekend?"

Becky's foot started to push a rock back and forth on the ground. She didn't look up. "Yeah, of course. I know Eddie might come home this weekend."

"That's great. I've missed your brother." He cast me another questioning look.

I sighed and held out my hand. "I'm Samantha."

His hand enveloped mine. They were rough, slightly calloused, probably from throwing the football, but they weren't so rough to the touch. I could see why he dated Ashley DeCortts, the girl that seemed to reign over the cheerleaders. I suppose she daydreamed about the Ken Barbie he reminded me of, how he must've been the prince to her damsel in distress fairytale.

"I know. Adam Quinn."

"I know."

We grinned at each other.

"How're your hands?"

A faint scowl came to me. I remembered that he'd been there. "Oh, they're…" I lifted them up and shrugged. "I guess they're okay. They'll heal."