09 | lucy

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09

ELIZABETH WEXLER makes her pizza from scratch, and it's the most delicious pizza I've ever tasted

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ELIZABETH WEXLER makes her pizza from scratch, and it's the most delicious pizza I've ever tasted.

It's hard not to stuff my face—to be a lady—but I wasn't born on the streets. As I eat with them, I resurrect a part of myself that died years ago. The part of me that knows how to be polite and courteous and adhere to bullshit table manners that don't matter to me anymore. Honestly, I never thought I would need to behave this way again, but here I am.

Even though I take small bites and sip my root beer only after swallowing, Elliot's family has to sense something off here. My outfit is nothing like what normal high school girls wear. Elliot's dad, in particular, seems distrusting. At six-foot-something, Adam radiates authority, with grey streaks flowing through his hair and thick wrinkles on his forehead. His eyes are suspicious, like he's waiting for me to slip something in my pocket.

I may be imagining that part.

Elizabeth is nice, though. Brown curls drape over her slim shoulders, and she adjusts the pearls around her swan-like neck as she politely stabs a tomato with her fork.

"So, when's Ana coming over again, Ollie?" Elliot's little sister, Charlotte, asks. She smiles sweetly, but there's something devious about her.

"Dunno." Ollie, Elliot's older brother, crams pizza into his mouth, getting sauce caught in the corner of his lips. "Cass has her all week, but I'm probably gonna have her next weekend."

This is insanity. These people have no idea I tried to steal from them; not even Elliot knows that the time he caught me wasn't my first visit to this house, but he looks at me with a tiny grin on his face, like he's truly happy I stayed.

Stupid, stoned idiot.

He's a cute idiot, though. His eyes keep lingering on me over the dinner conversations.

What does he think of me?

The thought fires in my head and resonates like a gunshot. Why do I care what he thinks? I shouldn't even be here.

"You know, Lucy." Adam swallows his food and points at Elliot with his fork. "El's the best hockey player this city's ever seen."

Elliot's face flushes. "Dad, shut up."

"Oh?" I say.

"You go to Saint Jacob's, don't you?" Charlotte asks. "Every high school in the city knows about El. Even other cities. He's gonna be in the NHL."

If I wasn't sure of it before, I am now: Charlotte is onto me. She probably goes to Elliot's school. "I mean, I knew he played," I mutter. "I'm just not into sports, so I don't really get it. I can't even skate."

"El's never been friends with someone who's not into sports," Charlotte says. "Katie's like the best ringette player on her team."

Katie?

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