“Perfect. Then that means we’re alone,” she says, and every part of my body locks up. She wanted to see me, then. Familiar dread brews in my stomach. I know this won’t end well, because it never does. Suddenly, a thought materializes in my mind. I wish Fitz were here. “We made it to nationals,” I tell her, my eyes on the floor, although there’s no doubt she already knows. I’m sure she was right there, behind the curtain, watching and hearing everything that went on, perusing me and seeing how I’d do. Which means she saw me freezing up. “I’m aware,” she states bluntly. “Second place.” The
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Fucking hate this whore
