Instead of commenting that dirt will wash out or he doesn’t mind or even that he can afford new things if he needs them, he gestures toward me and says, “Your daughter’s in a very pretty dress.” I spin, letting the skirt of my very pretty butter yellow dress flare. My wide eyes accuse him of being a jerk, and his eyes warm as he pins a smile between his lips. Mom plants her hands on her hips. “Rose Aurora Briars, you know better.” Sparks of betrayal settle in my gut, and I narrow my eyes, muttering an apology as I march past my lousy boyfriend. He mouths Rose Aurora Briars at me. And it’s hard
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