3. Rebecca
Chapter three
Rebecca
Lilith
D anny was like a walking embodiment of everything I despised about this school, this town, and the surrounding community. As soon as the teacher assigns us partners for our project, I raise my hand.
“Can we switch partners?”
But Danny's reaction is all too predictable.
"Are you fuckin' serious?" He scoffs at me.
The teacher shoots him a stern look. "Daniel, language," she scolds before turning to me with her own disapproving gaze. "And no, you cannot switch partners. This project is meant to challenge you to work with someone who is your complete opposite. That's how it works in the real world."
I slump back in my seat, arms crossed, as the teacher hands out papers. This project was more than just a grade for our class - it had to be something that could benefit the entire community even after we graduated. The teacher reminds us that she would be available for guidance, but ultimately it was up to us and our partner to make it happen.
Danny lets out an annoyed huff across from me. "This is bullshit."
"At least we can agree on one thing," I mutter under my breath.
The teacher's glare silences us both. "I expect you to work on this every time you step foot into my classroom. And that means putting in 100% effort, even outside of class. If you have questions, I will be at my desk."
I turn to Danny with a pointed look. "You can leave now."
"What the fuck is your problem?"
"My problem is that I want to pass this class, and I can't do that with you as my partner, Danny."
He shakes his head defiantly. "I'm not a slacker."
I shrug as I pull out my notebooks and pens. "We'll see about that."
As I carefully arrange my notebooks and pens in a straight line, color-coded for organization, I can feel Danny's eyes on me. When I look up, he is smirking at my precise arrangement.
"OCD much?" he snickers.
"Mental health isn't a joke," I snap back.
He laughs and reaches over to poke one of my pens with his pencil. I glare at him as I push it back into place.
"If you're done with your middle school antics, we can get to work," I say pointedly.
Picking up the red pen, I open a fresh notebook and write ‘Community Project’ at the top. "We should do something truly unique - something that goes beyond our small community and makes a real difference."
"Or we can take the easy route and just do enough to get an A," Danny suggests lazily.
I roll my eyes and grab the paper the teacher had given us. "It clearly says the project needs to be approved. She'll know if we don't put any effort into it. So how about actually using our brains for once?"
I slide another new notebook towards Danny. "Write down some ideas you have. Anything that comes to mind."
Picking up the black pen, I write "Ideas" in bold letters at the top of my notebook and draw a small dot underneath to start brainstorming. As we jot down potential project ideas, my frustration with Danny starts to fade as we both become more invested in creating something meaningful for our community.
My eyes meet Danny's intense gaze and I can feel my cheeks flush. "Do you have an idea?"
His grin is both charming and mischievous, and for a moment, I can't help but be drawn to him. I mean, let's be real here. Danny is one of the hottest guys in our school. He's part of the elite group known as the "Elite Five" - rich, good looking, talented, and smart. But they're also notorious for being bullies and assholes. Definitely not the kind of crowd I want to associate myself with.
"Earth to Becca." Danny's voice brings me back to reality.
I shake my head, pushing away any thoughts of attraction towards him. "Sorry. What's your idea?"
He leans forward eagerly. "What if we did something with the local farms? Teach kids how to garden and become self-sustainable. And on top of that, we could help provide organic, local food for families in need in our community. We could even bring in experts to teach healthy eating habits in a fun and easy way. And we could get local restaurants involved too - they can do farm-to-table dinners."
I'm speechless for a moment before finally finding my voice. "Danny... that's... holy shit, that's an amazing idea!"
He beams proudly and taps his pencil against the table. "See? Not a bad partner after all, Becs."
I can't help but blush at the nickname as I quickly jot down everything he said in my notebook. "I'll type this up tonight. These notes are too messy. Then we can present it to the teacher tomorrow. I'm sure she'll love it. This is exactly what she wants - sustainable projects that we can continue after graduation."
The bell rings and Danny slides his phone over to me. "Give me your number so we can chat about it outside of class."
I quickly type in my number and hand the phone back to him. "Sounds good. Text me if you have any other ideas."
Danny winks at me as he stands up from his chair. "Will do. See you around, Becs."
I shake my head with a smile as I slowly pack up my things, making sure everything is neatly organized before leaving the classroom. As I tap the table twice for luck, I can't help but think that maybe this class won't be so bad after all.
A s I step through the front door of my house after a long day at school, I immediately scan my dad's office to see if he's home. But as usual, it's empty. Letting out a sigh, I trudge up the stairs to my room, mentally preparing myself for the new project I have to work on. The smell of fresh ink and paper hits me as I enter my sanctuary, lined with shelves of books and stacks of notebooks scattered across my desk. The soft glow of my laptop screen greets me as I sit down and start it up.
I quickly change into more comfortable clothes - jeans and a hoodie - before settling in at my desk. Flipping open my notebook, I begin typing up all the ideas that Danny and I came up with in class today. Once finished, I send them over to him through a quick text before shutting down my laptop.
As much as I want to continue working on my project, the loud growl of my stomach reminds me that it's dinnertime. With a groan, I make my way downstairs to the dining room, knowing my mother will be expecting me any minute.
Just as expected, her grand entrance is announced by her assistant with all the pomp and circumstance of an evil queen. My mother prides herself on being proper and refined, but I've never quite fit into her perfect little world. As I slouch in my chair at the kitchen table, kicking my feet up onto its polished surface for added effect, she enters the room with a flourish.
"Mrs. Hartley Carney has arrived," announces her assistant in a voice dripping with respect.
The staff around me immediately straightens their posture, while I remain relaxed, in defiance of my mother's expectations. She despises my choice of footwear - a pair of well-worn Vans - which only adds to her displeasure at having such an unruly daughter. But I refuse to conform to her ideals of a polite, docile young lady. No matter how hard she may try to mold me into one.
She bursts into the room like a raging storm, her fiery red pantsuit adorned with a dramatic cape that billows behind her. The sight of her in this ridiculous ensemble only reinforces my belief that she's completely delusional. But the vibrant red color seems fitting for the she-devil I have to call mother. More like a womb donor, really.
"Rebecca, if you don't get your filthy peasant shoes off my imported Italian table, I will personally remove them myself. And it won't be pretty." Her voice drips with disdain as she takes a seat across from me.
I drop my shoes to the floor with a huff, unable to contain my frustration any longer.
"Where's dad?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"Clearly not here," she responds coldly.
A private chef, hired by my mother, brings in our plates. "Please enjoy," he says before leaving the room.
I push my fork around my plate half-heartedly as the chef pours my mother a glass of wine. She clears her throat and begins to speak. "Rebecca, we need to have a discussion."
Rolling my eyes, I ignore her and continue picking at my tasteless salad. How is this considered a meal? There isn't even any meat on it.
"Rebecca! I'm speaking to you!" My mother's sharp tone breaks through my thoughts.
I glare at her in annoyance. "What do you want?"
"Your father and I will be doing more traveling than usual. Well, I will be anyway. Separate trips, of course. And with you turning eighteen soon..." she trails off.
I shrug indifferently. "Okay. And? Can we get to the point of this conversation?"
"You'll need to find a place to stay," she states matter-of-factly.
I drop my fork onto my plate and stare at her in disbelief. "What? Why?"
"We're selling the house. There's no point in keeping a vast home if we won't be here. I'd rather buy a small luxury condo to come home to," she explains.
"Right, because I'm just a nobody. No need to cater to me," I retort sarcastically.
My mother sighs, glaring at me from across the table. "Can we not be so dramatic?"
"You're right," I reply with a bitter laugh. "I'm not being dramatic at all. You're doing me a favor by making me homeless. Just what every college essay needs."
My mother slams her hand down on the table, causing me to flinch. "Can you please be serious for one second in your life, Rebecca?!" she scolds.
I stand up from the table and push my chair back with a loud scrape against the hardwood floor. "I am being serious! You suck. Dinner sucked. This house sucks. Oh, and by the way? Katya was a better mother than you'll ever be."
My mother throws her own chair back in anger and begins grabbing whatever objects she can reach to throw at me. I manage to dodge most of them until a plate connects with my face, cracking on impact and sending sharp shards into my cheek.
"Don't you ever speak that bitch's name in my house!" she screams.
"Fuck you, Hartley!" I yell back as I storm out of the room.
As I make my way to my bedroom and lock the door behind me, my mother's yells and the sound of crashing objects echo through the house. This isn't the first time our disagreements have escalated like this, but it never fails to shock and anger me every time. My mother may still technically be alive, but she died in my eyes long ago. And nothing she can do or say will ever change that.
I head into my bathroom and stand in the mirror, staring at the blood dripping down my face. Opening the drawer, I clean my face up and step back into the bedroom, looking around at the emptiness.
With a deep sigh, I survey the small amount of belongings scattered around my room. Not much for a seventeen-year-old girl, but it's all I have. The familiar ache in my chest rises again, but I quickly push it down, remembering Katya's words.
"We are strong girls. No more tears."
Gritting my teeth, I force myself to sit at my desk and focus on the stack of papers waiting for me. Calculus homework, English essay, history notes... anything to distract myself from the emptiness that haunts me. But no matter how hard I try, memories of Katya slip into my mind like tendrils of smoke, suffocating me with their bittersweetness. I miss her so much it hurts.
And as tears threaten to spill from my eyes, I can't help but think that this is not the life we planned. This is not the future we dreamed of together.
How am I supposed to survive without her?