She looks like she came from a thrift store. People around us stopped talking. They were listening now, watching. I felt heat rise to my face, but I kept my smile.
Oh, I knew it was formal, I said calmly. This is actually one of my favorite dresses. Clarissa’s eyes widened in what looked like horror.
Your favorite? She turned to Brandon. Where did you find her exactly? Before Brandon could answer, his sister Natasha appeared.
She was 25, beautiful, and her expression was pure mean girl energy. “Oh my god,” Natasha said loudly, looking me up and down.
“Brandon, is this a joke? Please tell me this is some kind of prank.
Did you bring a charity case to mom’s party?” People were definitely watching now. Some had their phones out.
I could see them angling for photos. Brandon shifted uncomfortably. Natasha, stop. Emma is my girlfriend and and what?
Clarissa interrupted, her voice rising. And you thought bringing someone who clearly doesn’t belong here was appropriate. Look at her, Brandon.
Look at this girl. She’s not one of us. I felt like I’d been slapped. But I stood tall, keeping my composure.
This was the test, I reminded myself. Their true colors were showing. With all due respect, Mrs. Hayes, I said quietly. I may not be wealthy, but I wealthy. Clarissa laughed.
A harsh, cruel sound. Darling, you’re clearly poor as dirt.