I sit because it's easier than arguing.
She pulls upPretty Woman—a movie we’ve both seen no less than thirty times.
We watch Richard Gere climb the fire escape, and Julia Roberts gets her happy ending.
"I'm so tired," I choke out. "I'm so tired of being the girl who gets betrayed."
"I know."
"I'm never enough." The words pour out. "I'm not rich enough. Not connected enough. I work at a restaurant while everyone else lives off their trust funds. I can't afford to go to the fancy restaurants or wear designer clothes. I'm not effortless like Bree."
"Effortless?" Keira pulls back to look at me. "Sutton, Bree tries so hard it's embarrassing."
"She doesn't try. She just is. She fits into that world. She knows how to dress, how to act, and what to say. She belongs there."
"No, she doesn't." Keira grabs my shoulders. "Listen to me. Bree Matthews is threatened by you. That's why she's doing all this."
"Why would she be threatened by me?"
"Because Declan chose you! Not her. Not any of the other girls who throw themselves at hockey players. You." She shakes me gently. "Bree has money and connections and designer clothes. But she doesn't have what you have."
"What do I have?"
"Substance. Intelligence. Authenticity. You're real, Sutton. You don't play games. You don't manipulate people. You don't try to be something you're not." Keira's eyes are fierce. "That's why she's trying so hard to destroy you. Because she knows she can't compete with who you actually are."
I want to believe her. I want to believe that I'm enough.
But the evidence says otherwise.
"If I were enough, he wouldn't have been with her."
"He wasn'twithher. Bree set him up."
"He still participated."
"By being decent? By helping someone he thought was upset?" Keira sighs. "Look, I'm not saying Declan's blameless. He should have been more aware. But Sutton, this isn't aboutyou not being enough. This is about Bree being manipulative as hell."
I don't know what to say to that.
Keira gets off my bed and starts tossing the empty chip bags.
"You need to get out of this house,” she declares.
“It’s eleven o’clock. I’m tired.”
“Tomorrow. We’re going out.”
"I don't want to go out."
"Too bad. We're going."
I figure I have twenty-four hours to convince her otherwise.
After she leaves, I change into my pajamas. I miss his shirt. I loved sleeping in his shirt. I loved sleeping next to his warm body.
But that’s done.
Move on.
