“Oh, I’m sure there are.” My aunt smiles as she points at a muscular guy walking past our car. “Look at him. He’s cute.”

“Ew, Mom, you’re so disgusting. Seriously, are you having a mid-life crisis or something?” Dixie May says with her nose crinkled. Then she sticks out one hand in her mom’s direction while pulling the visor down. “Give me some lunch money, so I can get out of here and away from your gross comments.”

“Oh, okay.” My aunt starts rummaging through her purse.

While Dixie May waits for her mom to dig out some money, she does a quick check of her hair and makeup. She fixes a couple of her blonde curls, twisting them before flipping up the visor. Then she glances down at the pink top and white skirt she’s wearing, smoothing out a few invisible wrinkles. By the time she’s finished, Aunt Beth has put a twenty-dollar bill into her palm.

Dixie May stuffs it into her bag then shoves the door open and moves to get out, but then she pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Don’t even think about talking to me today. You know what will happen if you do.”

“You’ll have to pull out a dictionary to look up all the above four-letter words I’ll use?” I question.

“Ravenlee,” my aunt snaps, “don’t be a brat.”

“Yeah, Ravenlee, don’t be a brat, or else everyone here is going to find out who you really are,” Dixie May sneers with a smirk.

The muscles in my jaw tick, and I curl my fingers inward, stabbing my fingernails into my flesh and wrestling back the urge to punch that smirk off her face.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Dixie May smirks at me one more time before climbing out of the car.

“Have a nice day,” my aunt says to Dixie May, who shoves the door closed without even replying.

My aunt lets out a quiet sigh as Dixie May walks away, heading for the entrance doors. Once she’s inside, Aunt Beth looks away, frowning at the passenger seat. “Crap, she forgot her makeup case.” She reaches over, picks up a sparkly case, and hands it to me. “Find Dixie May and give this to her. And don’t even think about stealing it. I’m going to text her to let her know you have it.”

“She doesn’t want me to talk to her, remember?” Not that I’m actually going to obey Dixie May. I really just don’t want to talk to her or carry around her stupid sparkly case.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine if you’re giving her the case,” she insists. When I make no effort to take it, she gives me a dirty look. “She needs her makeup, and you’re going to take it to her because, unlike you, my daughter cares about her appearance.”

“So what if I don’t care?” I stuff the case into my bag. “Looking pretty isn’t the most important thing in the world.”