Chapter 5 - The Velvet Hammer
Brooke looked like a wild animal caught in headlights. She spun toward my father. “Dad! Tell them! She’s exaggerating! It was a mistake! Emily set me up!”
Frank looked down at the floor, utterly unable to meet anyone’s eyes. For forty years, Frank had bailed Brooke out of every traffic ticket, every bad check, and every broken friendship, but staring down Marcus Vance and the school principal with security footage in hand was a wall he couldn't climb.
“Brooke,” Frank muttered weakly. “Just... be quiet.”
“Quiet?” Brooke’s voice turned hysterical. “You’re siding with her? With *Emily*? Emily hasn't done anything for this family since David died! She’s just a miserable, penniless widow living in a tract house!”
“That ‘penniless widow,’” Marcus interrupted, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper that sliced right through Brooke’s screeching, “owns thirty percent of the Vance Design Studio in Chicago. She was the lead conservator for the Smithsonian’s Victorian textile restoration project last spring. And her daughter Lily is the youngest registered design apprentice in the State of Illinois.”
Brooke stared at me, her eyes wild with disbelief. “What? You work at an alterations shop!”
“I told you I worked in clothing design, Brooke,” I said calmly, folding my arms across my chest. “You just assumed I hemmed pants at the dry cleaners because it made you feel better about your miserable life.”
My mother Patricia looked as if she had been slapped across the face with a wet trout. “Emily... you own thirty percent of Marcus Vance’s studio? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because every time I told you good news about my life, Mom, you asked me how much money I could give Brooke,” I said, looking my mother straight in the eyes without an ounce of pity. “When David died, you asked me if Brooke could have his vintage Mercedes. When Lily won the regional spelling bee, you told me not to post about it because Madison had failed her vocabulary test that week. I stopped telling you my life two years ago.”
“Emily, that’s not fair!” Patricia cried, her voice cracking. “We are family!”
“No,” I said. “Lily is my family. You three are just people who share my DNA.”
“Contestants!” the stage manager shouted from the wings, poking his head through the double doors. “Group Three! Madison Evans and Lily Carter! You are on deck right now!”
Brooke grabbed Madison by the arm, squeezing so hard the poor girl winced. “Come on, Madison. We’re going on that stage. You are going to win that scholarship, and we are going to leave these losers in the dust.”
Madison pulled her arm back.
She didn't move toward the stage. She took two steps backward, her plastic tiara sliding slightly sideways on her curls.
“Madison!” Brooke hissed. “Get in line!”
“No,” Madison whispered.
“What did you say to me?” Brooke’s face contorted in rage.
“I’m not going out there,” Madison said, her chin quivering as she looked at Lily’s blazing, majestic phoenix wings. “Lily’s dress is prettier. And you’re mean, Mom. You’re really, really mean.”
With that, nine-year-old Madison Evans ripped the plastic tiara off her head, threw it onto the floor at Brooke’s feet, turned around, and ran straight into the girls’ restroom, slamming the door behind her.
“Madison!” Brooke yelled, lunging forward, but Principal Harrison stepped directly into her path.
“Mrs. Evans,” Harrison said, his voice cold as a winter morning in Lake Michigan. “You will not chase that child through this school. And furthermore, your daughter is disqualified from this competition.”
Brooke gasped. “Disqualified? On what grounds? She didn't do anything!”
“On the grounds of parental misconduct, intimidation of a fellow student, and destruction of private property on school grounds,” Harrison said, pulling a two-way radio from his belt. “Officer Higgins, please escort Mrs. Evans off the premises immediately.”
“You can’t do this to me!” Brooke screamed as a uniformed Naperville police officer stepped out of the administration office, heading straight toward her. “Do you know who my husband is? Frank! Mom! Do something!”
Neither of them moved. My father looked at his polished shoes. My mother stared at the wall, her pearls trembling against her throat.
Officer Higgins placed a heavy hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “Ma’am, let’s go outside before this turns into an arrest for disorderly conduct.”
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Brooke was led down the hall, spitting curses, her designer heels clicking in frantic, humiliated rhythm until the exterior doors slammed shut behind her.
***
