Tristan

My mother wasn't a very nice person.

There I say it. She's not nice. She's not motherly, she isn't even kind. To anyone, not just to me. She has lived a very hard life, and she has gone through great lengths to be where she was, so it's only natural for her to not develop any compassion.

Why would she? Compassion would only kill her. And ruthlessness was what got her here.

At the Arrington mansion, settled for life with the man who made a mistake for sleeping with her.

I stepped foot on the Arrington mansion when I was five. At that time, nobody knew that I was the illegitimate son of David Arrington, the leader of the family. I didn't know the full details since I was too young, but my mother managed to elevate her status so that we could get a proper room inside the mansion, and that I managed to get schooled in the same school with the legitimate son, Desmond.

Desmond Arrington, even when he was young, was also not a kind person.

Which was weird for me. Because he had everything. He had every toy any kid could ever want. He could eat anything, he could point at some things and his helper would swipe a magical card and he would get it. He wasn't a particularly pleasant kid to be around, but the parents of the kids on the playground practically forced them to be kind to him.

At that time, I didn't understand how powerful the Arrington family was.

I only knew that I no longer had to eat mac and cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I liked the variety.

I think my mother kept me safe. Kept us comfortable. She was, after all, very beautiful and very cunning. There was no way a smart man such as David Arrington didn't realize the whole spectrum of my mother's cunning, but he loved her anyway and he pampered her with luxurious stuff.

And when she died, he was so heartbroken that he separated from his own wife and started loving me more.

So of course I understand. I really understand why Desmond Arrington, with his overflowing wealth and unlimited supply of gadgets, would hate me.

Because I had taken from him the thing that he couldn't buy.

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Chapter Seven: Sucks at the Game

Here's the thing about giving out your number.

Do you actually want the person whom you've bestowed your private line to call you? But if, by logic, that you want them to talk to you, why don't you ask them for their numbers? Why give your number instead?

Cassie had been pondering about this simple-yet-confusing conundrum for days. The paper that Tristan had given her had been crumpled, uncrumpled, thrown away, and then taken back. It had been to most rooms in her house, and it had accompanied her most places she went.

Of course, during that time, she didn't get any text. Not from Tristan, not from Desmond, not even from Tyra or Lucas.

For the first time, she was in the position to make initial action. And she didn't know if she liked this position.

When she finally compiled enough courage to call the number, later at a particularly lonely Friday night, it was a girl's accented voice that answered her.

"Hello?"

Cassie felt stupid and indignant at the same time, which wasn't a good combination of feelings to marvel through. "Sorry, I guess I'd been given the wrong number."

"Well, no. I don't think so," the voice replied back calmly. "Are you looking for Mr. Arrington?"

Cassie sighed. "The asian one."

"I know," there was a trickle of mirth coating the lady's voice. "Please call this number,"

Cassie scrambled for a pen as the lady recited a whole new number. She didn't have any paper around so she just scrawled it on her palm. After she was done, she just realized that it wasn't a pen that she had taken, but a permanent marker. Damn, this will last on her skin for days.

Since Tristan was playing a game with her, Cassie also didn't bother to call the next number immediately. She took her time; a bubble bath, a good scrub on the marker, but then as scrawl started to fade, Cassie stopped herself. And then she continued her binge on her favorite TV show, which wasn't even good, but trash and campy enough to keep her entertained. It was only late at night, when she could no longer find more things to do that she decided to call the second number.

This time, the one who answered was Tristan's voice. Or at least, someone who sounded like him.

"What took you so long?"

Shot by such a brisk question, Cassie's temper flared. "You didn't give me your number."

There was noise on the background, so much noise. Cassie didn't know where he was, but Tristan definitely wasn't staying home binge-watching TV this weekend. "Well, I told you that I'm willing to try, so I need to see if you're willing to try."

"And do I pass your test, my future fake boyfriend?"

Even without seeing him, Cassie knew that Tristan was grinning his devilish grin. "Barely. You took way too long."

"Next time you want to talk to a girl, why don't you ask for her phone number instead? Could have saved you days of waiting."

"May I remind you the circumstances of our relationship? I'm not.. What's the word? Wooing you. You're not going to see me getting all romantic with you. Unless that's what you were expecting?"

Cassie could feel her cheeks heating up. When she spoke, she tried her best to sound as calm and composed as possible. "No, I get it."

"I'll be much nicer to you at school, though, you can rely on that. Desmond hates it when the girls he dumped became much hotter and then starts dating someone like me."

More voices on the background, and then Tristan was talking to them and ignored Cassie for a while. Cassie considered hanging up, but then that would be rude and she didn't want Tristan to think that she was sulking.

Bless the gods, Tristan actually remembered that he was still on the phone. "I'll call you later."

Click.

No goodbye, no 'see you laters', no waiting for confirmation that Cassie reciprocated his plan. He just hung up like it was nothing.

Cassie flopped on to the bed, and she put her phone on her chest. It was beating wildly, and she felt sweat coating her armpits and neck. There was nothing romantic between their seven minutes conversation, and yet the insides of her body were exaggerating every single word that Tristan had said. She didn't even want him to like her, damn it, and yet it was so hard to keep her heart in check. Maybe it was true what Lucas said, she was too sheltered for her own good. Whereas people her age had already started experiencing life and experimenting with new stuff, she was in front of her computer; typing stuff she wished she could experience and reading stuff she wished she could participate in.

It was pathetic, and whenever she opened her previous files, she was filled with insurmountable shame.

Still, she needed to know how she should face this situation.

Cassie tried to resist. She tried to turn her attention elsewhere. She even tried to sleep. But her adrenaline was still running high, and at this point, she knew it was either binge eating or binge watching anyway.

So she opened her favorite internet forum, and then started typing her problems on the internet.

Anonymously, of course.

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Cassie woke up with a jolt.

It was 11AM, and there was already breakfast served on her side-table. She rubbed her eyes. She hated it when her maid could see her sleeping. She wondered what went through inside her maid's mind when she opened the door at 9AM and found her employer's daughter still snoring on the bed.

She started eating the breakfast fajitas, though, and then the orange juice, too. Isabel might not always comprehend her words fully, but she could definitely cook.

Cassie opened her phone. There were tons of notification, which was normal whenever she posted about her problems on the internet. It had been a daily guilty-pleasure for her. When she had weighed twenty pounds more than this and had started feeling insecure, she had turned to the internet, and hundreds of people had given her encouragement that she was fine, and that her weight was fine. Of course, she had included a photo of her body, with her face cropped out.

And then there was one time when she had started liking Desmond. Like a mad-woman, she posted about this too, and people actually said that Desmond could like her too. That she must be special and that was why this 'Popular, handsome guy must be interested in you, because you're different than the bimbos he'd been dating.'

It didn't occur to Cassie that most people who lurked in the internet might not have enough life-experience to dictate things like that. It didn't occur to Cassie that the people who typed those things might not even know what a normal dating life was. After all, they managed to reply Cassie's innocuous question at two in the morning, with thorough investigation that nitpicked every single word that Cassie had chosen to compose her question.

Still, it was nice to get a little bit of attention, even though they were as good as a mirage.

But then, something else was on her notification alert.

A text, from a familiar number.

'We'll meet today at 1. Poppi's Diner.'

There was no please, no question asked. There was no indication that Tristan considered in one way or another, Cassie might say no. The text was concise and clear, and it was sent at four in the morning, presumable after he was done doing whatever he did at midnight.

Cassie huffed. She didn't finish her fajitas, and then took a photo of her uneaten plate to send it to Tyra. This was how Tyra kept in check with Cassie's weight. She was, under no circumstances, allowed to finish her food. She also had to take photographs of the remaining of her food and then send it towards either Tyra or Lucas. It was borderline blackmailing, but Cassie didn't mind. After all, that was how she managed to keep the pounds off.

Cassie typed back to Tristan.

Ok.

As soon as she sent the message, she mentally slapped herself. Now she was going to look agreeable and docile. The opposite of what she was trying to portray herself.

So she sent another message.

I'll look at my schedule and see if I can fit 1PM with you.

Tristan's reply came shortly thereafter.

You're a friendless, perpetually single girl who only started socializing three months ago. Even then nature of your friendships with those people is questionable.

I'll save you a seat and a milkshake ;) 

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author's note: 

thank you thank you very much for the comments and the votes! i know that i'm very bad at replying to comments, but know that i read them all and each of them really motivates me to write the next chapters :) so thank you for all the kindness that you all have given to me!