A Hater's Gamble (BxB)

SEVEN

"I see the lies between your words."

M I L E S

Last night, I had won. It might've been a mere four-hundred dollars, but it was definitely something. My mother had smiled at me, then wordlessly tucked it into her shirt. She had even kissed me on the cheek. Then she disappeared for the rest of the night.

"Miles!," my sister called from across the hall of my house. "Come here!"

When I didn't answer her and snuggled further into my blankets, Maddie banged on my door. It caused a sharp pain in my head.

"What do you want?," I grumbled. "It's a Saturday."

The door swung open, and Maddie sprang in, a
mirror in her right hand, and a makeup tool in the other.

"The student council bake sale is today, and I have to go set up," she said, applying her makeup tool to her eyelashes as she looked into the compact mirror. Yesterday, I hadn't missed the flustered look she had after Liam winked at her. I rolled my eyes.

Traitor.

Just like me—

"What the hell does that have to do with me?," I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Maddie looked away from her compact mirror and gave me a determined look. "I need you to pick up the cake I promised to bring. I won't have time to do that and help set up the table at school."

I squinted my eyes at her. "I'm not doing it."

Maddie let out a noise of protest. "Please!"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm going to let you borrow my car!," she refuted. "Garrett is going to pick me up."

I sighed. "Maddie, I'm tired."

She threw her hands up in the air. "From what?"

From getting home at 1 o' clock A.M. last night. From suppling our mother with drug money and paying the electrical bill.

I gave my head a shake. "Fine," I said, quietly.

Maddie squealed and threw her arms around me. "Thank you, thank you, M. The pickup is at twelve. Don't be late."

Twelve? It was eleven-thirty. I couldn't voice my displeasure to Maddie because she was already out my door.

Once I was freshened up, I threw on the first clothes I found lying on the floor. A grey t-shirt with black jeans. I checked the time on my phone. It was eleven forty-eight.

If I pushed the gas to its max, I could still get this done in record speed.

The way to the bakery wasn't long, the street traffic was the only real problem.

Eleven fifty-four.

Eleven fifty-eight.

Twelve.