I'm pleased to report that I didn't fuck up the spaghetti as the spawn predicted.

Well, not completely, anyway.

I might have overcooked the pasta by a minute or two, so the noodles came out a bit... mushy?

Whatever.

The spaghetti is edible. Dinner is ready on time. I even found time to whip up a salad. Chopped lettuce. Shredded cheese. Ranch dressing. Not exactly gourmet, but it'll do.

Sometimes, when I'm nervous, I have a habit of quoting lines from movies or books. On instinct, I mouth silently to myself, That'll do, pig. That'll do.

Babe is Persie's favorite movie of all time, by the way.

Aunt Katrina comes home around seven-ish. Ron shows up an hour later. As the three of us sit around the dinner table, I can't tell if my aunt is disappointed by my efforts. Ron is hard to read, too. I notice, though, that he's barely touched his plate.

"How do you guys like it?" I ask anxiously.

My future step-uncle gives a noncommittal grunt in between chewing.

Aunt Katrina sighs at me, "It's... fine. Thank you for... trying."

Her 'thank you' feels like a backhanded compliment.

"At least... the salad turned out okay," I grumble.

Ron grunts again.

My aunt wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I would've added some avocados or something. The salad tastes... bland."

"You're right, I see what you're saying," I reply sweetly, nodding in agreement to mask my miffed mood.

There's no point in disagreeing with someone like Aunt Katrina. I realized this the hard way when we first started living together. The woman is the queen of pettiness and passive aggression. It's easier to simply give in and let my aunt have her way. Butting heads always wastes too much energy.

Aunt Katrina proceeds to make small talk with Ron about their work day. They ignore me. The rest of dinner passes in awkward silence on my end. This whole time, the spawn has been upstairs with his stupid pizza, not bothering to come down and join us.

Rude.

Once we're done eating, I help my aunt clear the table and wash the dishes before heading up to my room. As luck would have it, I pass the spawn in the hallway. Cruz stops when he sees me. His eyes flick towards me. The green is striking against his skin.

Ugh.

Why does someone so horrible have to be so attractive?

Cruz isn't smiling, the bastard rarely smiles, but his face looks... smug. I'm already tired from cooking and irritated from my aunt's lousy attitude at dinnertime. Seeing Cruz this way annoys me even more. I know he ordered the fucking pizza to provoke me. It makes me want to swipe back.

I narrow my eyes and ask in a grumpy huff, "How was your pizza?"

Cruz deadpans, "Better than your spaghetti, I bet."

"You didn't even try it," I protest. "How would you know?"

"I know you made it," he retorts.

"Could you just stop acting like a dick for, like, ten seconds?"

Cruz glowers. "Get used to it. I am who I am, and I don't like you."

"You know what I think?"

"What?"

"Your dicky personality has more to do with that stick up your ass," I mumble quietly, "than anything I ever did to you."

"All you have to do is breathe," he grunts, "and you piss me off."

I arch an eyebrow. "Again, sounds like a personal problem to me."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"You do?"

"You can make dinner and wash dishes every fucking night and win some brownie points with dad, but I know the truth. You're the kind of girl who'll do anything for money."

"You're right," I clap back, "I'll do anything for money because, unlike some entitled assholes I know, I'm willing to work for what I want in life."

The spawn's gaze grows sharp and cold. "Don't act like you know me when you know shit all."

I open my mouth to fling back another insult, but I change my mind at the last second and swallow it instead. I don't want to escalate things between us any further. I'm well aware whose side Aunt Katrina will take if I get into a fight with her beloved fiancé's son. For the sake of self-preservation, I need to ease the tension.

"Trust me," I say with a grimace, "I didn't win any points with anyone tonight. You have nothing to worry about."

"Good."

Aggravation sparks in me.

Rude.

Rude.

Rude.

So fucking rude!

But, for my aunt's sake, I squash my anger and continue trying to make peace with the spawn. Even though he's being a total shithead right now.

"Look. I get it. I don't like our situation any more than you do. We were only classmates, not friends, when my aunt started dating your dad. Let's keep it that way. I don't bother you, and you don't bother me, okay? We can coexist."

"No."

My eyes pop. "What?"

His audacity knows no bounds.

"Next time, if you see me at home or at school, don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Stay out of my fucking way."

I gasp dramatically, "What if we bump into each other in the hallway again? This house isn't that big, you know. Are you gonna throw another tantrum?"

"No," he counters, "I'm simply letting you know that just because your aunt is marrying my dad—nothing changes. It doesn't make us family. Or friends. You're nothing to me."

Isn't that what I offered in the first place?

To coexist in a mutual state of unbotheredness?

He has officially pissed me off!

"Point taken," I snap back. "I can't wait to pretend like you don't exist, asshole!"

With that, I turn on my heel and stomp away from him. When I get to my bedroom, I slam my door, unnecessarily hard and extra loud, to get my anger and annoyance across.

A second later, I hear an equally obnoxious, ear-splitting wham from his bedroom door.

Good.

I hope I pissed him off, too. I'm done playing nice. If the fucking spawn doesn't want me as a friend, then we can be enemies for all I care.

Game on, bitch!