Imani removed the nozzle once the pump clicked off and returned it to the holder. “Name one thing.”
“The scholarship act.”
“What act?”
“The whole humble public-school girl story.”
Imani laughed.
“I never told that story.”
“You did not have to.”
Blaire looked toward Megan as though expecting agreement. Megan stared at the pavement.
Blaire continued. “Everybody knows why Crestwood brought you in.”
Imani leaned against the car. “Say it.”
Blaire hesitated.
“No.”
“You keep implying it.”
“So say it.”
Blaire rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing your little race trap.”
Imani smiled without humor. “You walked across a gas station to talk about my scholarship and my dad’s car.”
“You brought race here by yourself.”
“I didn’t say race.”
That familiar silence appeared again.
Blaire looked around and noticed several strangers watching. One woman near the convenience-store entrance had pulled out her phone.
The audience changed her.
Blaire stepped closer. “You think because teachers protect you, you can talk to everybody however you want.”
Imani shook her head. “I think you violated a no-contact order to follow me across a gas station.”
“This isn’t school.”
“No.”
“That makes what you’re doing even dumber.”
Blaire’s mouth tightened. “You really think you’re better than me.”
“I think you’re obsessed with proving I’m beneath you.”
Megan whispered Blaire’s name from near the orange car.
Blaire ignored her.
“Girls like you come into places like Crestwood and immediately act like everyone owes you something.”
Imani’s face changed.
“What does ‘girls like me’ mean?”
Blaire exhaled sharply.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“No.”