And that's when it hits me. It didn't register at the time, I was too naive and excited, bloated with her fake compliments.
Sandy did this.
It makes sense, that's the only thing that makes any sense at all.
Anger inflames my soul, flipping a switch inside my head, and causing me to do something I never would have done before.
Storming over to Sandy, I shove her sweater against her chest. “Here. You forgot this.” My voice is sharp as the thin edge of a knife. I want her to hear me this time, I want her to know I'm not afraid of her.
“Hey!” she yells, her jaw jetting to one side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You screwed me!” Pointing a finger in her face, I hold up the empty portfolio.
“I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I didn't do anything.”
“Yes you did. All my work is gone. All of it.” Opening both ends, I tip it over, letting the pages float to the floor. “Where's my stuff, Sandy?”
Sandy flares her nostrils, tipping her head to look down the bridge of her nose at me. “I don't have your shit, Dalia.”
“This is all your fault. You did this to me. It's because of you I lost out on an incredible opportunity. You made me embarrass myself.”
Scoffing, she looks around as kids start to circle us like sharks. Touching her chest lightly, she purses her lips. “It's not my fault you went in there looking like a slut.” Her eyes run up and down my front, and she circles my torso with a single finger. “I mean look at you. Maybe you went in there looking for the wrong job. I think the escort booth is in the far back corner.”
Sandy laughs to herself, crossing one arm over the other and letting her hand hang loose. Kicking her hip out, she stiffens her back, and glares at me.
“You're lying! You did this to my clothes, to my makeup.”
“Ew,” she says, scrunching her face up tight. “I'd never help you with anything. Don't blame me because you're a dirty slut, Dalia.”
“I'm not a slut.”
“You know what they say, if it looks like a slut, and it dresses like a slut, it must be. . .” she pauses, taking a step in. “A whore.”
A few of her friends are behind her, and all of them start laughing, calling me a whore too. Sniffling, I wipe my eyes, trying not to cry.
“Awe, what's the matter?” Sandy asks, her voice high pitched. “Is the little whore going to cry now?”
Turning, I attempt to run, but Sandy grabs the back of my dress, and yanks me backwards. “Where the hell do you think you're going? You don't get to accuse me of something and then run away.”
Stumbling backwards, I catch my balance on the wall. “Let me go, Sandy!” Tearing my dress free, I whip around so I'm facing her.
I can feel myself getting more upset, my tears turning from water into rage. Balling my fists at my side, I've hit my limits. We all have a point of no return, a moment where we lose our shit and don't see it coming.
All I see is red.
Charging Sandy, I shove her to the ground. Jumping on top of her, we're struggling with each other. Her hands are in my hair, my hands are in hers. I can hear fabric rip, but I'm not sure if it's hers or mine.
“Hey! Hey! Enough!” Strong hands peel me easily off of Sandy. “What the hell is going on? Sandy, are you all right? What the hell happened?”
Lyle holds me back while lowering a hand to his sister and helping her to her feet. He's glancing between us, his eyes confused.
“This bitch is trying to say I stole her stuff. When I didn't, I didn't touch her shit.” Sandy fixes her shirt, then brushes her fingers through her hair.
“She's lying!” I snap, jerking my body forward to yell at her over his shoulder. “She switched my portfolio with blank pages of paper, and sent me in to make a fool of myself.”
Huffing under her breath, she shakes her head, her eyes turning to slits. “Why would I do that, Dalia? Hm? Tell me what reason I have?”
“I. . . I don't know! But you did it! I know you did!”
“That’s enough. Dalia, if Sandy says she didn't do it, she didn't do it.”
“What?” My eyes dart between his, angry and upset that he can't see the truth. “She's bullshitting you, Lyle!”
“Look, I know my sister—”
Tearing myself free, I rake my fingers over my face. “You know what, forget it, I'm done with this shit.” Spinning quickly, I storm off. I can't look at her anymore. I don't want to see her. I don't want to hear her. And I don't want to listen to her spew her lies.
There's an extra set of steps with mine, causing me to look over my shoulder. Lyle is walking quickly, trying to catch up with me.
“Dalia, wait up.”
“Go away, Lyle.” Picking up my pace, I drop my eyes to the floor.
He's at my side in a heartbeat, grabbing my shoulder to stop me from walking. “Here,” he says, trying to hand me a pile of papers. “I found this—”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“Just look at them and tell me if they look familiar.”
I shift my gaze from his to his hands and snatch the pile from his fingers. It's all my artwork, every page. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in the trash. Maybe you dropped them and someone just picked them up and threw them away.”
“Bullshit. I don't believe you.” Stuffing them into my folder, I tuck it under my arm. “She got you to help her, didn't she?”
“Help her? Help
