Chapter 59 Joseph, Your Girl’s a Millionaire Now
Chapter 59 Joseph, Your Girl’s a Millionaire Now
(Trish's POV)
"Get off! Joseph, I’m serious, leave me alone!" I shrieked, ducking behind my desk chair.
I was laughing so hard my ribs felt like they were being poked with hot needles. I grabbed a stray highlighter and pointed it at him like a dagger. "Back off, or I’ll highlight your forehead!"
"Trish, shut up!" Joseph hissed, skidding to a halt on the hardwood floor. He looked frantic, his eyes darting toward the closed bedroom door.
"Keep it down! Mom is downstairs. If she thinks we’re up here trashing the room, instead of studying for the most important exam of our lives, she’s going to skin me alive!"
"I don't care!" I yelled, intentionally raising my voice an octave higher just to watch him squirm. "Miss Britney! Help! Your son is a domestic disturbance!"
"Trish! Stop it!" Joseph lunged for me again, trying to muffle my laughter with a pillow. "She’s already on edge because of my dad and the scouts, if she hears you screaming like that, she’s gonna think I’m trying to—"
"MISS BRITNEY!" I bellowed, leaning toward the door.
Downstairs, the sound of a ceramic plate hitting the counter echoed, followed by the heavy, thundering rhythm of footsteps that meant business. These weren't "I’m coming to check on you" footsteps. These were "I am prepared to go to jail for my daughter" footsteps.
Joseph froze mid-air, one knee on my bed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.
BAM!
The door opened; it hit the wall with a crack that sounded like a gunshot.
Miss Britney stood in the doorway, her chest heaving, her hair slightly disheveled from the kitchen, and her eyes darting around the room with terrifying intensity. Her hands were clenched into fists, ready to take on her son if he was trying anything funny with me.
She looked at me, flushed, laughing, and holding a yellow highlighter. Then she looked at Joseph, tangled in a duvet, looking guilty and terrified. The tension in her shoulders suddenly snapped, replaced by a look of sheer, bewildered relief.
She had spent the last ten seconds convinced her son’s "troubled" persona had finally crossed a line into something dark, but all she found was a mess of textbooks and two teenagers acting like toddlers.
"What in the name of all that is holy..." Miss Britney breathed, leaning against the doorframe as the adrenaline left her. "I thought... Trish, I thought he was hurting you. Joseph Roland, I was two seconds away from calling the precinct."
Joseph slowly slid off the bed, his face turning a shade of red I didn't know was humanly possible. He leaned toward me, his voice a frantic, barely audible rasp. "You said you’d lock the door if I didn't come to study. Why didn't you lock the door? You’re trying to get me killed!"
I leaned back, whispering through a grin, "How was I supposed to lock the door when Mom’s home, you idiot? What would she think we were doing in here behind a locked door? Use your brain, if you have any left!"
Miss Britney straightened up, her eyes narrowing as she looked between us. "What is going on in here? Why was there screaming?"
I didn't hesitate. I didn't even blink. I put on my best "distressed student" face and pointed a finger directly at Joseph’s chest.
"Joseph won't let me study!" I said boldly, my voice ringing with mock indignation. "I’m trying to save his GPA, and he’s out here practicing his tackling drills on me and my furniture!"
"Hey!" Joseph barked, his jaw dropping. "That is a lie! You know that’s a lie! She was the one chasing me with—"
"I was defending myself!" I interrupted, looking at Miss Britney for support. "He’s being a complete hassle. I don't know how I’m supposed to get us through the Literature finals with him acting like a caffeinated golden retriever."
Miss Britney looked at her son, then back at me. A small, tired smile finally touched her lips. She knew Joseph could be a handful, and seeing me "tame" him was clearly the highlight of her day.
"Joseph," she said, her voice dropping into that 'Mom tone' that commanded instant obedience. "Sit. Down. If I hear one more peep that isn't the sound of pages turning, you’re sleeping on the porch. Do you understand? Leave her alone."
Joseph slumped his shoulders, defeated. "Yes, ma'am."
As she turned to head back downstairs, I caught Joseph’s eye. I stuck my tongue out at him, feeling every bit the half-million-dollar queen of the house. I had the money, I had the grades, and I officially had the power.
"You're a demon," Joseph whispered as he sat back down on the floor, opening his book with a vengeful thud.
"I'm a savior," I corrected, sliding a bowl of half-melted ice cream toward him. "Now, let’s talk about Shakespeare before I tell her you tried to eat the highlighter."