Chapter 3
Amelia screamed as if I were torturing her.
If unaware of the story, they'd think I was up to no good with her.
Michael and Stacy clung to that scream like a lifeline.
Michael suddenly jabbed me, shouting, "See? I knew it! Amelia wouldn't stiff the bill. You're the real thief!"
Stacy charged over, trying to grab my clothes.
"Susanna, stealing Amelia's card to act superior? Now she's hassled by security. Are you even human?"
The class immediately turned on me.
"Gross. You think you know someone, but you don't."
"Call the cops! Thieves like her belong behind bars!"
"Susanna, give the card! Don't hold us back!"
Amelia scrambled up, fixing her messy hair.
She'd throw me under the bus to stay clean.
Evidence? Who cares?
If all believed her, her lies would be true.
I sat still, watching Amelia's dramatic act.
"Claiming I stole your card?" I said calmly.
I casually swirled my teacup.
"Which card did I steal? Got the number and PIN?" I asked, sarcastic.
Amelia choked, speechless.
Her eyes flickered nervously. "The Centurion Card! The Harper Family gave it to me, and I haven't changed the PIN yet!"
"Oh?" I replied skeptically.
I set my cup down and stood up.
I closed the gap step by step.
Amelia recoiled.
"What are you doing? My fiance, Sebastian Sterling, is arriving any minute!" she stammered.
I ignored her.
I picked up the Porsche key that fell from her bag.
This looked legit.
The logo gleamed, and the weight felt real in my palm.
"This is the Porsche key you showed off?" I asked.
I fiddled with the key, openly amused.
Amelia's face fell as she grabbed it. "Give it back! Sebastian gave me that engagement gift!"
I raised my hand higher, letting her miss.
"Engagement gift?" I said sarcastically, glaring at Amelia.
I snorted, laughing.
I asked Michael, "Got a light, class prez?"
Michael paused and patted his pockets but found no lighter.
"No lighter, no smoke, right?" I said, casually mocking.
The room froze, everyone staring, clueless about my point.
I held the Porsche key.
With a click,
a blue flame flickered at the key's tip.
The flame burned bright and steady, nearly blinding in the private room.
I held the flame for Michael so all could see.
"Go on, light up," I said, mocking.
Michael's cigarette fell to the floor with a soft thud.
His eyes widened, staring at the key spitting fire, his jaw hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.
"Wh-what..." he stammered, speechless.
Stacy stammered, "Is this Porsche a hybrid? Next, you'll cook dinner with it?"
I blew out the flame.
"Got it for three bucks on Chintzy, windproof too. Real classy, Amelia. The Harper Family sure keeps it humble," I jibed.
Amelia's face instantly turned red.
"You're lying! It's custom-made for protection!" she stammered, trembling with embarrassment.