Chapter Seventeen: 3 Minute Short, but Seconds too long

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Chapter Seventeen: 3 Minute Short, but Seconds too long

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Chapter Seventeen: 3 Minute Short, but Seconds too long

Lyra:

    One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine...ten...Yī, èr, sān, sì, wǔ, liù, qī, bā, jiǔ, shí. (One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten). Tap...tap...tap...tap...under the table I rhythmically tap my fingers on my knee, keeping count like a metronome. I manage to resist the nervous urge to chew at my cheek, but unfortunately can't seem to stop the tapping, or the nibbling of my lower lip. My nerves are furiously racing, as I try to calm myself with little to no luck.

    By some strange twist of fate, or miracle (considering how rare it was to find all of them in, and sharing the same space), all four of my stepbrothers had wandered into the kitchen around the same time. I had ducked into the kitchen quickly, intent on retrieving another water bottle and possibly grabbing a protein bar (before I hightailed it back to practice—I didn't want to chance Maksim punishing me for taking an overlong break), and I had run headlong into Zach. I'd turned red in embarrassment, and had wanted to die, even though Zach had been nothing but smiles, and other enigmatic looks. And I'd no sooner apologized when Bethany had strolled into the kitchen. She'd taken one look at us all, had clapped her hands in childlike glee, and had somehow managed to corral and convince us all to sit down for supper...together. And since Maksim had been waiting at the rink to resume practice, she'd invited him to join us for supper as well.

Ó, shèngjié de mǔqīn, zhè hěn gāngà. (Oh, holy mother, this is awkward)

"What did you just say, darling?" Bethany asks, she's practically bouncing in her seat she's so clearly excited. Well, I'm glad that someone is happy. "That's Chinese, right dear? It sounds so pretty when you speak." Bethany finishes with a wide, bright, smile on her face.

    Oh boy, I wasn't aware I'd spoken out loud. God, my nerves really were totally fried.

"It is pretty, but I think the mother tongue spoken by our little doll is even prettier still," Maksim interjects, a wide smile splits his face as he looks at me. Heat rises to my face, and I pray that I'm not as red as a tomato (though my chances are slim to none in that capacity, I'm sure). "...Say something in the mother tongue, sweet. Let Miss Beth hear how pretty the words fall from your lips..."

"She's not some damn puppet! She doesn't need to perform for you!" Trent suddenly shouts out from his seat, which just happens to be right next to me. I watch as Maksim turns slowly to to face him. A small sneering smile now curls his lips.

"Ahhh...one of the look alikes, again. You have something to say to me, boy? Hmmm...didn't think so. You should know better, I'd have thought Stefan taught you better." His sneering smile grows. "Then again, I can tell you were probably a handful, wild, weren't you? Probably still are. You don't have the discipline that my little doll has, that much is clear?"

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