Jade rooted through her backpack an

Jade rooted through her backpack and pulled out her iPod before shoving the bag into the overhead compartment. Plopping down into the wide leather seat, she jammed her earphones as close to her eardrums as she could, scrolled down to Pink, and pressed the play button. She sat listening broodingly. To make sure Margot got the message that she was totally uninterested in her company, she reached forward and retrieved the airline magazine from the leather pouch and began flipping through its pages. But through the veil of her lashes she watched the other passengers board, noted how every one of them paused in midshuffle down the aisle the instant their gazes landed on her beautiful and glamorous half-sister.
Jade had never felt so ugly before. Or so very lonely and afraid. Mom was dead. She’d never see her again, and would never be able to say how sorry she was for all the fights they’d had last summer, or for walking away without a good-bye hug when Mom left her at that stink-hole of a school.
It was only that she’d been so angry with her for having turned into some kind of Gestapo-type for no good reason. For years, Jade hadn’t been able to do anything wrong. She’d loved being “Mommy’s darling.” Then one day, out of the blue, Mom began accusing her of all sorts of totally ridiculous stuff, and calling her a liar when she denied it. At first she’d been too hurt and confused to do more than retreat to her bedroom and cry. But after a while, she got fed up. She began sticking up for herself and yelling right back.
That clinched it. Mom freaked and started bitching to Dad, telling him that she was the worst teenager in the whole world. The only solution was to send her away to school before she got completely out of control. And Dad really, really hated having to deal with anything—unless it involved some horse he was planning to buy, breed, or sell—so Mom wore him down real quick. He caved and the next thing she knew, they were dumping her at Maiden Academy.
She’d hated her parents for that, her mom especially, for having turned into the psycho of the century. But that didn’t mean Jade had wanted her to die. A sick, crampy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. God, she was so scared. Her skin felt clammy and cold with fear.
And what if Dad died, too? No, no, she wouldn’t let herself go there. Dad wouldn’t. He simply wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t leave her.
Her gaze slid sideways. Margot had slipped on a pair of oversized Chanel dark glasses, but Jade could see her eyes were closed. Napping. That showed how upset she was that her stepmother was dead and that their father was probably hooked up to a hundred different machines while the doctors operated. She didn’t care what happened to their family. It was like Mom always said: Margot thought she was better than everybody else and that the universe revolved around her. According to Mom, she’d never given Dad anything but heartache. That’s why she wouldn’t let Margot talk to him on the phone after she’d run off to New York, why she checked the mail for any letters or cards with Margot’s handwriting and buried them deep in the garbage. Mom wasn’t about to let Margot’s manipulations upset him again.
There’d been times when Jade wondered if her mother might not be exaggerating how selfish and conceited Margot was. But now she believed every word. It had been beyond gross watching Thomas Selby drool over her. And she had acted as if it were only natural for Selby to treat her like visiting royalty. And then that other guy—the agent at the airport, the one she’d thought was kind of cute at first—had made it sound as if his fiancée were going to set up a holy shrine to Margot at her beauty salon. All because she’d offered him a lousy signed photograph.
Thank God her scrapbook hadn’t fallen open when that stupid bag ripped apart in front of a couple of hundred people. It would have been beyond mortifying if Margot had seen the pictures of herself neatly taped to its pages. She’d started the album a few years back because what kid wouldn’t think it cool that her older sister was a fashion model? But she knew better now and the thought of Margot knowing about the album freaked her out. That’s why she hadn’t let Margot help pick up her stuff. Not that Margot had really wanted to; she’d probably been delighted to get back to that bald-headed loser of a ticket agent so she could complain that everything was Jade’s fault… “My sister wasn’t aware of the airline’s restrictions.” God, Margot had made it sound as if she were an utter dweeb.
The first thing she’d do when she got home to Rosewood would be to toss the scrapbook in the garbage. She didn’t need Margot, or Jordan, either, who was way too wrapped up in her own kids’ lives to care about her. The only person she needed was Dad.