Done Hiding as Your Backup Plaything I'm Shining Golden as a Queen - Chapter 43: Chapter 43

The pool hall was in downtown Minneapolis, all exposed brick and neon signs. Two guys were already chalking up their cues when we walked in.
One wore a Hawaiian shirt so loud it practically screamed, while the other had a buzzcut and shoulders like a linebacker.
Hawaiian Shirt spotted Jax and was about to call out when he noticed me trailing behind. His face broke into that universal "dude's got a girl" smirk. "Damn, Xavier finally brought his girlfriend around!"
Jax walked over and put him in a playful headlock. "Jesus Christ, shut your face. She's basically my little sister."
Buzzcut raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you have a sister, bro?"
Jax released his friend with a shove. "Sister doesn't have to mean blood, genius."
Hawaiian Shirt turned out to be a non-stop talker, while Buzzcut mostly stayed quiet but dropped these perfectly timed one-liners that made everyone crack up.
Jax was surprisingly patient teaching me how to play pool.
His voice stayed calm and encouraging, reminding me of when he used to give those student council speeches that had all the girls sighing.
I kept my emotions locked down tight, playing the "neighborhood kid sister" role with Oscar-worthy dedication even as my skin tingled every time he leaned over to adjust my stance. The smell of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive—made my head swim, but I forced myself to focus on the cue ball instead of how close he was standing.
I even managed to keep my gaze casual and sisterly, though it took every ounce of willpower I possessed.
After demolishing us all afternoon (while pretending my terrible shots were "almost there"), Jax drove me home as the summer sky turned pink.
Just as I was sliding out of his car, he suddenly said, "Hold up."
He hopped out and popped the trunk, pulling out a glossy shopping bag.
"This is for you."
My brain short-circuited. "What is it?"
"A skirt," Jax explained with that half-smile that always made my stomach flip. "My mom bought matching ones for you and Rosalia. Already gave her the pink one."
Of course. Not from him. From his mom.
I swallowed the ridiculous disappointment and accepted the bag, keeping my face carefully blank. "Thanks."
After his taillights disappeared down the street, I couldn't stop myself from peeking inside the bag as I entered my building. It was a black pleated skirt—identical to Rosalia's pink one.
Always matched sets. Always complementary pieces. Never the same.
When I got home, it was like walking into an intervention. My parents and Rosalia were arranged in the living room like a tableau of family concern.
Rosalia was curled on the carpet against Mom's legs, looking like a tragic heroine from some teen drama.
Dad sat across from them, his face set in that rare "serious family business" expression he usually reserved for when bills were tight.
All three heads swiveled toward me when the door clicked shut.
Dad frowned, his voice dropping into that authoritative register: "Liana. Come here."
My chest tightened as I pressed my lips together and approached the family tribunal, feeling like a defendant with no attorney.
Dad didn't waste time: "What did you do to your sister?"
Mom gestured at Rosalia's face. "She's been crying for hours."
On cue, Rosalia gave a picture-perfect sniffle, nestling deeper into Mom's embrace while staring at me with those doe eyes that had gotten her out of trouble our entire lives.
"I didn't do anything to her," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady while my insides churned with a toxic mix of anger and hurt.
"Mom, she's been lying this whole time," Rosalia sat up straighter, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage. "She lied to all of us!"
Dad fixed me with that disappointed look that always made me feel two inches tall. "What exactly did you lie about, Liana?"
I opened my mouth to explain, but Rosalia cut me off with a dramatic sob: "That's not even the point! The point is she's a total liar, and lying is wrong!"
Mom quickly patted her shoulder. "Sweetie, try to calm down."
"I never lied," I said, my nails digging into my palms as I struggled to maintain composure. "Since scores came out, none of you actually asked what my score was—you only asked if I got above the minimum, which I did. You all just decided on your own that I barely scraped by with like a 1040."
The unfairness of it all burned in my throat. For years I'd been invisible in my own home, and the one time I achieved something extraordinary, I was being treated like a criminal for it.
Rosalia's chest heaved dramatically, her eyes darting between our parents. She clearly wanted to call me a liar again but couldn't figure out how without digging herself deeper.
Mom looked genuinely confused. "If you didn't get around 1040, what did you get?"
Both my parents stared at me with expressions I rarely saw directed my way—actual interest.
I kept my voice deliberately even, though my heart was pounding: "1500."
My parents froze like they'd been hit with a stun gun, then their faces transformed with that particular shock-joy combo reserved for unexpected lottery wins.
Mom: "Are you serious?"
Dad: "That's—isn't that the highest in Minnesota?"
"Yes. I just finished an interview with WCCO this afternoon. Rosalia walked in on it and decided I'd been lying to everyone."
Mom turned to Rosalia, her tone gentler than it had any right to be. "Honey, looks like you misunderstood the situation."
Rosalia's face darkened like a storm cloud before she bolted to her room, the perfect dramatic exit.
My parents were practically vibrating with excitement. Dad immediately started calling relatives to brag about his suddenly valuable daughter.
Mom moved toward me with her arms slightly raised—a rare offering of physical affection—but I stood up abruptly, the anger still simmering beneath my skin. "I have homework. Going to my room."
She awkwardly dropped her arms. "Okay."
Back in my room, I examined the black skirt carefully before repacking it, planning to wash it tomorrow. Despite everything, I couldn't help wondering if Jax would notice me wearing it.
Mom knocked and entered without waiting for a response—a privilege apparently only reserved for parents of teenagers.
"Liana," she started in that placating tone that always preceded some unfair request, "your sister didn't do well on her SAT, so she's really struggling right now. I'm sure she didn't mean to accuse you like that. Try to see it from her perspective."
My blood pressure skyrocketed. "But I didn't do anything wrong."
Mom nodded quickly. "Of course you didn't! Your sister was wrong, but she's hurting because of her scores. You did amazingly well—can't you be the bigger person? Just this once?"
The injustice of it made my voice crack. "Why is it always me who has to forgive her? Why am I always the one who has to be 'the bigger person'?"
Mom sighed like I was being difficult. "We're family, Liana. You can't just never speak to each other again."
I went silent, a lifetime of swallowed words burning in my throat.
Mom, mistaking my silence for agreement, rambled on about "sisterly bonds" for a few more minutes before finally leaving, probably to go comfort Rosalia some more.
I stared at the ceiling, wondering if there would ever be a day when being Liana Frost wouldn't mean being second place by default.