The Game Changer by Marie Landry Page A

tight black pants with an even tighter t-shirt shirt who was carrying a tray of food toward one of the tables. “Want something to eat? I’d kill for some French fries right now.”
    They chose a table in the centre of the room, and Olivia ordered two more drinks and an order of fries for them to share. Olivia had a thing about eating greasy food while she was drinking. Melody was just glad to get off her aching feet.
    “I don’t know how you wear these things all the time,” Melody said, flexing her feet and pointing to her borrowed shoes. Her squished toes were almost completely numb, and the rest of her feet were throbbing in protest after hours on the dance floor.
    “You get used to it,” Olivia told her, looking at her own feet.
    Melody shook her head. She couldn’t imagine getting used to these shoes. She was amazed she could walk and dance in them without falling flat on her face, but she couldn’t picture wearing them every day. She had seen her mother’s misshapen feet after decades of narrow shoes with pointy toes, and she didn’t want to end up with feet she had to keep hidden for the rest of her life. “Aren’t flats in style right now?” she asked.
    “Yes, but they only look good with certain outfits,” Olivia said, smiling at the waiter as he set their drinks and snack on the table.
    “Then let’s find some of those outfits,” Melody said pointedly, drawing a chuckle from Olivia.
    The smell of fries made Melody suddenly ravenous. She and Olivia dug in, then started to laugh when they realized they probably looked like starved animals.
    “A little more class,” Olivia said primly, straightening in her seat and crossing her legs. She daintily plucked a fry from the basket and took a bite. “If my mother were here, she’d tell us to eat these with a fork.”
    “She would,” Melody agreed.
    Olivia’s mother had grown up poor, but always had illusions of grandeur—or delusions of grandeur, according to Olivia. Mrs. O’Dell had joined a sorority in college where those illusions became reality, surrounded by privileged girls from good families who helped her rise through the ranks of society. It was during those sorority years that she met Olivia’s father, whose family was one of the wealthiest in Toronto. After fifteen years of marriage, Olivia’s mother left her husband and daughter and ran off to the States, where she remarried several times, always for money, and was now single and living in Los Angeles.
    Melody hadn’t known Mrs. O’Dell well, but the woman had made an impression. Always immaculately dressed, with professionally coiffed hair and French manicures, Mrs. O’Dell had never let Olivia leave the house without her inspection. Whenever Melody was over, Olivia’s mother would preach to the girls about manners and elocution and how to conduct oneself in the presence of men.
    Melody’s lips quirked at the memories, and she shook her head again. There had never been a dull moment with Mrs. O’Dell around, and even though Olivia was always adamant about the fact that her life had improved with her mother gone, Melody knew there was a lot of hurt and resentment there.
    “Ladies do not eat with their fingers, dahling ,” Olivia said with an affected British accent, drawing out each word. Mrs. O’Dell came from a suburb of Toronto, but after spending a lot of time in England on holidays, she’d picked up the accent, Madonna-style. She would even tell strangers that she was from London, much to Olivia’s embarrassment. “In fact, a lady does not eat finger foods at all, except of course at tea time, and even then it is only with pristine white gloves, so one does not get one’s fingers dirty.”
    By this time, Melody was laughing so hard she was gasping for breath. “Stop, stop,” she begged Olivia, clutching her stomach as the uncontrollable giggles rolled out of her. “You always told me to warn you if you started to turn into your mother.”
    Olivia’s answering