Page 5 of First Time Rush
I don't want to have this conversation right now, and we both know the answer anyway. I play with my ponytail, tug at the waistband of my skirt to hide some of the muffin top, pull the sweater down farther. None of it works.
I swallow hard, refocus. I'm doing this. And yes, it may be silly, but I don't care. I reach into the dresser and play with a sterling silver hand mirror that used to be Mom's.
"That's not what everybody gets. Mom and Dad were lucky. I just want some freedom before I get married. I won't lose this place, either. Yes, I'll marry Victor. But this place is our home, even if it doesn't feel like it right now with them here."
The last time we saw our mother, in the hospital before she passed away, she made us promise to keep this house in the family.
Dad built it for her. Everywhere we look, we're reminded of the love they had.
"I just want Simon to see we can do things on our own. That he’ll know he can't control us forever. We don't even have any friends, Leah. We have neverbeento a nightclub. We haven't even been to the damn mall. I want to go to school and be a real chef, but they won't listen to me. They've got all the power right now, and I want to shake things up. We need money of our own. We're like two princesses shut up in the tower. I want to live a little before I'm Mrs. Victor Galetti."
"Oh, I don't know." She lets out a long breath. "You've always had the craziest ideas. Lord knows I've doubted you before, and you've made me eat crow. But I don't see how this is going to get you anything but in deep trouble."
Leah pulls at her hands in her lap. Her eyes shimmer. I'd be lost without her.
"I'm nineteen years old, how much trouble can I get into? I'm an adult." I hold my head high with preposterous bravado.
She snorts out a laugh with a shake of her head. I push off the dresser and close the space between us, skipping as I go.
I crouch down in front of her, the hem of my pleated navy-blue uniform skirt riding up to the tops of the thigh-high socks.
"I'm going to get us out of here." My voice is steady and sure. "I'm going to get into that culinary school and become the most famous pastry chef and baker evah." I toss my head back, then settle my eyes back on her with raised eyebrows. "Did you like that raspberry napoleon I made tonight?" I bob my eyebrows and nod at her.
"Yes. It was amazing. As always. How do you just know how to make stuff like that? You never even follow a recipe."
"Magic." I grin and wrinkle my nose at her. When I'm baking, I'm as happy as I ever can be. I feel peaceful, and I’m able to forget that I'm engaged to a man I barely know — and what I do know, I don't like.
I forget the charmed, blessed life we had until a drunk driver exploded our world. I don't dream of much, but I want that peace, that sense of being alive I get when I bake. It's stupid, I know. But it does it for me. Takes me away from this suffocating, isolated world.
I rise to my feet, wondering if I should lather on some makeup. I don't have much, but I can toss it in my bag and apply a coat of paint on the bus.
Then the reality of what I'm about to do hits, and my stomach clenches. I suddenly feel so stupid. What makes me think I can make money dancing?
Because you can't think of any other option that will actually bring home money and let you work during the hours when no one will notice you're gone. And, you've got moves.
Leah would have been the stripper. Legs that end at her neck, cheekbones set in a way that would make any Vogue model jelly, and the way she carries — carried — herself was like royalty. She would have had every chin drop to the floor when she took the stage.
I, on the other hand, am none of those things. But my legs still work, and that means I need to do this. My stomach tightens, knowing eventually I'll have to take off my top, and they'll see the imprint the accident left on me, as well as my six-pack abs covered in a couple layers of cupcake calories. But I shake it off. My plan is to amaze them with my novelty.
Or at least make them feel so sorry for me that they'll give me a shot.
I know I just need a chance. I will do whatever it takes to teach myself to dance. Or anything else. I don't care. I'll dowhatever I need to do to get us out of here. We may both carry the memories of that horrible day on our bodies and in our hearts, but we still have each other, and that will never, ever change.
Simon's practically kept us prisoners since the accident. He still insisted we wear school uniforms Monday through Friday when the tutors came. Fororder and structure. Just what two girls who'd lost their parents needed. Never mind hugs, kindness, and understanding.
But now we’re both over the age of legally needing a guardian. I turned nineteen a couple months ago, and Leah is fifteen months older. But somehow, we're still under a conservatorship that Simon runs, and the only way out is court, and court takes money and freedom. The two things the poorest rich girls I know don't have.
Victor tried to kiss me once. The day we got engaged. He slipped the ring on my finger after Simon explained that I was getting married and to whom, and why I would do it without question.
Well, that's not fair. He gave me a choice. He made it very clear that if I didn't marry his son, I'd be granted my freedom.
And never see my sister again. Or this house.
Leah doesn't know that part. She'd tell me not to marry him. But not only would I lose her, we'd lose this place. And I couldn't bear either one.
"So." I stand taller, throwing my chest out and grinning from ear to ear. "You want to see my moves before I go?" I spin around and hit the play button on the CD player on the desk.
"Noooo," Leah groans, rolling her eyes as she turns her chair away from me.
