Page 2 of Power Play

My mother’s fingers settled against my shoulder as though she could keep the conversation pleasant by touching me. “Lance, she needs to leave.”

“I’m asking a question.”

“Two hours,” I said.

His expression remained thoughtful. “Your last quiz suggested you needed three.”

“I’ll study again tonight.”

He nodded before returning to the call, but he covered the microphone as he passed. “Charlie never waited until the night before an exam, sweetheart. You need to apply yourself if you want to find success.”

The words landed quietly, without anger. My father didn’t need to yell. Disappointment in his voice could follow me for days.

He kissed the top of my head and continued toward the dining room while discussing market exposure with someone whose name I recognized from a framed photograph in his office.

My mother watched him leave, then adjusted the strap of my bag where it crossed my shoulder.

“He only wants to see you succeed.”

“I know.”

“You’re all we have now, Charmagne.”

She said it softly enough to sound like love. It was love. That made the weight of it harder to put down.

I swallowed the pressure gathering in my throat and reached for the door.

“Wait.” Her gaze dropped toward my skirt. “Did the uniform feel this snug during the fitting?”

My hand froze on the brass handle. “I think it fits.”

“It pulls across your hips when you stand that way.”

“I’m standing normally.”

“You have your weight on one leg.” She touched the side of my waist and encouraged me to square my body toward the mirror. “You inherited my curves, sweetheart. There’s nothing wrong with them, but certain cuts require more consideration and more discipline on your end.”

Heat climbed beneath the neckline of my uniform. I stared at my reflection and tried to see the girl my mother saw instead of the one who’d spent all week practicing in that skirt without thinking about her hips.

The fabric looked tighter now.

I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t noticed it upstairs. The waistband curved around a body that had seemed normal ten minutes earlier. Once my mother identified the problem, it became impossible to see anything else.

“The team breakfast is after rehearsal,” she continued. “Choose the fruit and eggs rather than the pancakes. You’ll feel lighter during the afternoon session.”

“I have algebra review between rehearsals.”

“Then you’ll want to stay focused. Heavy food will make you sluggish.”

I nodded because Coach’s warning kept repeating inside my head and because arguing would only make me later.

My mother kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

The praise should’ve erased the correction. Instead, it taught me that beautiful could disappear if I stood incorrectly, chose pancakes, or let the wrong strand of hair escape.

I thanked her before stepping outside.

By the time I reached school, I had fourteen minutes to cross campus, change my shoes, put away my bag, and make it onto the gym floor. I spent six of those minutes searching the back seat for my algebra notebook before remembering I’d left it open on my desk.