Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“Okay, what do you think?” Lively, one of the waitresses, turns around from her locker to face me. “Too much? Too little?” Then, looking down at herself, “Or maybe even less than little?”
I’m sitting on the long bench, between the row of what used to be white lockers—now they just look discolored and even rusted in places—and putting on my lipstick before my shift. It’s a bright red shade that I think helps with my pale skin and cinnamon freckles. As in, if you’re blinded by my lipstick, you may not notice my million freckles, but who knows. I’m not an expert at makeup.
I look away from the compact mirror and focus on Lively. It’s her first day being a Muse. I met her a few months ago at one of the catering events that I do on and off along with my other regular jobs and we immediately hit it off. When she expressed her desire to pick up more work, I connected her to the manager of this place, George. But only because I had no other choice. As in, this isn’t the best job in the world. You get ogled at. You get groped. Men think they get a free pass at you just because you’re serving them drinks. But it pays well. And from the looks of it, Lively needed money. I mean, she works multiple jobs like me so it wasn’t hard to guess. It’s my worst job but it’s also my best paying job, so here she is. Plus George took one look at Lively’s long blonde tresses and light brown eyes and declared her muse material. Just as I knew he would.
And dare I say, she’s taking to it better than I ever did. Her skirt is short and frilly but not so short that you can see glimpses of her butt cheeks. Her tank top is a cami with lace work around the shoulders and spaghetti straps that curiously keep falling down her arms, baring the slopes of her breasts. It’s not the most revealing outfit I’ve seen, but I think it will work.
I nod. “This is great.”
“Yeah?” She pats her skirt, looking down at herself. “You don’t think I should show more skin?”
“Nope. Just let that strap do all the work and you could be making your next month’s rent by the end of this week.”
She beams. “Yay.” Then, getting serious, “Have I thanked you today?”
I chuckle, going back to my lipstick. “You have, and like I said before, no need to thank me for it. Because that’s what friends do.”
“Not my friends,” she mumbles.
I don’t know what her story is but I know she’s new in town and that she needs the cash. She’s pretty reserved that way, and since I have a few deep dark secrets of my own, I can relate to her desire for privacy.
Once ready, Lively leaves for the floor while I hang back to call my sister like I always do. She picks up on the first ring and says, “I’m in bed. Reading. But don’t worry, I’ll go to sleep before midnight like some kind of boring Cinderella.”
I smile at her sassy tone but still decree, “You’ll go to sleep before eleven.”
“Ugh, come on,” she whines. “This book is good. If I power through, I can finish it tonight.”
“Power through tomorrow.”
“But—”
“No, hon,” I say in a gentle tone. “You know the rules. Lights out by eleven.”
She sighs. “I hate when you get all responsible and big sister-y.”
“I am your big sister,” I retort.
“Yeah, but you’re the fun sister,” she reminds me. “Not this rule-following disciplinarian who’s allergic to putting even a single toe out of line.”
“Well, I’m the rule-following disciplinarian only because I’m afraid, remember?” I tell her, my fingers clutching the phone tightly. “Once I recover from the biggest scare of my life, you can go back to being all rebellious and staying up all night reading. Until then, indulge me, okay?”
Snow is silent for a few seconds before saying, her tone even gentler than mine, “Nothing is going to happen to me.”
A big ball of emotions gets stuck in my throat, and I croak, “And I’m going to make sure of that.”
“I’m fine, Juju,” she says, using her childhood nickname for me. “The doctor said I’m recovering nicely.”
My eyes sting and I blink a few times to get things under control. “He also said what happened to you was extremely rare, so I’m not taking any chances.”
No, I’m fucking not.
Not with my sister. Not with her health, her life. Her heart. Which is what’s at stake right now. Apparently it’s been at stake ever since she was born, but we only found out about it last year.
Ebstein’s anomaly. That’s what they called it when Snow fainted in class last year and was brought to the emergency room. They said her heart wasn’t beating right. That she had arrhythmia and she needed further testing, which showed that she had a defect in her tricuspid valve. They said it was congenital, that she’d had it since birth. It was only presenting itself now.