Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Unfortunately for me, I had none and the place looks worse each time I visit.
The floors are destroyed, as are most of the walls. The mirrors split from the pressure of the water, and tubs containing a decade’s worth of saved materials for costumes were reduced to a pile of garbage. Even the bathrooms need to be gutted. The water rot and mold are getting worse by the day because apparently I needed to remove the boards and plug in some fans to try to save the wood—my dad would have known that if he were here. But also plug in fans? To what and where?
The best I could have done even if I had known was hang them from the damn ceiling, which is not even possible. Sadly, I’m well aware that, the longer it sits, the more likely it will be that the entire infrastructure will need to come down.
I can’t even bring myself to look in my back room again after learning that was the space the roof caved in over, where my brand-new, still had the plastic protector on it, four-thousand-dollar sewing machine and heat press—which wasn’t too far off in price either—were. My official splurges for myself so I could save hours on costume making.
I never got to use either.
It’s time to face the truth here. By the time the year ends, I might not have a studio to consider, leaving my only option being the one my grandfather is offering.
Would I have to move away if I agreed? I might not have cared if he’d found me two years ago, but I have friends now. Real friends who care about me, that I care about. Sure, they have their own lives to build after graduation, but I know they want to stay close to each other, if only by migrating south to the beach every holiday or break they can manage. I thought, after a few years, I would try to buy something there too.
Would that even be possible if I signed the contract Grant has waiting for me?
Would I have to abandon my plans to be someone for kids who have nobody else?
Get a studio spot somewhere else and let go of the one that’s linked to my father?
A warm hand presses to my elbow, and my eyes fly open, a blurry Chase before me.
I blink rapidly, not having realized I’d closed my eyes and embarrassed by the moisture I feel building in my lashes. “Sorry, I…”
Worry lines his forehead, and he hands me my chai latte, his protein shake in his other hand.
Silently, we move toward the exit and step outside.
“Um,” I begin, hoping he won’t ask. “Looks like we passed the perfect amount of time. We might even get to the dining hall before the others.”
“No break for me actually.”
I look over at him in question.
“I have some work I need to get done, so I’m going to the library.”
“Oh, well, you’ll probably get to say hi in passing, at least.”
“Uh.” He stops walking so I pause and face him, lifting my hand to block the sun. “I’m going to go this way.” He points behind him. “I have to ask one of my professors something really fast.” He lifts his shake. “But thanks for lunch.”
I smile, waving awkwardly as he heads off in the opposite direction, skipping our preplanned group lunch for the second time in a row.
Facing forward, I head for the cafeteria, the others coming into view right away.
They spot me coming and Cameron lets out a low, teasing whistle, pretending to be pulling me toward her by an invisible rope, so I hurry my steps as much as my short legs will allow.
I notice the moment the boys realize Chase isn’t with me. Brady, one of his best friends, pulls his phone out right away, likely to text him. Unfortunately for him, Chase turned his phone off, so I doubt he’ll get a reply anytime soon.
Maybe he has just as much going on off campus as I do, though I doubt his is related to a massive amount of money that could change his future entirely.
Right?
CHAPTER THREE
Chase
I guess I’m a liar now, too. I’ll just add that to my ever-growing list of undesirable traits, fuckups, and failures. A list that is likely to grow if the last nine months are anything to go by. Hell, the last three years, really, if we’re counting all the ways I’ve gone wrong since my high school graduation. I thought everything would change for the better after that. Some things—the things I was most looking forward to—did, but for every positive shift in my life, there’s a counterreaction.
Escape the mayhem at home, create it among my friend group.
Fix things with my best friend, get a new coach who hates me.
Ace all my classes so the future I mapped out is a guarantee, find out I might not even get the chance to graduate.