Authors: Valia Lind
"I miss you, Paige," I whisper and then raise my voice. "I miss having you as my sister. Please stop hating me."
Her eyes fly up to meet mine and I see my own hurt mirrored there. I watch emotions cross her face, too fast for me to identify and suddenly, there are tears in my eyes. She takes a deep breath, and for a moment I think she's going to yell at me like she's done so many times before.
"I don't hate you." Her voice is so faint, I don't think I hear her right.
"What?"
"I don't hate you," she says again, a bit more clearly "I never really hated you. I was always jealous of you."
"Paige—?"
"You were always the strong one. Even as a kid, you knew exactly what and who you wanted to be in life. And you've been fighting for that right ever since. I could never be that strong."
"But you love what you do?" It comes out more of a question, because now I'm not so sure. I always thought she did, but it's been years since we talked about anything that mattered to either one of us.
"Sure I do. But it's not a calling. It's not a gift. Not like what you do." I don't know what to say. She's taking all of my coherent thought away with her words. It's like she's my sister again, the one that used to braid my hair and tried different lipsticks on my lips.
"Can't we get past this?" I ask softly, because it doesn't matter what Dad or Mom says. This is between us and right now, this is more important than where I'll go to school or what career path I’ll take. I think she realizes that at the same time I do.
"It's why I came to see you here. Away from home and everything that's Dad." I chuckle at that because it's true. "I'm just so tired of being in the middle of everything. I don't want you to be the exact replica of me. I want you to be you. I’ve wanted to call you so many times but I've treated you unfairly. I let other people make decisions for me when it comes to how I'm feeling. I’m tired of listening to everyone else’s voice in my head. I want to be a bit more like you, and take a stand in the kind of person I want to be. I've thought about this a lot since the last time I was home. I'm learning."
"You're not the only one," I say. I let others define how I see the world, how I feel about things, and it's only since Grayson came into my life that I got back to being me. Completely and totally me.
This is not the end, it's the beginning. We're trying, and we’ll continue trying to be something more than two people who come from the same family.
And that's when I do the one thing that I haven't done for years. I reach over and fold my sister in my arms. The hug is not like the others, not like the business ones we've accustomed in giving each other.
For the first time in what seems like forever, we're hugging like sisters.
THIRTY - SEVEN
Hospitality: making your guest feel like they're at home, even if you wish they were.
- Author Unknown
The next morning I stare into my closet as if I've never seen it before.
Taking a deep breath, I bypass the typical black shirt and jeans, reaching for one of my blouses instead. I sewed this one over the summer, from mismatched pieces of leftover fabric. The different shades of green make the shirt flow with colors, bringing out the green in my eyes with a bam. I pair the shirt with a black skirt I designed last winter. It's a straight pattern with two small pockets in the front, falling halfway between my knees and waist. I add my black boots to the mix, and a few pieces of jewelry, pulling the whole look together. When I stop in front of a mirror I almost don't recognize myself. For a moment, I think about my sister and the time we spent together yesterday. She would definitely approve of this outfit.
I'm so used to wearing one shade t-shirts and simple pants or shorts I forget what I look like in color. The outfit I wore to Grayson's house was the most daring I've been in a while. But I look good. The soft colors complement my completion, the material perfect against my skin. I'm nervous to go downstairs like this, even more nervous to go to school, but this is a step. A big one in the right direction. Grayson kept bugging me to wear more of my own clothing the whole time we were working together. Now it's time to be brave and actually wear some.
I make it downstairs and out to Dakota's car with no problem. Dad’s already left for work and Mom is barely awake in the mornings. I don't even think she glanced up when I went to give her a kiss on the head.
Dakota is another story.
"Holy moly, Woman!" she shouts as soon as I'm inside the vehicle. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? Is that a bright color I see?"
"Calm down," I reply laughing, my face heating up at her praise. "I just thought I'd try something new."
"Well, finally. I've only been trying to get you to wear your creations for years." She pulls out of the driveway and heads toward school without asking what brought on the change. I'm pretty sure she knows, but I'm thankful she doesn't mention him.
When I get out of the car in the school parking lot, I'm self-conscious all over again. I tug at my shirt, then skirt, then shirt again, until Dakota sighs, placing her hands on her hips.
"Get over here already. You look amazing. Stop stalling."
So I do.
The moment we're through the front gates, I feel like every eye is on me. I may not be popular, but high school doesn't care. High school is like being surrounded by vultures. I can almost hear the wheels of the rumor mill turning as I walk into school wearing something other than jeans.
"Morning, Dakota," Chance's voice comes from Dakota's right. "And good morning—" Chance freezes as his eyes do a full body scan before meeting mine. "Wow!" he finishes.
"She looks amazing, right?" Dakota asks, her voice a lot higher than usual.
"Can you guys please stop making such a big deal out of this?" I gesture to myself. "I think Chance is drooling."
"Am not," he grumbles wiping at his chin. I laugh, thankful they're here, as we head to our class. Whatever today may bring, at least I’ve got these two knuckleheads to watch my back.
When Dakota and I settle into our seats later that day, I've received quite a number of compliments when it comes to my clothing. I've been asked a few times if I can recommend the store where I bought them and surprisingly, I'm not shy about telling people I made them. After the initial shock, the expression on their faces turns to admiration, making me feel like I'm walking on clouds. I'm talking to Dakota, and trying not to watch for Grayson, when a shadow falls over my desk. I look up to find Tamela's grinning face.
"So girls. Sorry we missed you at the daa-nce. It was such a fuu-n time."
"What do you want, Tamela?"
"Just to see up close this whole clothes disaster you’ve got going on. Really, no woo-nder a certain someone has his eyes on me, instead of this." She points at my clothes, making a face. "I can't bee-lieve we have to go to school with people like you."
I stare at the girl in front of me as her posse make polite chuckling noises from over her shoulders. I never understood her blatant dislike of me and mine. Typically, I would just ignore her and let Dakota practice her attacking skills, but this time, something bubbles within me. My gaze flickers to the student who just walked in the door, my eyes colliding with Grayson. I watch as he takes the situation in, his study halting on me and my outfit. I swear I glimpse approval and maybe a bit of appreciation in his gaze before it goes neutral. Tamela sees him walk in the same moment I do, her lips curving in menace.
"Really Brooklynn, did you hoo-nestly think someone like him would be with someone like you?" she spits the last word out as if it's garbage but for some reason I don't care. I bring my attention back to her face as she continues. "He's a woo-nderful kisser. Too bad you'll never experience it for yourself." There's that laugh again. The sound of it used to set me on edge, but not anymore. I'm calm as I watch her trying to get under my skin.
"What, Brooklynn? Cat got your tongue?"
Grayson moves closer, making his way toward his desk, his eyes on me for the first time in days. And that is all I need. I see Dakota's body ready for battle and she opens her mouth for a rebuttal, but I shake my head a little, hoping she understands I need to do this in my own. She does.
I direct my attention once more to the girl in front of me, piercing her with a fixed look. The laugh gets swallowed somewhere in the back of her throat as she studies me like she's never seen me before.
"See Tamela," I begin, my voice indifferent and calm. "This is where we're different. I don't need to constantly put you down or make fun of your clothes to feel better about myself. But this one time, I'll lower my standards to where yours lie and tell you exactly how I feel. I could use a lot of big words that you, with your puny vocabulary of two syllable insults, wouldn't understand because I get my education somewhere other than teen movies. I could spread rumors, make up all kinds of interesting stories, but I won't. I'm not like you and believe me, nothing you do or say will ever make me want to stoop to the level of your pettiness.
I'm done letting what you say affect what I think and feel like. Go back to your posse Tamela. It's time for you to feed them so they come back tomorrow for another round of sucking up to you. I have more important things to do than listen to your whiny ooh soo annoo-ying voice. Buh-bye."
With the last word, the room erupts with cheers and clapping. I look around me, noticing for the first time that every single person in the room tuned in to our conversation. Tamela looks like a fish out of water, her mouth opening and shutting as she searches for something to say. I look at her, my face breaking into a sweet smile, raising my eyebrows in question. She stomps her foot once, then turns and walks out of the classroom, almost colliding with our teacher.
I back into my seat, glancing briefly at Dakota who has the proud mama look on her face. I grin in return, satisfied that for the first time I stood up for myself and I could do it. I didn't need my best friend fighting my battles. I could do just fine on my own. Sure, tomorrow Tamela will come back at me with something I don't see coming, but for the first time, it doesn't matter. It's only high school.
I sneak a peek at Grayson and find his eyes on me. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. As the teacher tells everyone to down, I watch as Grayson lifts his hand a bit of the table, giving me a small thumbs up.
I turn my attention to the teacher.
It is only high school, and I will be just fine.
❧ ❧ ❧
When I get home, I'm still flying from my afternoon accomplishment.
I have no doubt I'm nowhere near being done with Tamela, but for this one moment, I'm the winner and it feels good. My little display of bravery has been the talk of the school for the rest of the day. At lunch, I was almost tackled by Chance as he rushed over to ask me if it was true I punched Tamela in the nose or if I bit her in the arm instead? Seriously, the rumor mill at my school should have its own show. Dakota is in gossip heaven. It's going to be a while before this dies down, at least in Dakota and Chance's world.
I walk into the kitchen, halting in my tracks. My dad stands at the counter, speaking in hushed tones with my mom. When I round the corner, both of them stop and look at me. I know that look. I'm in trouble.
"What are you wearing?" are the first words out of my dad's mouth. I so do not want to do this right now. After setting my bag on the table, I head for the refrigerator.
"Clothes, Dad."
"Where did you get them?"
"I made this outfit." I hear the almost constant growl that escapes as he tries to stay calm.
"I thought we agreed that you'll stop playing around and focus on your college essays?"
"No, Dad. We definitely didn't agree." I move past him, a glass of apple juice in one hand as I reach for my bag with the other.
"Brooklynn, you need to focus on your future. You need—"
"This is me focusing on my future. I made this, Dad." I grab the material from the front, thrusting it in his direction. "Can you please just look at it? I made it. The whole outfit."
"Just because you made one outfit doesn't mean you've been successful. Look, I received a call from Paige today who talked to one of her friends in the admission office and he said you haven't sent in your paperwork yet. You're going to miss all the deadlines if you don't start being responsible."
I stand in front of my parents. I love them, I really do, but talking to them is completely pointless. The sad thing is that they truly think pushing me in the direction Paige went will make me successful. It's as if they wear one color glasses, refusing to change it up and see things differently. I take a deep breath, tired of fighting with the two people who should support me unconditionally.
"You're never going to hear a word I say." It's not a question, yet Dad opens his mouth once more. I hold up a hand, shaking my head a little. "Please, don't. I heard you loud and clear. I'll send the essays in."
I walk away, leaving them starting at me. Maybe I'm not as brave as I thought I was. If I was braver I would make them listen, shout my dreams and plans until they have no choice but to accept them. Yet, I want my parents support so fully I can't bring myself to look at their disappointed faces for one more minute. Maybe one day, they'll look at me and see how happy the world of fashion makes me. Maybe they'll realize how much my heart is in it. But that day is not today. And I'm just too emotionally spent to have the same fight again.