Authors: Valia Lind
"Are you prepared for onslaught of rejection? How about constant ridicule?" Dad asks walking to stand in front of me. He places his hands on my shoulders in a gesture that's anything but comforting. "I don't want to see you waste your life away. Neither does your mother."
"I know, but this is something that makes me happy. Something that's—"
"Life is not always about happiness."
"But why can't it be?" I exclaim, shifting out of his touch, "Not everything is about money and stability. Sometimes you have to take a leap before you learn how to fly. You taught me that. Why can't I apply that to my dreams?" I'm on the verge of tears, but I blink them away. I have cried way too much over this, spent too many sleepless nights.
"It's not a stable dream, Brooklynn. Which means you have to start thinking about a good job, something that will get you a good place to live and provide for you. This is partially why Paige is here."
"What?" I freeze, my heart dropping into my stomach. I try and focus on breathing, pushing the panic down as my dad speaks again.
"She brought you paperwork from University of Arizona. I think it's about time you applied." He grabs a stacks of papers from the counter and hands them to me. I don't want to go to University of Arizona. If I said it once, I've said it a hundred times. There's nothing wrong with the school, but every time I think about being there I panic. I want something that's mine. I want California College of Arts or London College of Fashions. I want to study at Parsons New School of Design and walk in the steps of Marc Jacobs and Donna Karan. I want a place that is recognized and respected.
"Dad—"
"This is not open for discussion, Brooklynn. Mom and I talked about it and we think it'll be a good idea for you to put in applications with all the large schools in Arizona, starting with the University of Arizona. Maybe one day you'll be able to design on the side, but you have to think of your future."
I look at my mom, who hasn't said a word during the whole exchange, then slide my eyes to Paige. Both of them wear the same expression: pity. They feel sorry for me and I can't stand it. I slide my attention to my father, who's still standing in front of me with the papers in his hand. I don't want to disappoint them, I don't want to see that look in their eyes, so I take a breath and reach for the papers.
I guess it's true what they say. "Dreams are meant for dreaming."
❦ ❦ ❦
Two Years Ago
Paige has always been popular with the boys.
Ever since I was a little kid, I envied the easy way she conversed with the other gender. My only encounters involved scraping myself off the floor after Grayson was done with me, so maybe I was just jealous. Sure, he's been gone for over a year, but I still think of him every time I get ready for school. He's a brand on my life I will never get rid of.
I wonder where he is, why he had to leave so suddenly. It may be funny to wonder about your tormentor, but he was different the last year he was around. He started to change. Yes, he still managed to pick on me, but it felt different. I was probably just making stuff up. I thought about him a lot, especially when Paige's current boyfriend came over to the house.
I wanted a boy to come over to the house for me, but I wasn't exactly the outgoing type. Dakota, who's as boy crazy as they come, keeps telling me the right guy will "get my quiet nature." Believe it or not, she actually said that.
On this particular afternoon, Brad came over as usual. Paige was running around, getting him soda and chips, like she always does, while he half reclined on the couch. I walked by, heading to the backyard to read when he called me over.
"Hey, little sister." He called me that all the time and I hated it. I was way past telling him to stop. He reacted to things like Grayson. You tell him to stop doing something, he just does it more.
"Hello, Brad," I replied, not even glancing over. When I didn't stop, he stood, following me to the back porch. He always hovered over my books, or sketches, asking questions and sitting way too close. I had no idea what Paige even saw in him. Sure, with blonde hair, blue eyes, he was the perfect example of a surfer boy and some may go for that. But he thought he was God’s gift to the world and it got on my nerves.
"What are you reading?" he asked, sitting down beside me on the love seat outside. Dad had set up a small gazebo, with a pond, just so that we'd have a place outside where we could relax. Arizona was not exactly known for cool weather, but the gazebo provided enough shelter to make reading and sketching comfortable. At that moment, the seat seemed a little too small for my taste.
"Persuasion by Jane Austen. I'm rereading it for class." It was my favorite book and I wanted peace and quiet as I dived back into the pages.
"Interesting."
"Hmm," I really hated that word. He said it in a way that made my skin crawl. I really wished Paige would come out and take him away already. But after five minutes of his sitting practically on my lap, she wasn't coming out.
"I think I'm going to go get a drink," I finally stated, unable to sit there any longer. But when I stood, his hand reached out, dragging me back beside him.
"Why?"
"Because I'm thirsty?" I stood one more time, and this time his hands were around my waist and were pulling me down into his lap.
"You can wait a minute, can't you?" His words radiated sleaziness. I tried getting up one more time, but he'd have none of that. His hands were wrapped tightly around my small body, and before I knew what he was doing, he was going in for a kiss.
"Brooklynn!" I heard Paige's scream from behind me, my face twisting away a split second before Brad's lips touched mine, his skin connecting with my neck instead. He dropped me then, and I landed hard on the ground.
"I'm sorry Paige, baby," Brad whined, "She came on to me." Twisting around to face her I watched her gaze go from shocked to enraged in a heartbeat.
"How could you?" She screamed coming toward me. For a moment, I was terrified she'd actually hit me, but Brad was there, holding her back.
"Let it go Paige, she's just a kid."
"I cannot believe you!" With that she turned and ran toward the house. Brad smirked down at where I was still half sitting, half laying on the ground, before running after Paige.
After that day, everything had changed. My sister refused to speak to me for two weeks. Two whole weeks of constant glares and silent treatments. I begged for her to listen to what really happened, to how it wasn't my fault, but she didn't believe me. I found out later that her best friend at the time had made a play at her boyfriend, and actually ended up getting him. I said good riddance and that wasn’t the smartest thing to do.
I lost my sister that day and I never really got her back.
EIGHT
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
- Eleanor Roosevelt
I was five years old when I decided I wanted to be a fashion designer.
Maybe it sounds silly. After all, what do you really know at five years old right? But I knew. In Sunday school, when it was time to color our story pictures, I was one of the first people to finish. I made my colors beautiful and within the lines, before I turned the paper over and started creating my own designs. When the other girls would come into the classroom, I would always 'improve them' with accessories I carried in a little bag with me. My mom tried making me leave the bag at home, but I wouldn't. My argument was that someone would need 'my help' and it was my duty to help them.
I wouldn't let my mother dress me either. I'd pick out my own clothes, putting together layers and colors that other mothers marveled over. I remember having parties and my friends parents gushing about my adorable sense of style. Back then, Mom was proud of my choices.
Not so much anymore.
I don't wear bright colors or layers anymore because I don't want to see that disapproving look in my parent's eyes. My clothes are filled with neutral colors and designs, something anyone can buy at a store. Secretly, in my room I try on my black shirts and jeans, adding a scarf, a vest or a pattern to it, just to see what I would look like if I was brave enough. I look like a completely different person when I wear my own ensembles. It's not even that different from the clothes others wear, but my own patterns and mixes of colors make me happy. I look happy.
But in the end the fear of disappointing my parents, coupled with what happened in seventh grade, overpowers my fashion sense.
After the fight with my dad, I escape to the public library. I found this hallway in the large building that people hardly ever come to and that's where I sketch out most of my designs. The words from this morning resonate in my mind as I make my way to the corner of the room, settling down on the floor next to the window. Taking out my trusty sketchbook and pencils, I get to work.
As my fingers move over the page, I wonder if I should even be doing this anymore. If my family has their way, I'll never do more than create these patterns on paper. Yet, I can't seem to make my hands stop. They fly over the page, blending the colors with my fingertip. The lines connect and grow in front of me as if they're alive and breathing. If I close my eyes, I can picture a gorgeous blonde model wearing the dress I'm creating.
She walks down the walkway, swaying her hips from left to right. The dress glows around her, almost as if it’s breathing on its own. She takes those last steps to the front of the runway, shifting left then right, before turning and making her way back. The people around the walkway sit, almost afraid to breathe. The fabric dances.
Shaking my head a little, I stare down at the picture on the page. Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink them away. For a second, I picture myself wearing this dress, in all of its glorious beauty and the people around me clapping at the sheer success of my work. People that appreciate me. People that respect me as an artist.
Dropping the book on the floor, I jump to my feet, the energy within me too much to sit still. I know that it's not going to be easy getting any of my designs recognized, I don't even know if I'll be accepted into any good schools, but I know I would work hard to see my dreams come true.
But the doubts and fears that my parents instilled in me keep creeping in the moment I think of sharing my work with anyone. Even Dakota only sees certain aspects of my designs because I am too terrified she'll hate them too. With all these emotions building up within me, I pace the length of the room.
Frustrated, I finally stop in front of the window, my gaze on the world outside. I really need to stop thinking about this. I'm not doing myself any favors if all I do is stress about something I can't change. I need to take my mind off of the depressing and think of something else.
My attention is pulled to the couple sitting in front of the library on a bench. The guy keeps poking the girl next to him, who's trying to read a book. He scoots closer, as she scoots away, not taking her eyes off the pages. He puts his arm around her, she's still reading. He whispers in her ear, she's still reading. He pokes her in the side, she's still reading. Her lips curve upward, before she finally shuts her book and smacks the guy next to her with it. He laughs and then dives in for a kiss, before the girl settles into his arms comfortably and he places his arms around her. She stretches out, opening the book back up and the guy puts in his earbuds and leans against the bench, closing his eyes.
The feeling of emptiness fills me briefly, before I push the thought away. Maybe it's foolish to dream of white knights and Prince Charmings, but I truly believe the right guy is out there for me. I just have to be trusting enough to let him come into my life. Thinking of guys, my mind drifts to the one place I've been trying to avoid. Grayson.
What does he want from me? He's so different from what I remember. Still arrogant, but with an air of something else close behind. Even though I don’t want to, I can’t help but keep up with the gossip mill running through our school. Especially when it comes to Grayson.
Yesterday, after our conversation, our paths crossed briefly during lunch. He didn’t know I was there, but I saw him stand up from his table and walk over to a group of kids on the other side of the lunch area. One of the guys was yelling at a freshman and Grayson got in between them, calming one down and making sure the other one was okay. I left before he could see me but the picture stayed in my mind. These glimpses of his character have been evident since he’s been back, but how can I allow myself to believe he’s really changed.
I think back to our last interaction and I wonder what he meant by his words, that I do know him. Did I really? Or am I just making assumptions based on the boy he was five years ago? According to my parents, I'm not exactly known to make the right decisions. But I’m also not a pushover who will stand for being manipulated. Maybe I am strong enough to let Grayson say his piece and not come out ruined on the other side of things. I wish Chance was back already, so we can talk it over. I need a guys’ opinion on the whole matter. He sent me a short email this morning saying he should be coming home soon, but still unsure of when exactly. I still haven’t mentioned Grayson, not only because I know they were friends, but because I wanted that conversation to be face to face.