Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Because this is where you always go when shit hits the fan.” I stepped out of the doorway and into Lina’s room. “It’s like you forget that Lina isn’t around anymore to cover for you. Now get up. You have to get ready so we can go to the Company reception.”
“Since when do you care about Company events?” She stood, jostling what remained of Lina’s clothes on the rack.
“Since always. I’ve been there far longer than you, remember?” I glanced around Lina’s room and remembered why I avoided coming in here at all costs. Grief lived in this room. It had dug its claws in deep, settled in, and built itself a home, lingering in her pictures and dust-covered trophies.
A sour taste filled my mouth when I thought about what she’d done, or at least had been a party to, and tried to believe what Hudson repeatedly told me. That people do irrational things when they’re scared.
Or maybe the truth was that the Lina I thought I knew wasn’t the same Lina Mom loved, wasn’t the same Lina Anne cried over, wasn’t the same Lina Eva had hidden behind. Maybe she was a dozen different things to a dozen different people, switching out her mask as necessary.
Maybe only Lina had truly known Lina.
And until I’d come back here, until Juniper had shoved Hudson back into my life with two enthusiastic hands, I’d been dangerously close to saying the same thing about me.
“You hate the Company.” Eva sniffled and walked out of the closet.
“I don’t . . . hate it,” I said quietly, looking over Lina’s pictures. “I’m just not always sure I like who I am within it.” I glanced her way and found her clutching her phone. “And I know I don’t like who you are within it. What are you doing with that phone?”
“I’m getting canceled,” Eva admitted, sitting on the edge of Lina’s bed and holding her phone in her lap. “There’s at least fifty videos already, and I’m sure you’ll say I deserve it.”
I sat down next to her, depressing the old mattress. “Yeah, that sucks. My best advice is to avoid the comments at all costs.”
“I kind of hate you,” she whispered, swiping the app closed.
“I figured that out right around the time that you orchestrated my cancellation. Fortunately for us, I think it’s a case of jealousy eating your common sense and not actual hatred.” My gaze caught on a framed picture of the four of us from the one and only time Dad had snuck us out to a theme park.
“What’s it like to be the chosen one?” She raked her sleeve across her cheek again.
“What’s it like to be the whiny one?” I countered. “Seriously, Eva. You’re twenty-five, not fifteen. No one’s left you behind. No one’s dancing en pointe while you look on longingly. I understand wanting to step out of the shadows, but maybe the answer is to look for another source of light.”
“It’s the Company,” she whispered. “Mom’s company.”
I sighed. “I speak from experience when I say the validation you’re starving for isn’t going to come from her—”
She shriveled.
“—or anybody in there.” I pointed to her phone. “You and I both know she isn’t capable of telling us she’s proud, and that’s complete and utter unfair shit that’s going to take a few years and a lot of hours in therapy to unpack.”
“How long did it take you?” she asked.
“Considering I just nearly broke myself to prove to Vasily that I’m still one of his principals? I’ll let you know when I get there.” I glanced at her phone. “I’ll also give you the new password, so you can at least take the video down.”
“You’re not mad at me?” Her brow scrunched.
“Yes, I’m incredibly mad at you.” I shrugged. “But unfortunately, I still love you. You’re my sister. You bring me bagels from New York and save my stuff when Charlotte throws it out of my locker, so I will give you the password and one chance to make this right between us.”
“There’s no point to taking it down. It has all those stitches already.” Her shoulders sagged. “And it’s just you dancing. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.” She slowly looked my way with swollen red eyes. “This is horrible.”
“Yeah. It hurts.” I reached over and clasped Eva’s hand. “Real life is what happens out here, you know. With me, with Anne, with your friends, at the barre, on the stage. That . . .” I glanced pointedly at her phone. “That is just a sparkly hall of mirrors, and staring too long through the lens of how other people perceive you is bound to start distorting how you see yourself. Delete the account, or at least deactivate it for a while, if only so you don’t live on Lina’s closet floor.”