Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
And this money will go a long way. It will mean paying for Ellie’s dance classes for the next month in full and paying the rent without a late penalty. I can even pay the electric and water bill and have some money left over for next month. I already feel the pressure lifting off my chest. My head is finally above water, and I’m able to suck in oxygen without my lungs filling with liquid. For the first time in months, it feels as though I’m not drowning. Now I just need to stay afloat.
I should probably return the money to prove a point to him, but I don’t even know who he is or if I’ll ever see him again. Besides, I do have my pride. I also have a sister I need to take care of, and if he wants to hand over that much money thinking it will entice me into giving him more, he’s in for a rude awakening. Because I’m not up for sale.
CHAPTER FOUR
SIENNA
“Time to get up, sleepy head!” I draw open the curtains and Ellie groans, pulling her covers over her head. It’s early, seven in the morning, but thanks to that mystery man and his ridiculous tip, we’re in the green for the moment, which means…
“Ellie, c’mon. I was thinking we could hit the farmers market and then make your favorite: Minestrone with meatballs. And afterward, we could go by Lola’s to pick up that new leo you’ve been wanting.”
This gets her attention. “Are you serious?” She gasps. “Meatball soup and a new leo?” Her brow furrows. “Is something wrong?” She flies up into a sitting position. “Are you dying?” Her eyes bug out. “Am I dying?”
“What?” I bark out a laugh. “No, nobody is dying, crazy.”
“Then why the heck are we spending money we don’t have?”
My chest tightens at her question. A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t ever have to worry about money. She should be naturally selfish and lost in her own teenage world. But thanks to the shitty hand we were dealt, we were forced to grow up a lot quicker than other kids.
“Because for today, we’re okay,” I tell her honestly. “So, get your butt up and go get ready so we can head out.” I know she’s accepted my answer when a genuine smile spreads across her face and she jumps out of bed.
It’s a beautiful morning, and we find tons of fruits and veggies at the farmers market. Ellie falls in love with a pretty summer dress, and I splurge, buying it for her. She’s so shocked and happy, she throws her arms around me and tells me she loves me and how I’m the best sister ever.
At Lola’s, she tries on the leo, and it fits perfectly, so I purchase it and pay for the next month of her classes.
“I’ll see you girls on Monday,” Grace says, handing Ellie her bag. Grace is Lola’s daughter and the owner of the dance studio, who inherited the studio after her mom passed away two years ago.
Ellie takes a dance class three days a week, and I teach the beginner class two evenings a week in exchange for a discount toward Ellie’s classes. Since I have school during the day, I make sure to plan my classes around Ellie’s school and dance schedule, which allows me to be home with her.
Once we’re home, we spend the next couple hours making her favorite soup. She always insists we make enough for leftovers, and today she’s asked if we can bring Lincoln some to thank him for helping her with her essay.
We’ve just sat down to eat when the front door unlocks and then swings open, and our mom comes stumbling into the apartment.
“What the fuck is that smell?” she hisses. “It’s stinking up the house.”
Ellie visibly flinches. “It’s soup, Mom,” she says. “Are… are you hungry?”
“Not for that nasty shit,” Mom spits, knocking over the lamp when her arm flails out and hits it. It crashes against the tile floor causing shards of ceramic to fly everywhere.
“Just fucking great,” she slurs, clearly high…or drunk…or probably both. She rarely comes home anymore, choosing to crash at her boyfriend-slash-pimp’s place, but when she does grace us with her presence, she’s usually loaded.
“I need to go to bed. I’m fucking exhausted,” she says. “It’s been a long night. Phil is being an asshole again.” Clearly, she has no real perception of time, and the thought that Phil is ever not an asshole, causes me to roll my eyes. I go back to eating, but then I stop when she adds, “The landlord raised the rent. You’ll need to come up with an extra five hundred a month if you want to stay.”
“What?” I gasp. “He can’t raise it that much.”
“He raised it two hundred. The other three hundred is for me allowing you to stay here.” She smirks.