Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I heard the padding of small feet before I felt Star, my four-year-old sister, twist her tiny hand around my finger and yank. “I’m hungry.”
“What are you doing up so early?”
She shrugged and pulled me toward the kitchen table. Her name was short for Starling, so you could tell Mom was on a roll naming her kids after her favorite subject. Add in her so-called pagan worship, hello summer and winter solstice, and you could imagine how our family was seen as unconventional in certain circles. Hopefully, I’d blend in better in college. Famous last words. “I’ll fix you some cereal.”
“I’ve got it,” Mom said, padding over to us fresh from the shower. “You finish getting ready for your first day.”
Roosevelt College had a dress code for the guys that essentially consisted of wearing collared shirts and no denim. It was similar for girls except that skirts were optional and had to sit at the knee—same as in high school, as if the girls were responsible for how the boys might respond if they saw some thigh. Mom complained that most dress codes were archaic and wouldn’t change without some pushback.
Mom and I had gone thrift store and clearance shopping over the summer and had gotten me some polo shirts and khakis along with some other button-downs. But today I slipped on the sleek black jacket I’d thrown in the mix because it felt more like me. Besides, it was a chilly morning in Jersey, which was unusual for a late August day. But it was another sign that the season was about to change.
“You look handsome,” Mom said as I joined them at the table and tried to tamp down my unruly blond hair that I could rarely tame. “Nervous?”
“A little.” I was nervous as hell but also excited to have been accepted at all—and on a dance scholarship no less. Dance was my absolute first love, and I’d been lucky enough to be involved in dance my entire life in one way or another, outside of the months of cancer treatment when I was a kid.
Money was tight, especially since my stepdad ran off with his secretary and Mom was left with all the bills. He left her the house in the divorce, likely out of guilt, the bastard. But between my medical bills and the mortgage adding up, she’d decided to sell it. Moving into the Lakeview Trailer Park was supposed to be temporary, but it wasn’t so bad. Especially if I still got to dance.
Mom’s friend owned a studio in Trenton and offered us a discount as long as I helped behind the scenes with costumes during recital season, and I certainly didn’t mind gluing rhinestones to add some bling. I was one of only a few older males in the classes—the younger ones normally dropped out by middle school—but the performances brought me one step closer to my dream of being onstage in the big city, and the regular exercise it provided kept me lean and healthy.
“I have no idea what to expect. But anything would be better than high school,” I said around a bite of toast.
“You hold your head high, you hear me?” she said, and I nodded. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you on your first day?”
“No, the bus is fine. It drops me off a block away from the school.”
Besides, her car had seen better days, and she needed to reserve gas for errands and her job.
“Okay, honey.” She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t forget to come home directly after.”
Mom worked most nights at Shorty’s Diner, named after the owner and chef, and I was in charge of my sister during her shifts. The schedule worked well for us, especially so she didn’t have the additional cost of daycare. Star attended preschool three mornings a week, and Mom tried to be around on those days.
“I will,” I replied, but my stomach was quivering.
I left the trailer and waved to a couple of elderly neighbors who whistled at me, as if I were headed to a fancy ceremony instead of a college classroom. My friend Pete, who lived three doors down and across the way with his father, caught up to me, also ready for his day. After high school graduation he went to work in his uncle’s junkyard business. We both helped most summers and weekends for cash, but Pete liked it well enough to join him full-time. He hoped to inherit it someday, and for someone like Pete, who’d had a rough childhood after his mother passed away, that was a big deal.
“Look at you! So collegiate,” Pete said, thumping my shoulder. “Before I know it, you’ll leave us behind.”
We’d been inseparable since freshman year when our paths intersected at the trailer park bus stop, and we’d been there for each other ever since. When I was bullied relentlessly in high school for being a queer ballet dancer, he’d stuck up for me, which only solidified our friendship.