ONE
TWO YEARS AGO
Copyright’s sole purpose was to encourage the circulation of ideas by giving authors the opportunity to derive a reasonable financial reward from their works. However, copyright sometimes goes?—
“God, what I wouldn’t give to be in my bed right now.”
Groaning, I forced my gaze out of my study book as my best friend, Chelsea, sauntered into the office. She slammed the door behind her and then rested her head against it. “Remind me again why we bought a bar, of all things?” When she turned and found my waiting scowl, she just chuckled. “This late night shit is for the birds. You’re the smart one, Kinsley.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“You found a job with normal hours.”
“Yeah, right.” I shook my head, highlighting the passage I’d just read a dozen times. Then, it might sink in. “If I’m the smart one, why did I agree to come in and help you out for the night?”
“Because you love me,” Chelsea said as she sauntered behind the desk, dropping into her plush white leather chair. “But you’re having fun, right?”
I shrugged as I turned back to my study guide, trying to cram in a couple more minutes before I had to get onto the floor. But Chelsea kept staring at me.Oh, was she waiting for an answer?Seemed rhetorical to me, but, then again, Chelsea always needed to hear the words. You’d think after two decades of friendship, I’d remember that. Without looking away from the text, I mumbled, “It’s not so bad.”
“High praise,” Chelsea muttered as she pulled a compact mirror and her makeup bag out of the desk drawer. She tutted at her lip line before tracing the edge with her thumbnail. Before she closed her makeup bag, she held it out to me. “You want to touch up anything? Add a little color?”
“Nope,” I mumbled, chewing on the highlighter cap.
I’d thrown on some mascara and a little concealer before I left the house, but that was it. Honestly, after the month I’d had, Chelsea was lucky I was wearing real pants and a bra. Not that I have anything against Chelsea using her looks to get bigger tips. Hell, if I had any talent with a makeup brush, I’d be right there with her, trying to hide the dark circles rimming my eyes. But right now, there were too many other things taking center stage in my mind, and I’d shoved them all aside for one goal: getting a decent score on the LSAT. If my practice test scores were any sign, it would be a long time before that ever became a reality.
After placing her bag back in the drawer, Chelsea strutted over to me and lifted the cover of my binder. She grimaced as she read the words. “Haven’t you read that, like, ten times?”
“Yup,” I groaned. “But I need to do it again. No reputable law school will take me with my current score, so now I have to wait to take it again, not to mention dish out a bunch of money I don’t have.”
“Maybe you should stall until the winter, Kins. No one would blame you for taking a few months off.”
I glared at her, but it fell from my lips when I took in the concern in her eyes. That was the problem with having the same best friend from birth—it was impossible to hide anything. But delaying the test wouldn’t change the fact that my mom was dead.
God. My mom died. Even after three weeks, it was weird to say. I half-expected her to call me every night, checking in before we both closed our eyes. Just breathing without her felt monumental.
I shook my head, unable to meet my friend’s eyes. If there was any pity in them, I’d break down again, and considering it was the first time I’d left the house in over a week, I didn’t want it to be over so soon. Chelsea had been the only reason I’d come out, citing some work emergency with half of her servers calling in sick. Even though I hadn’t tended bar since college, I was happy to jump in and help her out, especially considering how much she’d saved me over the past month. She made the funeral arrangements when it was too painful, held my hand during my eulogy, and even cleared out my mom’s fridge. I could keep myself together for a few hours if that was what she needed.
“I can’t go there.” My eyes leaped up to meet hers. “The test is the one thing I can control right now, so I’m giving it everything.”
Chelsea studied me for a long moment and then let out a dread-filled sigh. “Okay, then tell me what we need to do.”
Should have known that would be her response.Chelsea had been there for me during my first attempt at the test. On slow nights, she’d quiz me about different scenarios, checking the answers as if the words made sense to her. She’d even forced me to take the week before the exam off, hoping it would help me relax.
But it was all in vain. No matter how much I studied or how much I tried to absorb the information, the moment I sat downin front of the screen, my mind went blank. The information was there, waiting—pleading—for me to access it. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, nothing seemed to help.
“It’s not the studying,” I answered. “It’s the practical element. If it was only reciting facts, I’d ace it every time. But there’s too much room for judgment calls, and that’s what trips me up.”
Chelsea gave me one last, sympathizing smile, not bothering to give me any platitudes. That was what I liked best about her—no bullshit. No promises of doing it better this time, no lies that made me feel like my brain would sort itself out.
Better a harsh truth than a pretty lie. It was one of my mom’s favorite sayings. She’d told me it a million times growing up. Funny how, when it mattered most, she chose the lie.
“Tomorrow," Chelsea said as she stood from her desk. “We’ll make a plan. I’ll camp out in the living room with you if I have to, but you are going to crush this test.”
“Or it’ll crush me.”
Chelsea squeezed my shoulder as she walked past, looking as if she were ready to take on the world. Her asymmetrical blonde bob showed off the stark line of her cheekbones, which gave her a distinct, don’t-touch-me attitude, helpful when the bar got crowded and the drinks flowed freely. Everything about her stood out and made all the patrons flock to her.
Me? One glance in the mirror told me I’d see the same old thing. Weight that clung in all the wrong places, dark smudges under my eyes, skin almost too pale to be healthy. All added perks of the grief that clung to my soul.
