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Sure, I am educated in the city but my school is like a little enclave of upper-class safety, so this little house-sitting gig for my sister is mostly a practical exercise as far as my parents are concerned. Next fall I’m going to college in the city near my high school, St. Bernadette of Lourdes Academy, just a few blocks away from here, and they want to make sure I’m prepared for this.
My dad works ten blocks up from the school and April has her office in the Creative Co-op around the corner from her apartment. So this is kinda like our neighborhood. A borrowed one, for sure. But it’s all I have and anyway, I love it.
It’s cool, and trendy, and there are lots of artists and young people around. The Creative Co-op was founded by my mother and sister so April could afford a photography studio with a swank, up-and-coming address.
Hence, the board meeting. I’m her proxy until she comes back and there’s a new tenant application to go over tonight. So adulting here I come. It’s trial by fire, Aria.
I can’t wait.
The buzzer rings and April comes rushing out from the bedroom dragging a suitcase with clothes, a trunk with equipment, and her giant shoulder bag.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she yells at the buzzer.
She stops in front of me, pulls me into a hug, bashing my leg with her carry-on, and kisses my cheek. “Be good and I’ll see you in a month!” Then she blows a kiss at Felix, who ignores her, and says, “Bye, bye, kitty!”
I pull the front door open and she rushes through, her friend Kathleen already reaching for her trunk at the top of the stairs.
There are a few more moments of frazzled disarray as they drag the luggage down three flights of stairs and then they rush outside and the world calms down again.
I close the apartment door and lean against it, smiling as I imagine an entire month of Girls Gone Wild: Aria Edition.
That makes me snort. But a girl can hope.
My phone buzzes in the front pocket of my skirt and I pull it out to find a text from April.
Don’t forget the board meeting!
I text back a thumbs up and slip my phone back into my pocket.
I’ve been to plenty of board meetings with my father since I started high school. We’ve always been a pair in the city because he works so close to my school and we commute together. So most days I walk over to his office after school and do homework and sometimes he has to stay late and I’m stuck there listening to him and all his powerful friends discuss investments, and stock, and loans.
So even though I’ve never been to one of the Creative Co-Op board meetings, I’m pretty sure I can handle it.
Dress smart. Pay attention. Nod my head or shoot disapproving looks as other members debate the issues, then agree or disagree on the vote.
I’ve got this.
Most of it.
I look down at my clothes and decide the St. Bernadette uniform has to go.
Luckily April and I are the same size. So I go into her bedroom—squealing internally because it’s mine for a whole month—and pull open her huge walk-in closet.
My father had that made specially for her when he remodeled this apartment and April really knows how to fill up a closet, let me tell you. She’s got a whole wall of shoes, and racks and racks of dresses, and skirts, and cool ripped jeans.
Mostly things I would never wear, and almost none of which are appropriate for a board meeting, but anything is better than my uniform. Besides, I’ve perfected my serious, up-and-coming businesswoman look and I’m positive I can pull together something smart.
It might be a hybrid version of April and Aria, but that’s what new opportunities are for, right?
This is the first day of St. Bernadette’s spring break and in order to appease my parents’ fears about possibly being lonely and isolated while I stayed in the city for a month, I told them I’d take a Photoshop certification class over at the local college while I was on break.
I started retouching April’s photographs when she was a freshman in college and it kinda became my thing. Plus, that certification looks good on a college application.
But I have a whole weekend between now and that first class and sadly, this board meeting is the only thing on my agenda aside from my birthday tea with my parents at the Corinthian Hotel on Sunday.
So hello, April’s closet. What can you do to help me out here?
CHAPTER TWO – RYKER
“Ryker!” Ozzy says. “I need one more signature.” My best bro and business partner, Oswald Herrington III—otherwise known as Ozzy—thrusts a piece of paper and a pen at me as I try to rush past him to make my meeting.
