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I blink. She’s set me up with another one. Didn’t even wait.

“Mom…no. I went to junior high with Brennan. He’s not a good guy.”

Her pen pauses long enough that I think she heard me. Then it moves again. “We should go shopping for something appropriate you can wear. How about Thursday?”

“That reminds me. You’ll be rotating into the Operations Department on Monday.” Dad beams over the top of the paper, waiting for the thank-you. “Only three days a week once your classes start, but it’s time you saw the real engine room.”

A pounding starts in my ears, muffling his words until I can’t hear a single one.

Not enough air.

A window, an oxygen mask.

If planes have them, why can’t this dining room? I claw at the collar of the high-necked blouse I only bought because she liked it. The kitten heels she picked are cutting into my ankles.

“But I don’t want to⁠—”

“Marketing was the right place to ease into things.” He sets the paper down, which he virtually never does. “But I won’t always be here to steer the ship. I need to know you can hold the wheel before I have to hand it to you. That you’ll be ready.”

Here’s the part I’ve never said out loud. The thing that’s been corroding me from the inside for years.

I don’t want the company.

I don’t want any of these plans they’ve made for me.

What I dream of doing is too small for my parents, not worthy of the investment they’ve put into their daughter. When I let myself imagine a different life, I’m sitting across from a stranger, coaxing something true out of them. I’m digging through facts, puzzling out a story, getting to the part somebody would rather I didn’t. Then I write it all down and share it. Put a piece of myself out into the world alongside it.

I want to be a journalist.

Not sit behind a desk staring out a glass window, while my soul slowly dies for a legacy I never chose.

“No.” It comes out as a whisper.

Dad glances over. “What, honey?”

“No.” Louder this time. Firm.

They lean back in their chairs and exchange a look, prepared to wait out the petulant toddler.

“What do you mean, no?” my mother asks.

“I don’t want to.” I swallow the croissant stuck in my throat. “I don’t want to go on another date, and I don’t want to move departments.”

“Ellery, be reasonable.” She covers my hand with hers, cool and insistent. “I know it’s scary to step up and embrace a new challenge. I felt the same at your age. Eventually, I understood why my mother pushed me, and one day, you’ll understand why we push you. We won’t be around forever to guide you, darling.” She sips tea from her delicate china cup like it’s settled. Like everything she said is a kindness. “We just want you to be happy.”

And that’s what does it.

I’m on my feet, the napkin sliding off my lap onto the floor.

“No. You want me to be what makes you happy.”

“We’re not doing this to be cruel, Ellery,” Dad says, like he’s explaining something I should already know. “The world’s full of wolves who will eat you alive unless you’re as cutthroat as they are. We’re trying to prepare you for your future.”

“My future? Or the future you’ve decided for me?” My voice carries down the hall. “You never asked me if I wanted to run the company. You assumed I would.”

Mother picks through her parfait again. “You’re stressed, with grad school coming up and all those hours you spend at that animal shelter. Once you calm down, you’ll see it’s for the best.”

Arguing is pointless. They’ve never listened to me. Why would they start now? I storm through the apartment and jab the elevator call button twice.