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Did he not see the part where I clarify I wouldn’t correct my mistakes? No, screw that, did he not see how vulnerable I was in that letter? I’d had enough that day, so naturally this butthead thought to himself, “Huh, I should roast the hell out of this stranger.”
Just when I think I’ve seen it all, I flip the page and find a note in the same handwriting.
That was fun. Piece of advice: drop the victim act. Nobody likes a crybaby. I’d also stop with the hate letters, angry chick. Imagine if your teacher found it. You wouldn’t want to give her a stroke from laughing too hard at your grammar.
What the fuck did I just read?
Who could be such a gigantic asshole?
Mr. Tate?
He did borrow the book, after all. No way. The man wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone bulldoze someone’s self-esteem, and this handwriting is somewhat understandable. Mr. Tate’s was always a killer headache to read on my science tests.
This is someone else.
Fuming, I dump the poetry book on the nearest table, rip the letter into a thousand pieces, and toss it deep into the trash. Then I go grab a pen and paper from the front desk.
I’m well aware that slipping another letter inside the book is a royal waste of time. There’s little to no chance my answer will ever make it back to the original bully, but I couldn’t care less right now.
You think you saw me angry, troll?
Just wait.
* * *
I begin concocting an escape route from the moment I unlock the front door to my house. Just get to the stairs before she sees you. You can do it. My mom is in the kitchen, on the phone with someone.
“Absolutely not. What part isn’t registering? We’ve been over this. My daughter will be free to leave town when and only when she’s graduated. Not a day before!”
I take it she’s arguing with Robert, Ashley’s manager. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Throwing a fit every time she feels herself losing control of her precious Ashley. Ash is slowly slipping through her fingers, and my mom knows it.
She feels it coming, creeping up on her with each passing day.
The impending moment where Ashley turns eighteen and leaves her. Mom will no longer be able to hold, “As long as you are a minor and living under my roof,” over Ashley’s head. And I think—no, I know—she’s poured so much energy into Ash’s career, she’s terrified she won’t know what to do with herself once the gifted daughter leaves the nest.
Rob’s been patiently waiting for the day he can make Ashley a real star, and he won’t have to wait much longer. Next year, Ash will be graduating from her prestigious music school, and my mom’s reign will end once and for all. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sold the house and followed Ashley halfway across the world to keep it going.
As quiet as can be, I push the front door closed with my palm and tiptoe toward the stairs. I’m not in the mood to talk to—
“Aveena? Is that you?”
Damn it.
“Who else would it be?” I mumble.
“Perfect, you’re home.” My mom turns the corner. “Did you pick up Ashley from—”
“Yes, I picked her up from her singing lesson.” I know the drill by now.
“And did you drive her to the ten-year reunion for—”
“Yes, Mom,” I repeat.
“Good girl.” Mom nods in satisfaction.
We found out a few days back that the producers of Rising Voices were interested in taping a ten-year reunion with Ashley. Technically, it’s been eleven years, but I’m guessing it didn’t sound as catchy. They were so eager their team even made the trip to North Carolina.
They’ll be throwing a quick interview with Ashley at the end of next week’s episode in a “Where are they now?” type thing. I’m not surprised. Ashley is one of the only winners from the competition to actually build a career and online presence from the show’s exposure.
