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“See? Ella spotted it,” Maddie announces. “This is the last week of dress rehearsals before we start showing it to a live audience. I have to nail it this week.”
Heaving myself up off the couch, I open my mouth to reassure her. But before I can get a word out, a loud pounding sound comes from the front door.
Shooting my roommates a quizzical glance, I start moving to answer it. “Are y’all expecting a food delivery or something?”
“Please,” Patrice says. “Like either of us are eating any kind of junk food right now. Maddie just told you we have to be show-ready in less than a week!”
My cheeks color. Of course I knew that. I’ve been eating the same thing as them this entire time. Chicken, broccoli, and sweet potatoes, on a nearly endless cycle.
Only, I haven’t been dancing for eight hours each day to burn it off again and it’s starting to make my jeans fit much more snugly.
Shaking my head, I swing open the front door. To my surprise, my thirteen year old sister beams up at me, with my mother and father bracketing her. She looks perfect, her bright white dress looking prim and proper, her mahogany skin gleaming. Her hair is in two tidy braids and she throws me the most dazzling smile.
“Surprise!” Joy shouts, throwing her arms wide for an embrace. “We came all the way from Atlanta just to tell you we love you!”
I open my arms, genuinely at a loss for words. I’m beyond glad to hug my sister. For months now I’ve wanted to see her, to make sure that she was still what I affectionately call my “Mini Me”. But my parents… they’re another story entirely.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper into Joy’s ear, hugging her tightly. “Dang, you’ve grown since I saw you for Christmas.”
“I missed you so much,” Joy says, squeezing me. She’s at the age where she’s all bones and tendons, no meat to her frame at all yet. She whispers in my ear, “And I have to tell you about my new contract!”
I look at her, frowning. “What contract?”
“Later,” she mouths, rolling her eyes at our parents.
“Sugar Bean, it’s nice to see you. We’re here to see you too,” my mother points out. She tosses her long, perfectly straightened hair and clutches at the oversized puffy pink Chanel purse she holds proudly before her like some kind of armor. “We’re fine, not that you asked. How are you, honey?”
Reluctantly, I let Joy go and look at my mother. “I’m good. I’m—” I stop, realizing only now what a mess I must look like. Especially compared to my mother, who is dressed head-to-toe in pink Chanel, looking like some sort of Latina Mary Kay spokesmodel. She has deep amber skin, beautiful brown eyes, high cheekbones, and the size of her lush pink mouth is just slightly over-exaggerated by her pink lip gloss and lip liner.
My hands brush my torn leggings and ratty black t-shirt. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anybody to stop by.”
“You should always be prepared for any occasion,” my father booms. He slaps me on the shoulder in a casual way, but his expression says that he means what he says. “Are you gonna ask us inside?”
Chastened, I step back from the door and wave my family in. My father is tall and brown-skinned, in an elegant navy suit with his hair neatly buzzed. He casts a glance around the room, sizing up my roommates.
“Hello,” he nods to them. “Don’t you girls have somewhere to be?”
Tensing up, I move between my roommates and my father, diffusing the situation.
“Daddy, why don’t we go get something to eat?”
His gaze swings over to me, his eyes narrowing on my figure. “Do you think that is what’s best for you right now? You can’t eat just anything while you’re sitting on the bench because of your… injury. No one likes a girl that sits around all day and eats bon-bons. That’s how you get fat ballerinas.”
A prickle of pain spreads through my right knee. I lean down and rub it awkwardly, swiftly changing topics.
“Right. I meant… let’s go out to the park and catch up! I could use a brisk walk.”
My mother casts an appraising glance at me.
“Yes, you certainly could.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Patrice and Maddie retreating silently to their respective rooms. The last time my family visited, my father instigated a fight with both of them. So the fact that they cleared out is less than surprising.
“I’ll just change.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, toward my room. “Joy, do you want to keep me company? You can tell me all about your adventures with trying to be an Instagram model.”
My dad clears his throat. “Actually, Ella. Change into a really nice dress. The girls are headed back to the hotel after this. But you and I have two tickets to the Friends of New York City Ballet gala.”
Freezing mid-step, I blink. That’s known to the ballerinas as The Patron’s Gala, because it is usually reserved for ballerinas who… how do I put it nicely… put on a show of what they have for sale, hoping to attract a potential mate. Or at the very least, a temporary sugar daddy.
