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I love you,Lily-bug. It seems like only yesterday that you graduated preschool. I’m so very, very proud of you!
Grandpapa
The guilt is sostrong and biting that I turn around to head back upstairs.
Forget The Membership. Forget everything but making my grandfather proud and happy, the way he deserves to be.
What about you?A voice whispers in my head.Will you be happy?
“Of course,” I whisper back, but I’m not very convinced. In the future, I’m certain I’ll be happy. Happiness will be my reward for shaping the law and making society a better, more stable place to live and keeping criminals off the street. Later, it’ll be my reward for embodying reason and empathy andjustice.
Right now, though? I’m most frantic about losing my place at The Membership. I’m happiest onstage, when I feel like anything could happen. Now that I can count my remaining performances on one hand, I want them more than ever.
So I square my shoulders, tiptoe to the back door, and punch in the code so I can leave without setting off the security system. I’m reversing out of the driveway less than a minute later, seat belt clicked tight, all my mirrors adjusted, backup camera scanned for people and objects.
I check again. Turn the wheel. Ease slowly out into the street.
A light flashes in the rearview mirror.
Not a headlight. Something smaller, like a flashlight. I whip my head around to make sure nobody’s doing something weird in the street, but it’s empty. No movement on the sidewalk, either, except for branches swaying lightly in the trees.
Weird.
I put the car in drive and head out.
I’m not going to take my car to The Membership. It’s an issue of risk mitigation. I have plausible deniability if someone sees me. During the afternoon shifts, I park at a ramp about a block away. Tonight I’ll park in a small public lot tucked between the last house on our street and the church on the corner. Who knows if taking an Uber is over the top? If I get home tonight without anyone recognizing me, or without anyone walking behind me to my car after I perform and putting two and two together, or worst of all, yellingLily Hayes? Beaufort’s granddaughter? Is that you?while I’m dancing, all my precautions will have been worth it.
Sometimes it’s about putting in the effort, you know?
It’s not far to the public lot. I park my car about midway down the rows. Only a few other people parking here tonight. High hedges line either side of the lot so the neighbors and churchgoers don’t have to look at random cars. I know it’s for them, not for me, but it makes the lot seem safer. Nobody’s going to notice me here.
I get out my phone and call the Uber. The closest driver is a few minutes away.
Perfect.
My heart flutters, and it’s not because I snuck out of the house. Technically, I didn’t sneak. I left courteously so as not to wake my grandfather. I’m a grown woman who can go wherever she wants whenever she wants.
No, it’s about the late performance at The Membership. The other dancers talk about the energy during the late shift all the time. Deeper into the night, people are looser. They’re more brazen. They tip twice or even three times as much as the people who come in the afternoon because they’ve had more to drink.
There’s also something special about midnight. Or maybe I’m being nostalgic because all of this is about to end. My dancing. My fake study groups. The rush I get in front of an audience. Soon I’ll be the lowliest of the low at law school, fighting to distinguish myself. I have no problem with that, theoretically. I’ve always had to fight for academic success. It seems more genuine onstage. People only see the result of the work I put in. They don’t see an acceptance letter to Columbia Law or an invitation to the Immersive Scholars program or hundreds of hours at study group.
They seeme.
A shadow moves in my rearview mirror.
What the hell was that?
I sink down in my seat. First left. Then right. Rearview. Side mirrors.
There’s nobody out there. Nothing moving.
I don’t know why I’m so paranoid. There’s no earthly way that my grandfather found my note and came running down the street after me in his pajamas. He’dcall.
So, fine, I’m nervous. I’ve never performed this late at The Membership. The audiences have always been low-stakes. Not much applause? Not many people out there! More applause than I expected? Enthusiastic crowd. I’m not sure how they’ll respond tonight. Would Iappreciatea standing ovation? Yes. Am I expecting one?
I don’t know. Maybe.
A pair of headlights bounce into the lot, and a notification pops up on my phone.Angelica is arriving soon.The app is a beat behind, because the SUV pulling in right now looks like a decent match for—who was it?Angelica’s.White. A few years old. It rolls into the lot and stops between the rows of cars.
