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Chapter One
Allie
“Allie! Breakfast is on the table, get down here this instant!”
The harsh sound of my mother’s voice makes me flinch.
“I’m coming!” I call in response. Holding my breath, I lean my ear against the door to hear if Mom has anything else to say, but thankfully, I’m met with nothing but the sound of her footsteps padding down the stairs.
This is it. Today’s the day that’s going to change the rest of my life. I swallow nervously and pad across my huge bedroom. I’m still not used to all the space I have to myself – this room is bigger than the master suite was at our old house.
But Dad’s company has been doing well, and he’s been able to sell software at a very high price to lots of businesses and individuals alike. I don’t know specifics about the numbers, really, but Mom and Dad were convinced that striking it rich meant that we needed a new house.
I’m too embarrassed to tell either of my parents that I actually got lost in our mansion the first day we lived here. But today isn’t the day for me to dwell on these thoughts. I have to put myself in a professional mindset because I have an interview today with a security company called Lockdown. If I land this internship, it’s going to be a major coup – I’ll be set for the summer, and neither Mom nor Dad will be able to bug me about “making good use of my time.”
With a nervous gulp, I open my closet and stare into the unfamiliar abyss of clothing. This giant new house hasn’t been the only recent change in my life. When Dad got lucky with his software, Mom had all of my clothes thrown out. She said my old stuff made me look like I was wearing rags, which was inappropriate for the daughter of a CEO. Honestly, just the memories make me flush awkwardly. I’d come home to find an empty closet and a stern-looking seamstress standing with my mother in the kitchen.
“It’s not fitting for a girl of your size to go around in shapeless sacks,” Mom had said curtly. “Theresa will take your measurements for your new custom wardrobe.”
At the time, it had been humiliating as heck as both Mom and Theresa eyed my curves with disapproval. But now I find myself feeling grateful. I definitely need to impress the people at Lockdown, and I know that you don’t get a second chance at a first impression.
I reach out and pluck a black pencil skirt from a cushiony satin hanger. Struggling a little, I pull down my pajama bottoms and yank the skirt up my curvy hips. It fits, thank god – the zipper slips up smoothly. There’s a violet silk blouse in the closet too, but I worry that it might not be conservative enough. Instead, I choose a white cotton shirt that wraps around and ties on the side with a bow. I remember the seamstress telling me that this is a very flattering look for big girls because it creates the illusion of a waist.
I strip out of my pajama top and throw it to the floor before pulling on a bra and clasping it in the front. By the time my blouse is on and tied, I’m flushed and a little damp with sweat. I take a deep breath and wipe my forehead with one of my clammy hands – I just wish that I could stop feeling so nervous!
“Allie, I’m not going to call you again!” my mother yells. “We’re waiting! Get down here!”
My cheeks flush bright red and I grab a pair of black heels from the floor of the closet before darting out of my room and heading down the large spiral staircase. Mom says she had it designed in the shape of a seashell, which is probably something she saw in one of the high society magazines she’s always reading now.
“Coming,” I call. “Something smells amazing!”
When I step into the dining room, I see my father sitting at the head of the table. He’s wearing his bifocals and squinting down at the Wall Street Journal.
“Good morning, Daddy,” I say nervously. “Did you sleep well?
My father grunts in my general direction before folding his paper and setting it down on the table. Before I can ask anything else, my mother comes in and takes a seat next to my father at the table.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “Sorry, I had a hard time picking out what to wear.”
My mother looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “That was precisely the point of your new wardrobe,” she replies in a chilly voice. “So you wouldn’t have these issues in the mornings.”
“Yes, but today is special,” I say simply. “You know I have my interview today.”
My mother looks at me and sighs, as if speaking to her only daughter is the world’s most unpleasant chore.
“Right,” Mom says finally. “Yvonne, breakfast please!”
The door between the dining room and the kitchen swings open and Yvonne, our maid, scuttles in carrying a large mahogany tray loaded down with three plates. The delicious scent of maple sausage fills my nose and I sigh happily. No matter how anxious I am, the idea of a big hearty meal always makes me feel happy and relaxed.
“Yvonne, I don’t like waiting,” my mother says as Yvonne places her breakfast in front of her. Saliva wells up in my mouth as I stare hungrily at Mom’s plate: there’s bacon, eggs, sausage, and a perfect Belgian waffle topped with real whipped cream and fresh strawberries.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Donna,” Y
vonne mumbles. “Will be better tomorrow, you’ll see.”
“Or I could fire you,” Mom snaps. Then she yawns – dealing with her household staff is clearly exhausting. “What do you think about that?”
Yvonne’s cheeks burn bright red and I shoot her a sympathetic smile, but she ducks her head and scurries out of the dining room with the tray at her side. When I look down at my plate, I frown.
“Mom, Yvonne forgot part of my breakfast,” I say. “Can I go into the kitchen and get it?”
Dad snorts from behind his paper and Mom sighs. “No, Allie,” she says. “That wasn’t an accident.”
“Oh,” I say softly. My plate only has a hardboiled egg and a dollop of yogurt to the side. “You’re probably right. It’s probably not a good idea for me to eat such a big meal before my interview anyway.”
“We’re going to put you on a wellness plan,” Mom says. “Your father and I are moving up in the world, and we can’t very well have an overweight daughter. How do you think I’m going to find you a husband?”
“Mom, I—”
“Allie, don’t talk back to your mother,” Dad says. He clears his throat and looks up at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
Mom nods. “You’ll get used to it,” she says, using her fork to gesture to my plate. “And trust me, Allie. Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels.”
