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Crina lunges across my room onto the bed.
Laughing, I jump to my feet and lift it high out of her reach. “No looking!”
I scramble off the bed, stuff it back into the drawer, holding it closed with one hand while warding her off with my other hand.
“Behave,” I warn Crina.
“Oh, come on. You’re no fun.”
“Ha, as if you ever let us read your diary,” I throw back at her.
She sniffs. “It’s a journal.”
“Whatever. The point is, it’s private. You wouldn’t want me reading yourjournal.”
“My life is an open book,” she exclaims. “Ask me anything and I’ll answer.”
“Same here,” Gabby pipes in.
I stand firm, giving them my best I-mean-business glare. Crina retreats with a grumble and plops back down on the chair by my desk. “So what’s the biggest thing on that list? The thing we absolutely need to know.”
I purse my lips. I can tell them anything, it’s just that I haven’t said it out loud yet. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count, but it’s scary to say something forbidden out loud.
“You can tell us anything, Star. You know my darkest secret,” says Gabby, with her uncanny ability to read my mind.
She has a good point. In comparison to what she’s hatching up, my plan looks like child’s play. College may be on her radar—or she could be on the run for her life.
“I don’t want to get married right away.” Turning to Crina, I said, “I know our plan was to get into college, get married, and then convince our future husbands to let us attend, but I don’t want to get married just yet. I want to go to college first. I want to work. I want to learn hands-on what it’s like tolive.”
With a surprising lack of well…surprise, Crina nods but then asks, “Work? What kind of work? Like in a museum?”
“Or a gallery,” I add.
“Gallery? Have you ever been to a gallery?” Gabby asks, appalled at the idea that I’ve done anything so unusual without her.
“Well, no. Not yet,” I reply. “But I will. I want to go to real galleries. The legendary ones in Chelsea or the cool ones on the Lower East Side. Or in Brooklyn. Sadly, there aren’t many left in Soho anymore.”
“I’ll come with you,” Gabby suggests.
I crinkle my nose at her. “You’re not interested in art.”
“Not really, but it’s not safe to go alone.”
“Okay, that’s not true,” Crina asserts. “I go to poetry and spoken word readings in cafés. Our parents have brainwashed us with scary threats about the Bratva when really, it’s an excuse to keep us away from outsiders. I’ve snuck out and gone as far as Williamsburg for a reading. Let me tell you, there’s no Bratva in Williamsburg. Pretentious hipsters, yes. I had an Uber meet me a few streets away, went to the reading, and took an Uber back. Practically door-to-door service. No subways. Not much walking. Zero risk.”
Gabby’s mouth drops open. Mine’s not far behind.
“Umm, and why are we only hearing about this now?” I ask.
Crina turns her back to us and scribbles in her journal. “I don’t know…Gabby can’t risk doing anything with what she has planned with her sister, and you’re a good girl.”
My shoulders slump forward.
She glances over at me. “Sorry, it never occurred to me you’d be interested.”
A crash on the landing outside my bedroom has us freezing in place.
Gabby’s gaze dashes to mine.
