Page 30 of When Hearts Ignite
“Cheers! Congratulations, Tay, on getting into Petit Jeté.” I curl my arm around Taylor while the girls and I give her a well-deserved toast for a job well done.
As I predicted, she passed her audition with flying colors and the director of the dance company personally gave her a call this morning with the good news.
Taylor smiles, her eyes turning suspiciously red as Millie and Belle pull her into a group hug. Millie Callahan, Taylor’s best friend who goes to NYUC, rubs reassuring circles on Taylor’s back, shushing her and murmuring words I can’t hear, but are no doubt kind.
Annabelle Law-McKenzie, or Belle, as she’d like to be known to her friends, doles out a sympathetic glance my way. We met at NYUC when she sat next to me in criminal psychology, and promptly listed all the reasons women shouldn’t be walking alone after dark because serial killers were afoot. After telling me why she was in the class despite being a fashion design major—morbid curiosity—she threw me an easy grin, tossed back her thick black hair, and announced we’d be the best of friends.
Since then, the four of us have stuck together and Millie and Belle even decided to be roommates. We are an odd quartet from outside appearances, with Taylor in her grunge makeup and thick braids, oversized T-shirt, and torn leggings, me with my thrifted professional attire, Millie with her girl-next-door tank top, jean shorts, and luxurious brown hair, and Belle with her couture linen dress and pearl necklace. Yet, these are the girls I can’t live without.
We celebrate our highs at food stalls and restaurants inside Chelsea Market or drown our sorrows in tubs of handmade ice cream at Millie’s and Belle’s swanky apartment in SoHo while watching reruns of Sex and the City.
Belle’s father hails from the royalty of American haute couture fashion, with the McKenzie brand going toe to toe with the classic Italian and Parisian labels; her mother is a supermodel from Asia, but she’s the most down-to-earth person I’ve ever met, never showing off her wealth and always respecting our boundaries by limiting dining out or extravagant activities.
True to form, we’re crammed at a bar table, elbow to elbow with other patrons who are celebrating the end of another work week in Corazón, a Mexican and Japanese fusion eatery nestled within the industrial stalls of Chelsea Market, where it makes sense to have jalapeños on sashimi and listen to a lively Mariachi band play while drinking hot sake.
“So, are you going to sign on the dotted line?” Millie pops a grilled whole jalapeno in her mouth and winces. I cringe, my tongue almost on fire on her behalf.
Taylor shrugs and takes a sip of her sake. “Not sure, to be honest. There are a lot of fees involved in their pre-professional program. The tuition costs a pretty penny, and I have it good at my current school with the full ride, so I haven’t decided.”
“You must though! It’s your dream to go there and then onward to ABTC, right? This is once in a lifetime. You have to make it work. Do you need a loan? I can lend you some money, and even charge you interest, since I know your stubborn ass won’t take the money otherwise.” Belle spears a piece of California roll with her chopsticks and waits for a response.
“I can help as well! I have funds set aside,” Millie blurts out, her hand covering her mouth, which is stuffed with food. “Actually, I have a good amount stashed away.”
We glance at her in surprise. Millie has been private about her background since we met her. From what we have gathered, she lost her mother at a young age and has an older brother and a father. That’s about all we know. We figure there are things she isn’t comfortable sharing until she’s ready.
Taylor sneaks a glance at me, her eyes narrowing pensively as she purses her lips. I smile, pat her hand, and give it a soft squeeze. “You have to do it, Tay. We’ll make it work. Remember, I’m going to get that job offer and everything will be fine.”
It must be. I won’t lie and say the additional costs associated with this good news don’t stress me out, but I can’t have Taylor giving up her dream because of something so superficial, yet essential as money.
My shoulders ache as heaviness settles on my chest. There’s so much riding on this internship and I hope—
Fuck that. I’m going to rock this. There’s no alternative.
I’m going to work even harder, so the job is in the bag.
Turning to Belle, I clink her glass with mine. “And you, sister from another mother and father, we’ll put a rain check on your offer. If I get the full-time position at Pietra, then we won’t need to take you up on it. But you’re the best.”
Taylor’s lips split into a wide grin and she tosses a wink at Belle. “Now that I think about it, I don’t mind having you as a sugar mama, though.”
Belle snorts and I roll my eyes. Taylor pours more sake into Belle’s cup. “But in all seriousness, the best thing that happened to Grace at NYUC was meeting you. I hope we don’t have to take you up on it.”
She flushes and looks away—Taylor is the tough cookie in our family and always shies away from what she calls the mushy stuff. Her nose ring, a heart today, glints in the light.
“Aww shucks, you girls are going to make me cry. It’s what anyone would do. I don’t have anything to spend my trust fund on anyway, and this is a worthwhile cause. Tay, when you become a prima ballerina or dancer or whatever you call it, I want reserved box seats and first dibs on all merchandise. And you must wear the McKenzie brand at all times.”
“Ever the businesswoman.” I chuckle and she flips me off.
Taylor turns to Millie and curls an arm around her neck, hugging her close. “And you…you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since sliced bread. Fuck, where did that saying come from? It doesn’t make any sense.”
I volunteer, “Actually, there’s an interesting story behind that one. Supposedly, it’s a slogan—”
“Not now, Grace,” the girls grumble in union.
Millie chokes on her food and tries to shove Taylor away, but Taylor just sniggers and slaps her loudly on her back.
“Those damn jalapenos are so spicy, but I keep going back for them. I don’t know why I do that…going back for things that are bad for me,” Millie murmurs, finally disentangling from Taylor.
Her eyes are watery and she lets out a soft sigh, a pained expression flashing across her face. She has been uncharacteristically sullen ever since she came back from Los Angeles, where she spent a year for a special business program.
