Page 45 of The Plus One Professional
“Mom said I can’t try out for cheer!” she wailed.
“Where are you?”
“What do you mean?” she sniffed.
“Are you at home?” It wasn’t even two o’clock yet. She should be in school.
“No. I still have sixth period, but I called mom because I wanted to stay afterschool to practice with Riley and Michelle, and she said I could stay but I couldn’t try out.”
I exhaled, relieved that this was a Carly emergency, not a health emergency.
“It’s so unfair! Riley and Michelle have already been on the squad for two years. She promised me that this year?—”
“I don’t remember her promising you.” What I did remember was, Carly had tried to pin her mom down with a promise when she said no last year. My sister told her that she didn’t think the answer would be different this year.
“How can she do this to me?!” Carly cried.
“I’m sure if she said no, then she has her reasons.”
“It’s money! That’s her ‘reason’ for everything.”
“When are tryouts?”
“Next week.”
“Okay, look, let me talk to your mom and?—”
“Thank you, Uncle CJ! I love you so much! You’re the?—”
“Carly, I didn’t say that her answer’s going to change. I’m just saying, let me talk to her.”
My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it from my ear to see that Sara was texting me.
I put the phone back to my ear as my niece was saying, “I know, but you always come through. Love you!”
The call disconnected, and I read the text. The message warned me that my niece might be calling me because she was having a breakdown and that the reason Sara had said no was because between travel and uniforms, a year of competitive cheer was nearly six grand.
I only had half that amount in our “glass” savings account, which I’d named because it was only to be broken into in case of an emergency. And it was our only safety net. If that was gone and there was an emergency, we’d be shit out of luck.
There was the money I’d saved for my bond and insurance. If I used that, I wouldn’t have to touch my glass savings. But it would also put off getting my license for a few months.
Bailey had offered to pay three grand for me to come with her for the entire weekend. I’m assuming she got that number because one grand was my typical rate for an event, and we’d be here for three days. It was either that or this was aPretty Womansituation, and I was Julia Roberts.
“Hey, is everything okay? Is your nephew sick again?”
“Oh, yeah, no he’s fine. It was my niece. She was having a meltdown.”
“How old is she?”
“Eleven.”
Bailey grinned. “It’s a tough age. Everything feels very life or death.”
“Apparently.”
“Well, I’m glad everything is okay.” She handed me a folder with a key card in it. “Here’s your key.”
“My key?”
