Page 123 of Swallow Your Sorries

Feet products aside, I need more tights and leotards that don’t have runs and chai, no foam, skim milk, lite water, three pumps of something or another andextra hotlattes staining the pilled fabric. And those were just for the lower-tiered, mixed ballet dance classes. I needed more of the steely grey leotards and exact skin-tone matching tights that were the uniform for the advanced ballet classes. The speciality, stricter classes that felt so rigid, I could barely breathe, much less have a single strand out of place.

Then there are the upcoming colours of black, emerald green, and slate blue to represent each upcoming term period. And I plan to buy them all because I’m not leaving the advanced level and I refuse to put on any other colours.

They’re like badges of honour I need to earn by any means necessary.

And to earn them, I need a damn job.

I look at the matte black box full of panties that’s peeking out from beneath my bed. I don’t want Gant’s gifts. Neither do I want him picking out my toiletries.

I save Smash Burgers again, much to Stassi’s exasperation.

“If you have to find a job, who says you need a traditional one to make good money?” Stassi wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Are you eighteen yet?”

“Yea. Why?” I ask, already sceptical of where this is going.

“You could get a sugar daddy.”

“Ew,” Aria shudders.

“Or if you’re looking for zero physical contact, you could sell feet—” she pauses as she pulls back the sheet from my feet and damn near gags. “Nevermind. I forgot what ballerina feet look like beneath those pretty satin slippers.”

I sigh. I don’t want a sugar daddy. Another man to sell my soul to in order for them to take care of me the way Gant technically is.

“No sugar daddies.”

“Bottle service girls make quite a lot and you’ve got good tits,” Aria says as she and Stassi eye my cleavage. I shift under their scrutinising gazes, pulling the sheet up to cover myself even more. I still hadn’t replaced my soaked pyjama top with a fresh one. “Can you mix drinks? The drinking age is eighteen, so you’ll be allowed to bartend.”

“I can learn,” I say, my spirits rising a tiny bit. I could get comfortable mixing drinks and having men gawk at my breasts so long as the bar kept their grubby fingers a few metres away from me.

I think back to the shady advertisement I’d found in the girl’s bathroom and reach for the flyer still pinned beneath my bedside lamp. The one requesting that the workers be comfortable wearing fishnets and cufflinks. So long as it entailed an actual outfit too, it can’t be so bad, right? I mean, I wore leotards, shorts, skirts and tights for half the school day anyway.

My heart thunders faster as I consider the possibilities. With tips, maybe I could make some serious cash.

“Seeking cocktail waitresses for a brand new high-end club,Libellule,” Stassi reads over my shoulder.

“Libellule?” Aria asks more to herself as she minimises her essay and types it into the browser search bar. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

I’d never heard of it before.

“Looks like it isn’t too far from here,” Aria goes on. “Opening interviews start Sunday after next. But that’s pretty short notice if you don’t know how to mix drinks.”

“Well, she has two weeks to learn,” Stassi says, rolling off my bed and flicking on all the lights before scouring her clothing rack. “We should start getting dressed now. The trolley leaves in less than two hours.”

I didn’t need more than twenty minutes to get ready to go anywhere, mainly because I had two decent casual outfits to choose from.

“Get dressed to go where exactly?” I ask quizzically.

“To get some drinks, we’ll sneak them through the forest and then into the dorm. Ms Trix will be too busy stalking Mr Lexington to notice what we’re up to. Come on Aria, get to it.”

“And why do I have to go?” Aria arches a brow.

“Because I don’t turn eighteen for another month, and Elle will need help buying and carrying all that liquor. Come on, be a good roomy.”

Aria looks back at her laptop. “I’m not done with my paper.”

“Then it’s a good thing you have all weekend. What’s one night? Come on, this is our last year. Plus, you can’t stay mad at me forever.”

Aria’s expression says that remains to be seen.

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