Page 28 of Swallow Your Sorries

“Because you knew I’d talk you out of it! What the hell were you thinking? No, scratch that you weren’t. You’re eighteen now, Gant. How can I trust you to take over our enterprise if you aren’t maturing? If all you do is dick around? That club is going to be nothing more than a money pit.”

“You don’t know that,” I say flatly, turning to see Hale charismatically talking to his phone screen while the blondes continue to bob. He’s undoubtedly on live, talking to over three million followers about the private pre-opening they’ll be grovelling to come to once the semester starts. If anyone can make a club popular, it’s Hale, or rather, our untouchable group, the five horsemen. Senior year’s enough time to turn a profit and bow out before handing the club to the next line of Beaulieu’s untouchable seniors. “Instead of berating me from the onset, why don’t you give me a chance? I might surprise you.”

On the TV, a ballet recital comes across the screen from the local news station. It’s being performed in the next town over by some public school. They’re showcasing its performing arts sector that’s being defunded. I’m immediately underwhelmed as the group of forty-six students gives a lacklustre performance of, of course, the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Fuck that sugary plum bitch.

“You want to surprise me? Find a worthy investment. Do something before graduation that’ll make the Auclairs proud.”

“Does that still include Mum?”

The silence is deadly.

On the TV, the cameraman pans left, and I do a double take. My heart pounds in my ears as a copper-haired girl flashes across the screen. I let my arm holding the phone drop as my father finally reanimates and begins screaming profanities, working himself towards an aneurysm.

I rise from the couch like a phoenix from the fucking ashes, bypass the coffee table dripping with alcohol and slick, and walk straight to the TV. My fingers feel like foreign objects glued to my body as I press the buttons on the side, cranking up the audio to drown out the club’s music.

No, it couldn’t beher.

The girl that haunted my fucking existence ever since that night when my life turned to hell.

The girl and her worthless family we’d been unable to find for almost two years.

The girl who pinned the email leak on me.

The girl who made my mother think I’d betrayed her up until her dying breath.

“We have an intermediate ballet student here,” the reporter says. “Can you tell us your name?”

“I’m Elle Ginhart,” she pants and my throat goes dry, my lungs ceasing to function.

It’s her. I’ll never forget that face, with the light spattering of freckles that formed a tiny heart on her left cheek, or those eyes that are the purest form of emerald green.

“I’ve attended L. E Whittaker High School for two years now and I’ve been a part of the ballet program ever since.”

This bitch has been one town over? Just one fucking town over this entire time and my father hadn’t found her?Impossible.

“Elle, how does it feel knowing that the funding behind Whitaker’s ballet and dance program is being taken away?”

“I think it’s a huge mistake.”

I think it’s my biggest victory.

“Dance is a massive outlet for so many students that attend the school. It keeps them busy and their minds focused on positive things, not what’s happening on the streets or even in their own homes.”

She damn near whispers the latter part and the reporter nods sympathetically.

“We tried so hard to keep the program going with fundraisers. We even restored the studio ourselves. But in the end…”

Through the phone speaker, my father barks, “Try that shit again and I’ll freeze your accounts!”

I turn the volume up higher as the reporter asks another question.

“With dance classes suspended in the new school year, how will you cope?”

“They’re my only outlet. I can’t cope without them.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been searching for a new performing arts school to complete my senior year.”

I’ve just found her one.

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