Page 43 of Grease Monkey
High school graduate.
Birthday girl.
Girlfriend.
I might hate that today went by in some disappointing blur, but those three titles—just for today, at least—make enduring my parents’ hard stares, passive-aggressive comments to one another, and not being able to see Teddy until he sneaks into my room tonight worth it.
I look at the glossy black folder with my name inside, running my fingers along the gold embossed logo of my school and once my diploma is mailed out, the A4 piece of paper will symbolize the end of that chapter in my life, and the acceptance letter to Arizona, the next.
My phone buzzes on the mattress beside me, and I smile, hoping to see Teddy’s name on the notification. My cheeks hurt as my brother’s name appears on the screen, my heart warming at the sight.
Skip:HBD, little sis.
Morgana:So you remembered who I am?
Skip:Of course. You’re the pain in my ass I can’t get rid of*laughing emoji*
Morgana:Ha-ha.
Skip:Can’t wait to see you. I miss you.
Morgana:Whatever. Miss me enough not to text me back.
Skip:Sorry, sis. Life’s been crazy, y’know. Everything okay? I’ve got five mins before I need to start work.
Morgana:It’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.
Skip:You know I’m here if you need to talk.
Morgana:…when you’re not busy.
Skip:Ouch, that hurt. I’ve been a shit brother recently Morgs and I’m sorry. But hopefully I’ll get to see you soon, okay?
Morgana:You mean that?
Skip:Yeah. Listen I’ve gotta go, just starting work. Speak soon, kiddo. Love you x
“Love you too,” I mutter to the phone, letting it drop from my hand to the bed. Rolling onto my side, I tuck my hands under my face and watch the sunset through the bedroom window. I should be getting ready for this gala I’m being forced to attend instead of celebrating the day the way I want to—with Teddy and Shay while my mom and dad forget I exist. Just how I like it. But I’m certain the only reason I’ve been invited tonight is so Mom can keep an eye on me.
Misery loves company and all that.
She might be watching me, but I’ve been doing the same. I used to think the amount of alcohol she consumes was because of Skip, but now I’m not so sure. I see the way my parents act around each other. I see the glazed expression on Mom’s face when he starts talking about his campaign. She’s a husk of the woman I assume she must have been before she met Dad. Stuck in a loveless marriage, with children I’m starting to think she might not have wanted—not like she brought us up, since our numerous nannies did—and there’s nothing she can do to help herself get out. She’s every bit as trapped in a life she claims I’m destined for, rather than the one I want. I want to feel sorry for her, and on some level, maybe I do, but she chose this. And now she wants me to do the same. Well, no. That won’t be me. I’ve seen how happy relationships can be, and I won’t stay in line and live like some good little homemaker, whose only there to be seen and not heard. As soon as this gala is over, I’m going to tell them. Tell them I’m not going to Harvard. Tell them about Teddy and that he loves me. That we’re going to Phoenix together. Even though we’re young, this is serious, and we’re going to be together regardless of what mom says.
Leaning over, I turn on the lamp and reach down to pull open the drawer on my bedside table. Rummaging around, I pull out a banged-up metallic box with a padlock attached and swivel the numbers until it clicks open. Four of the acceptance letters sit inside what was once my money box, and I add in the letter from Arizona, safely tucking it away with the others after showing Teddy. My heart flutters like mad with excitement as my fingers linger on the envelopes, but suddenly the box topples to the floor as three loud rasps at my bedroom door make me jump. My hands fumble to catch everything, missing most of the contents as the letters and other precious items spill onto the floor.
Scrambling from the bed, I drop to my knees and frantically shove everything back inside the box, relock the padlock, and quickly slip it back into the drawer. Mom’s head pops around the door a second later, her face perfectly contoured and highlighted, her updo done meticulously, not a single hair out of place.
“Why aren’t you ready?” She frowns, her lips pulling into a pout as she glares at me sitting on the floor. “What on earth are you doing?”
“My phone fell. I was picking it up,” I lie, getting to my feet and straightening my bathrobe.
Her nostrils flare as she glares. “Hurry up and get changed, Morgana. Your dress is hanging in your closet, and Evan will be in shortly to do your makeup.”
I bite my cheek, hiding the disappointment thatheis doing my makeup. He always makes everything so thick and dark and not at all the colors that match my complexion. He makes Mom look radiant and me a little clown.
“Sure,” I say through a tight-lipped smile.
Mom’s eyes dart around the room like she’s looking for something, or someone,but when they land back on me, she sighs. “You let your hair air dry.”
