Page 19 of The Top of Admiration
“Miranda not joining us tonight?”
“Don’t say the ‘M’ word,” Damon hissed in a faux whisper.
Cordy slammed down the garlic powder. “Fuck that asshole. I’m going to go Miranda on his ass. What she did to Harrison will look like a fucking Bible story.”
“Bible stories can be pretty bloody and gruesome,” Damon pointed out.
“What did he do?” I asked. We all knew which “he” I was referring to. I wasn’t a violent man. My fighting history was restricted to drunken tussles with Damon and Samuel, but for Miranda, I’d have a good crack.
“He took her phone and declined her scholarship at that French retreat. He said it was to keep her close, but I think he was punishing her.” Cordy seethed. “Damon, google ‘prank war.’ No,google ‘revenge that doesn’t put people in jail’. Actually, fuck it. I’m willing to go to jail for this.”
“Fuck. Can’t she ask them to reconsider?”
“No, her place is already gone. Her boss begged and they said she could come but would have to pay her own way. Which she can’t afford. The Arts Council kicks in for some, even for non-scholarship holders, but it’s still twenty-five thousand dollars for the accommodation and course. Even Mom and Dad can’t spare that.”
“We should do a GoFundMe. If we get enough people to kick in, she can go. How long do we have?”
“She accepted it but only has two weeks until she has to turn it down. I like that idea, but seriously, that’s a lot of money. She’s an artist. Most of her friends are broke.”
“I’d kick in, and I know you guys would. Your parents, even Lucy might have a little bit saved. I’m sure we could do it.” I had to help her do this. She’d worked so hard and he’d shit on every one of her dreams.
“It wouldn’t hurt, Cordy. Worst case, if we don’t raise the money, we just return everyone’s donation,” Damon reasoned.
The very angry woman behind the counter began to smile.
“I have a call to make. Damon, please keep stirring this.”
He jumped up eagerly, swishing the spoon around without touching the base of the pot. This was why he was such a shitty cook. He was all enthusiasm and energy, with very little focus or actual skills.
Ten minutes later, when Damon had well and truly ruined Cordy’s cooking, she returned to the kitchen smiling broadly.
“Jules is on it! She reckons Seamus’s work might kick in too. She’s setting it up now. Don’t tell Miranda. We don’t want her to know in case we can’t raise enough, so if you share it on socials, make sure you block her from the post.”
She’d get there. I was more certain of that than I was that dinner would be awful.
Chapter 16: Miranda — Bon voyage
Joy, gentle friends! Joy and fresh days of love accompany your hearts
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
I wiped the tears from my eyes. I had the best family ever. I could never repay their kindness. Jules stood before me, crying. Jules could be firm, but she was an incurable sympathetic crier. My sweet sisters had raised the money! I was going to Lyon in a few weeks. Letty was arguably more excited than I was.
Mom cooked a huge feast and so many people were here to enjoy it with me. Cordy had borrowed Damon’s table and chairs and joined it to hers to accommodate the crowd.
Cordy, Damon, Seamus, Juliet, Mom, Dad, Lucy, Good Cam, my cousin Ella, Letty, stuffy old Lucas, my schoolfriends Sarah and Mish, and I sat around the table, holding our glasses up to toast the moment.
“Miranda, we are so proud of you! We know you’ll do your best, and all I ask is that you don’t come home with a fake accent. And don’t drink nasty wine!” Juliet toasted.
“Cheers!” The group salutation was loud. I was the luckiest girl in the world. I smiled at Seamus. Mom and Dad no doubt kicked in a huge chunk, but Seamus’s work had thrown in fifteen thousand. He was an accountant, and the owner of the firm was known to be generous in the community. I’d written a thank-you (Mom was big on actual handwritten thank-yous and would have cut me from the will if I’d sent an email) and asked Seamus for the name of the owner, but he said he’d hand deliver it forme. I really should visit in person after the trip and give his boss a French souvenir. Maybe I could paint something for him.
This could be my big chance. Learning from well-known artists was a unique opportunity, and one of the instructors was an impressionist who I’d loved since I was a teen. I hoped I could stop fangirling enough to open my mind and learn.
“I still can’t believe it,” I said excitedly. “I’m already packing and I’m not leaving for weeks! Jules, is it still okay if I borrow your coat?”
“Yeah, sure. Want my fluffy sweater too?”
“Yes please!”
