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Except at barely eight in the morning.
That's just excessive.
The walk is a straight shot from the subway station. Soon the building comes into view—Styvesant High School, the one and only. A historical stone structure wedged between glass office towers.
We pause outside the wrought iron gates. A flood of teenagers in crisp uniforms pour up the front steps.
Aria shrinks back against me. Her body feels terribly fragile.
She wouldn’t be here if our parents were still alive.
Both of us would still be living the sheltered New Jersey life they created for us, with Grace visiting us every weekend, telling us about life in the city, her work-in-progress and her weekly word count.
But alas, we are here now.
“Everyone just seems so smart and serious. This school is intense, Mads. What if I can't keep up?”
I turn her to face me, my hands firm on her shoulders.
“Aria Emerson. You are, without a doubt, the smartest nerd I know. You have nothing to worry about, you hear me?”
She gives me a timid smile.
“Just take it one step at a time, alright?” I continue. “Look forward. The universe only gives us what we can handle. Remember what Mom used to tell us?”
“Do you think she’s watching us?”
“I’m sure of it, baby girl,” I say reassuringly. “I can feel her with us every day. You’ll be fine.”
The morning bell chimes through the air. Aria takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “Okay. I can do this.”
I pull her in for a quick, tight hug. “I love you. Now go show them what you're made of.”
With a determined nod, she marches toward the entrance. I watch as she disappears into the crowd. My heart swells with pride and aches with her absence all at once.
I check my watch again.
7:55 a.m.
I turn and make my way down the sidewalk toward a very different first day of my own.
* * *
I stop in my tracks and tilt my head all the way back to see the top of the skyscraper. Whitmore Tech. My new office. Home of the tech geniuses and business big shots.
I tug self-consciously on my blazer. Fitted, professional, blah. My high heels add a few inches to my tall frame and the light makeup a few years to my face.
Hopefully.
I’m an Amazon alright, feeling girl power percolate through me.
The lobby screams money with its sleek marble floors, modern angular furniture, and two—two!—reception desks. The employees give me tight, polite smiles as I pass. But judging from the sideway glances, my tight pencil skirt might be a bit too risqué amid all the power suits.
Oopsie.
Though this outfit seemed like a very good idea when I bought it at the Theory sample sale a few weeks ago.
I step into the polished elevator and punch twenty-five. Butterflies swarm my stomach as the floors tick up. Everything feels stiff and sterile. The total opposite of my Instagram life, which is rainbow decor, piles of fluffy pillows, and tunes always pumping. Now it's all about corporate policies, international clients, and software I can barely pronounce, let alone understand.
