Page 5 of Power Play

“My mother thinks it’s tight.”

Ashley stared at my reflection. “Your mother also owns throw pillows that probably cost more than my car. I don’t trust her judgment about normal things.”

“She danced when she was younger.”

“That doesn’t mean she gets to make you weird about your body.”

“I’m not weird about my body.”

“Then stop staring at your hips.”

I faced forward again, but the reflection no longer returned to what it had been before my mother touched my waist. The problem remained visible even when I stopped looking directly at it.

Ashley came closer and rested her hands on my shoulders. “You missed one transition.”

“I keep missing things.”

“You’re distracted.”

“My father thinks I don’t apply myself.”

“Your father thinks everyone should wake up planning a corporate takeover.”

“Charlie never had problems focusing.”

Ashley’s hands fell away. “Charlie isn’t here.”

The words hit with enough force that I spun toward her.

“I know that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know exactly where my brother is.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology was immediate and genuine, but rage had already pushed through the grief.

“You don’t get to talk about him.”

“I know.”

“My father compares me because Charlie was brilliant.”

“You’re brilliant too.”

“You don’t have to say that because you feel bad.”

“I’m saying it because I watched you design half our competition costumes when the school couldn’t afford new ones. You remembered every measurement without writing them down.”

“That isn’t algebra.”

“No, it’s something you’re good at.”

I looked away. Being good at one thing had never stopped my father from identifying where I fell short somewhere else. Success only created another expectation. Nothing I achieved allowed me to rest because the next mistake might prove the achievement had been luck.

Music started again beyond the wall.