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  “Thank you so much! I love it. But shopping is probably not going to happen for me for a while.”

  “Why not? We can do it next week. Wednesday after work. I’ll go with you, of course, to make sure you don’t waste money committing any more fashion crimes. We can even tackle your work wardrobe.”

  I cast my eyes downward for a second while Sabrina looks at me expectantly. I quickly calculate in my head the bills that are due and what I usually have left and how much of that would be available for shopping and I shake my head. I’m due for an oil change and tire rotation this month. On top of everything else, there isn’t enough money to go shopping too. My cheeks heat up in embarrassment and frustration as I shake my head. “I don’t have money for shopping. I wish I did, but it’s not in the budget.”

  “Oh,” Sabrina replies.

  For once, she doesn’t argue with me on something when I say no, but the concept of not having enough money to shop with is clearly not one she is familiar with. I try to make light of it as if I don’t care. “I guess the mom jeans will have to do for a little while longer,” I say and add a laugh for good measure. “I’m definitely saving up, though. When I have enough, I’ll let you know and we’ll go.” The truth is, I don’t even have enough left over money to pay off the Chloe Dillon classes, but I certainly don’t want to tell Sabrina that. I’ll let her think it’s a possibility even though it probably won’t happen for a while.

  “Well, this is a good start. You really do look great.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking another glance at myself in the mirror. “I really, really appreciate your help Sabrina. I could have never come up with this on my own.”

  “No problem,” she says, smiling at me. “That’s what friends are for.”

  She starts to pack up her bag and I pick up the large notepad that had fallen out and open it.

  “Wow! I didn’t know you could draw.”

  “Well, I did tell you I wanted to be a fashion designer.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know you have to know how to draw.” I flip through page after page of sketches of clothing with intricate detail.

  “Well, you don’t have to. But it helps. Everything is done electronically now, but I like to draw everything out first.”

  “Did you take classes or something?”

  “No classes. I’ve been drawing since I can remember. It was just something I’ve always known how to do.” She shrugs.

  “You’re really good at this. I mean, look what you just did for me, and you love it. If it’s what you really want, you should go for it.”

  “Maybe you can convince my dad?” she says jokingly and shakes her head. “Thanks for saying that, though.”

  “Like you said, that’s what friends are for.”

  Chapter 20

  I was so excited to wear the outfit Sabrina put together for me, I could hardly sleep on Monday night. I even did my very first ever home facial over the weekend. Melody highly recommends professional facials to keep the skin in good condition and for relaxation. She gets them a few times per month and if I were a highly paid model traveling around Europe, I probably would too. I can’t afford the spa, but she showed us how to do them at home. Steam, scrub, mask and moisturize. My skin never felt so refreshed.

  After a busy morning at work, I go to lunch. Six voicemail messages await when I get back, one of which includes profanity. I’ve got five claims and, as usual, more work than I could possibly do in a day, but I exercise superhuman ability to keep it from upsetting me. The classes cost me a lot of money I really can’t afford, but Chloe Dillon is good for me. I’m doing the same old terrible job, but somehow, I feel different doing it.

  We’re on our last break and Sarah is telling me that they finalized their honeymoon plans. I feel nothing but excitement for her and it’s not just for show.

  “He convinced me that I couldn’t go another year of my life without seeing Paris, so Europe it is. Italy, France, England and Amsterdam.”

  “It sounds amazing.”

  “I can’t wait,” she replies excitedly. “Hey, you’re wearing makeup, and I’ve never seen you wear your hair that way. What’s going on?”

  I must really look like absolute crap every other day because I got so many, “You look so pretty today,” comments. Even Angela gave me the side-eye. Does that mean I looked ugly yesterday? I know they don’t mean it that way, but that’s basically how it comes across when you really think about it. I had to get up about twenty minutes earlier, but I was surprised at how little time it actually took. The most basic application Melody taught us went a really long way, and it was quick and easy to pull my hair into a high, sleek pony-tail instead of a stale ponytail at the nape of my neck. Incidentally, ponytails are not just for high school cheerleaders. According to Melody, there never has to be a day where it looks like you gave up on your hair because there is always something fun and basic that can be done with just a little bit of effort. I’m sure all of this valuable information was lurking within the pages of magazines I’ve read over the years that I’d carefully earmark then forget all about it until I’m staring at my boring hair yet again after I’ve already tossed the magazine in the trash.

  “Doing something with my hair and putting on a little make up in the morning puts a little pep in my step, so I’ve been trying to make a habit out of it.”

  “But what brought this on?” Sarah persists.

  “In addition to personal growth, I also signed up for acting and modeling sessions at Chloe Dillon. I already finished the acting and now its fashion and wardrobe week.” I blurt it out in one breath. I already know she doesn’t think highly of modeling schools but I’m feeling too good to keep it a secret.

  “Acting and Modeling? I never knew you were interested in that,” she says with surprise in her voice.

  “Yeah, well, me either. I’m having fun with modeling, but I really think acting is something I could be passionate about.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it before?”

  “I was embarrassed. You said it was silly.”

  She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You never did tell me how much you paid for these classes.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly cheap. Why?”

  “Well, you know those modeling and acting schools are scams right? I mean, they charge a lot of money for something you absolutely don’t need to become a model or an actor. Did they promise you fame and fortune?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head emphatically. “They only said it is possible, but that wasn’t even on my radar when I signed up. I felt the same way you do when I first heard about it, but I was struggling so much with everything going on, I just went for it.”

  “I don’t know, Lexi. I’ve heard horror stories about those places. And it’s not like acting is something that just anyone can do.”

  “I know, but doing monologues was kind of a game changer for me. I lost myself in the moment. I got positive feedback from an actual casting director. It was ...surreal...” I can’t wipe the smile off my face, but Sarah doesn’t look convinced.

  She shakes her head, and changes tactics. “I used to be a serious ballet dancer,” she says.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I started taking ballet when I was twelve. It’s considered late for anyone who ever expects to make it as a professional dancer, but I progressed really fast and made up for lost time. I danced at least three to four hours a day all through high school and did summer intensives every year. It was my life.”

  “Wasn’t that really expensive?” Sarah grew up dirt poor and comes from a really large family.

  “Very. My mom scraped together every last dime she had to keep me in it and I got scholarships, which helped. The only thing I ever bought new was tights and pointe shoes. I relied on hand me-downs for everything else, and always wore my pointe shoes longer than I should have because they were so expensive.”

  “En pointe. That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Yeah and
painful,” she says, smiling. “But I loved it. During my senior year in high school, I started auditioning for dance companies to try to get a job professionally. I went to one really huge Grand Prix competition where they have scouts from companies all over the country and I didn’t place or get a call back, so I quit.”

  “Aren’t there other ways of getting into a company?”

  Sarah continues, “Well, yes, but auditioning is really expensive because you submit tapes all over to get an invite. But you have to pay your own way to actually go audition. In a big family like that, when money is tight, to have that big of a focus on one child creates a lot of bitterness among your siblings. I didn’t want to waste any more money that could be going towards the other kids, so I decided that college was the safer bet. It seemed like such an impossible dream that when I didn’t get picked up by a company at Grand Prix, I figured it wasn’t meant to be.” I detect a wistful flicker in her eyes, but only for half of a second. “My teacher always told me my boobs were too big for ballet anyway,” she says with a laugh.

  “How could I not know this about you? I know you go to Nutcracker every year and that you used to take classes, but I never knew you were that good.”

  “I guess I don’t like to talk about that part of it because I was one of the ones who didn’t make it. I didn’t have the guts to keep trying for my dream, but the flip side of it is that having talent isn’t always enough. The performing arts is really cut throat and highly competitive. I was only eighteen and I was good, but I had to be realistic. I went to college. I started a career. I’ll be transitioning into a new career that I really care about. Anyway, the point is, I think it’s great you’re having fun with this, but I don’t want you to be taken advantage of. I know you don’t like being a claims adjuster, but you still haven’t applied for promotions or looked for anything else.”

  I was a Political Science major worried sick about being stuck doing retail forever. I tripped and fell into the insurance industry, joining the otherwise talentless masses relegated to stale cubicle farms filled with days that blend undifferentiated one into the next because this is real life. This is what people do. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I picture my supervisor’s tired, defeated face and I know I don’t want that for myself. I shake my head defiantly, because we’ve already discussed that many times.

  “I can’t be a supervisor.”

  “There are lots of great careers out there you can explore.”

  I don’t think she means anything by it, but I’m deeply disappointed that she won’t share my enthusiasm. She is passionate about becoming a therapist, why can’t I be passionate about acting? It’s the first thing since gymnastics that has truly stirred me in some way.

  “You’re right,” I say quietly. “Maybe it is time for me to pursue a different career path that will make me happier.”

  That’s what I said, and I meant it because it would be really nice to feel something other than disdain for my job, but her refusal to be supportive and acknowledge acting as something I could actually use to enrich my life is frustrating.

  Chapter 21

  Glancing up from my book, I check the time and swallow the last of my usual school night dinner: peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of Cool Ranch Doritos. I head straight to the restroom to change into my runway look before class. People at work would have fallen over in their chairs if they’d seen me in this get up. Patting my hair, I assess myself in the full-length mirror. Not bad for an over the hill claims adjuster who got dumped. On the way out, I run into Tessa.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, speeding up to catch the elevator.

  “It’s going,” she says.

  “Yeah, same here,” I say punctuated by a giant yawn. Tessa yawns too. Then I yawn again, and we break into tired laughter. “Oh god, I’m so tired!”

  “Me too,” she says as the doors slide open. “At NBC, everything starts early and goes on forever. I have to be at work by 6:00 a.m. and I usually don’t get off until after five.”

  “Wow, that’s what, a ten-hour day?”

  “Yep. Sometimes more. I come home and take a quick nap if I have time then I come here.”

  “Wow. I’m at work for nine hours including lunch and I’m beat. How do you do it?”

  “I’m not crazy about my job itself but I love being in that environment, you know? I see the newscasters getting ready. I bring them coffee or whatever else they need. I get to see all the behind the scenes stuff that goes on and I love it. I’m more in love with the setting and the possibility of the place more than I am with my actual job. I’m just an errand girl but I’m hoping that if I pay my dues, that’ll change. That’s what really keeps me going. What about your job? Do you like it?”

  “I’m a claims adjuster. I get yelled at all day and I hate it.”

  “Wow, that’s a bummer.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me.” Saying it out loud gives me pause because if it’s really that bad, shouldn’t I be doing something about it by now?

  “There are other jobs out there, though, right?” she asks.

  “As much as I dislike my job, I think change scares me even more. I know what to expect at Silver. I know the ropes. I hate the ropes, but at least I know them,” I say. “I guess I’m a creature of habit.”

  What I really think is I’ll find out there’s really nothing else out there for me that’s better. But I’m also terrified there is and I’ve wasted too much time in the wrong field, which ultimately makes me feel like my feet are buried in cement—stuck. I mean, I’ve always thought marketing sounded fun, but where would I even start?

  We’re early and the door to our class is shut so we pause in the hallway. “I have student loans up to my eyeballs,” she says. “If I could get that big break I need, maybe I’ll have a shot at something more. But who knows if or when that will happen?”

  “Forgive me if I’m being nosey. You said your dad worked for a global company. Can they help?”

  “My mom doesn’t work. My dad was going to start his own private consulting firm, but when the economy went belly up, he lost a lot of money in the stock market, including my college fund. He decided it would be safer to stick with his company. They’ve definitely helped me a lot, but after they lost a good chunk of their retirement, I found out real quick I’d have to hustle if I want to succeed.”

  “I wish I had some of that hustle myself,” I say, leaning my head against the wall.

  “You can have it. You just can’t be afraid.”

  I suppose I can. But there’s always something holding me back. Something I have yet to identify.

  “It’s so funny because I totally had you pegged for a major rich girl who gets everything she wants when I first saw you.”

  She throws back her head and laughs bitterly. “I was supposed to be. My parents’ downfall pretty well took care of that.”

  “...and your clothes are so perfect.”

  “I don’t spend a lot of money but I know where to find good deals and I know how to put things together.”

  “Now that’s a talent I could use,” I say, admiring her outfit of the day, which certainly looks expensive to me.

  “Well, if you ever want to go shopping together, let me know. And what about you?” Tessa asks. “Are you drowning in student loans like almost everyone else our age?”

  My parents’ financial situation is and always has been tenuous. They foreclosed on my childhood home when they moved to Arizona in search of a lower cost of living. I got a voicemail message from my mom the other day letting me know they had to move out of their rental house because, with my Dad still not working, they got too far behind on rent. I sent them what I could from my dwindling savings account, and she never mentioned it, but she cashed the check and I know she wouldn’t have if they didn’t really need it.

  “Up to my neck in those lovely loans they throw at eighteen year olds with no means of income. It’s impossible to get ahead of it.” I launch into anoth
er giant yawn. It’s obviously contagious, so Tessa yawns again too. Then we laugh over our chronic fatigue. What else can you do?

  Sabrina approaches from the opposite direction, with Melody. “Hey, wake up!” she says, glancing up from her cell phone all bright eyed and bushy tailed, wearing another pair in the endless parade of designer jeans.

  Tessa and I give each other a knowing glance that does not escape Sabrina’s watchful eye. We drag ourselves to class, entangled in a web of fatigue, and the contrast next to Sabrina could not be more glaringly obvious. I still don’t know what she does all day.

  “Janine, what did you do?” Sabrina asks in surprise when she walks into the room.

  She laughs at our genuine shock in seeing her in something other than jeans and T-shirts.

  “I hired a personal stylist from Bloomingdale’s. I already knew there wasn’t a single shred of anything in my closet that would work. Not a thing,” she says, shaking her head in disgust. “My stylist was a genius. She re-did my entire work wardrobe.”

  Turns out, she has a really nice figure when she’s wearing the right clothes for her body. The fitted but not too tight, high waist skirt takes the emphasis away from her hips and puts it on her waist where it should be.

  “So, what’s up?” Sabrina asks with suspicion as we head towards our usual seats while the rest of the class streams in. “Why do I get the distinct impression that you two were talking about me?”

  “Okay, Miss Paranoid, we were not talking about you,” I say, shaking my head. “We were just yawning our brains out and talking about how freaking tired we are after a long hard day of work, and couldn’t help but notice you so full of life and energy—plus, your really cute jeans. That’s all,” I say, plopping down in my seat with a heavy thud. “Thank goodness we’re doing runway or else I’d probably fall asleep right here. If it’s possible to fall asleep while walking then it’s about to happen tonight.” I put my chin in my hand. When I shut my eyes for a second, they burn.