Page 51 of Eat. Prey. Love.
“Don’t be crude,” I say with a grin. “But also, don’t be a stranger if you need anything. Those of us cast aside by the idiots in charge for not being cruel and power hungry have to stick together.”
Zhenga beams, nodding her head. “Absolute truth, buddy. Hell, if we weren’t worried about the Fae slaughtering everyone responsible for their confinement, I’d say let them take over. It can’t be any fucking worse than fuckwits we have running shit now.”
I snort. “Preach, woman. I’d pay a pretty penny to see someone teach the Raj a lesson he sorely deserves, but then I won’t getmyvengeance and that can’t happen. He’s mine and Fitz’s to deal with.”
That’s something I won’t back off on—my father will die slowly and painfully by our hand for his sins, no matter what.
Swan Lake, Op 20, Act 1
I spentthe rest of the day fighting off my fury and anxiety about my bitchy counselor. She didn’t accomplish her goal of intimidating me, nor of making me doubt my extremely well-qualified attorney… but she did live rent-free in my head for a few hours. I hate that, but I’m just as capable of fear as any other being. My past still pinches when shit like this happens, so to distract myself, I focus solely on my singing and dancing. Despite the pecking of my professors, I got through it without incident and headed straight for my personal studio.
This little room is what all the students have for preparing their jury pieces and the size depends on what kind of specialtyyou are majoring in. It’s supposed to be a haven for our creativity, but the relative emptiness of the hallways for theater and dance majors makes me suspicious. Pulling my bag up on my shoulder, I use my wrist to open the specially installed lock Fitzy and Rennie had the crew put in the minute they knew which one I was assigned. It clicks open and I enter, dropping my stuff on the big overstuffed chair in the corner. It has a sound system, a small upright piano, room to dance and a barre… but I can tell my guys have been inside, too.
The small fridge is likely stocked with food and drink, and definitely isn’t university issue.
“Thank fuck for overbearing, adorable boyfriends,” I murmur when my stomach growls. Technically my studio time doesn’t start for an hour and I should be on lunch, but I wanted to get somewhere safe as soon as possible. I’ve felt like I’m being watched since Skelly and I left the admin building, and it’s not my crazy tiger. At least, not only him—there’s more than just a stalker mate trailing me around this campus.
Pressing my fingers to my eyes as I suck in a deep breath, I try to get my mind to focus. There are so many fucking things to deal with, but if I don’t put that all aside to work on thismountainof school work, I’m going to flunk out. I plop down on the floor and make a pile for each class, plus the projects Ru-Ru, Coco, and I are collaborating on. Slowly, I take all the printouts, materials, and lists I’ve made for each one until the entire picture is spread out in front of me.
Hermes in a handcart, I am so screwed.
Blowing out another breath, I re-arrange the projects so they’re in order of due date. That gives me a little relief as a great deal of them are farther out. If I work efficiently and plan carefully, Ishouldbe able to complete enough each week to stay on track. Obviously, I know there will be bumps in the road because the Universe laughs when I plan, but I think it’s do-able without consuming so much caffeine I vibrate off the face of theEarth.
Since I’ve been pushing my voice and body in my previous classes, I grab the pile corresponding to the paper for the twins’ asshole cousin, my laptop, and my food. Once I’m settled in the chair, I start my research on our topic.
The next few hours are going to suck.
After two hours,my limbs are cramped, so I put my work aside and stretch. I might be able to get this damn thing done by the end of the weekend, then work on dividing it based on what I agreed to with my snooty partner. I’m going to do the entire damned thing just to be sure, and when she flakes out, I’ll hand it in with a note to the knock-off Khan. I doubt he’ll do anything about it since he’s obviously out to get me; however, I have to try.
Frowning, I make sure to take pictures of my research that are date and time stamped, as well as shooting those and the draft to several cloud accounts, including Fitzy’s, to make sure nothing weird happens to my work. After the bullshit at Apex, I’m more cautious about my work, especially in digital form. Heather E. is just egotistical enough to pull the same trick twice and I have to be prepared. The guys don’t have the same connections as they did at Apex and Cappie, so I don’t want to court disaster.
This shit is so fucking exhausting.
All these ridiculous people being jerks for whatever crazy reason they’ve made up in their minds are just noise; I know that. But it’s hard not feel the strain of having to plan for random stealth attacks—whether vague or direct—when it’s necessary every time I do anything. All my victories become fodder for their insanity and though I refuse to let them win by ducking my head and staying small, I have to watch for petty assholes to lob grenades in my happiness. They need to get a fucking life and move on, but I doubt that’s ever going to happen.
“Just keep hopping, Dolly,” I mumble to myself as I close my eyes. “Eventually, they’ll find a new target and you won’t be the sole focus of their ire.”
I wish I believed that, but it’s been almostthree fucking years.
Taking a few minutes to calm my frayed nerves, I find the happy spot inside myself where I’m proud of the woman and pred I’m becoming. No matter what the Heathers or their ilk do, they cannot erase the hard work I’ve put in for my grades, my Games status, and in finding my real family. My mates—current and future—love me, flaws and all, even if all my exes never did. My life is my own, and I’ve dodged killers, social media mobs, and shitty parents to claim it.
“As Tay Tay would say, I’m aware and conscious of the path I’ve chosen and the one I didn’t choose.” Grinning as I open my eyes to look at my studio, I let out a calming breath and rise to my feet. “If they want to come at me, I’m ready for them.”
I shed the outer layers I have over my dance clothes from ballet, then plop down on the floor again to pull on my pointe shoes. Once I’m laced and ready, I look at the rubric for my end of year project in that class. It tells me what Professor Fabreaux is looking for, so once I have that memorized, I grab my phone to scroll through music. I need to find that and once I do, I know the steps will come to me on the floor.
As I scroll, it comes to me a flash. This might be one of the most difficult roles in this genre, but her journey from victim of the evil Baron to victor who takes control of her life feels so viscerally real and… appropriate. The fouéttesare the end of thepas de deuxwill be hard as hell, but if I bust my cottontail like my girl, Baby… I can do it.
But who will I enlist to be the Prince?
Rufus’ gift isnotballet, and neither is Cori’s. I can’t get them to do this with me because of the difficulty, but I also don’t know who else to ask. Everyone in my stupid class already has partners ifthey want them and this is so last minute. My brows furrow and I curse under my breath, angry that yet again all the crap in my life forced the moving around which landed me here. Sighing, I stare at the screen of my Spotify playlist, knowing that even if that’s all true, it doesn’t change the fact that I need someone to do this shit with me.
It hits me like a bolt of my own blue magic shit. Renard can dance and he’s fucking French—that’s like, ballet in the genes, right? I snicker at my own silliness, as that’s about as dumba assuming all us Americans play football. I sure as hell don’t, but Ihaveseen Rennie dance like a graceful cat on the big stage.
BabyGirl: Rennie, I need you.
EmoBatman: I am yours to command, petite.
BabyGirl: It’s a big favor, baby. Are you sure?