I take myself in and love what I see. Skintight jeans, black thigh-high boots that lace up the front with a thicker heel, and a plain tee. I look like me but a little more grown up. Like one of those photos on Pinterest we all wish we could pull off but honestly can’t afford.
I guess I can now.
“Okay, so they also have them in brown and grey, I grabbed both. You have to get all three. Plus, I found two different styles of sneaker wedges,” V says while stacking boxes on the bench next to the mirror. “Honestly, you look awesome.”
“Thanks,” I tell her while still staring at myself.
“Come on. Take them off so we can buy them and move on. I have some clothing ideas based off all of these.”
I don’t reply, just move back to the bench and sit down, slipping them off one by one. I hand them to V, and she slides them back in the box.
“Anything else from here?”
“Yeah, I need a pair of classic black sneakers,” I tell her before grabbing a pair I had in the past and know are awesome for when I’m on my feet all day long.
I follow V up to the register and take in my six boxes plus several others. “Uh, these aren’t all for me, are they?” I ask hesitantly.
“Of course not, silly. These six are for you, and those six behind the cash register are for me,” V tells me with a wave of her hand.
Have I ever owned so many shoes at once?
The rest of the shopping trip flies by once I decide to just go with it. V picks out jeans, skirts, flowy tops, tight tops, dresses, and everything in between for me to try on. She treats me like her own personal Barbie doll, but the whole time, she respects my style and never expects me to be something I’m not or something I'm uncomfortable with. In return, she doesn’t make a peep when I buy a plain white button-up top and black pants or grab applications for jobs from different places; she just enjoys a basket of pretzels while I fill them out before returning them. All in all, it's a win.
Chapter Four
Friday morning, I round the corner into the kitchen while wiping sleep out of my eyes only to stop dead in my tracks when I notice a man sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and reading something on a tablet in front of him.
“Uh….”
He turns and looks at me, a smile overtaking his face as he pushes out the stool next to him.
“Morning, Sage,” he greets me warmly.
“Hi… Richard?” I guess.
“How did you sleep?” he asks while setting down his tablet and holding eye contact.
“Good, thanks. How was your trip?” I make my way to the coffeepot.
“It was a normal tech conference. Lots of chest beating and bragging.”
“Sounds riveting,” I deadpan, causing him to bust out laughing.
“It's good people-watching, that’s for sure. Are you settling in okay?” He seems genuinely interested.
“As well as to be expected when moving in with a bunch of strangers.” I shrug.
“Well, we may be strangers now, but we won't be for long. No matter what, you’ll always have us.”
“Thanks. It’s just weird going from no family to having more than I ever have before.”
“That would be quite the transition,” he tells me thoughtfully. “Anyways, welcome home. I can’t wait to hear all about what you and Victoria get into.” He rounds the counter to rinse out his coffee cup. “Oh, and fair warning: watch out for Victoria and Alice. They aren't used to hearing the word no, and I have a feeling you’ll be giving them a run for their money.” He winks over his shoulder while leaving the kitchen.
“Have a good day!” I holler after him.
One thing is for sure, this is a much different life from the one I'm used to.
∞∞∞
“Welcome to today’s class. Today we will be learning how to interact while in a social engagement, specifically dancing. This will prepare you for the ball at the end of the year, which will also be your final exam.”
Groans come from around the room. Mrs. Bonavich doesn’t even bat an eye.
“Now, for this exercise, I want the women to sit at various desks around the room. The men will approach and use proper technique on how to ask a woman to dance. I will demonstrate once. Then the woman will accept or decline properly. If the dance is accepted, you dance on the makeshift floor here and continue to interact until the end of the song. Does everyone understand the assignment?”
Internally, I roll my eyes. This finishing class has been as ridiculous as I thought it was going to be. So far it’s been all about how to interact with the rich and famous of the world. We had a whole class on which silverware to use at dinner. I now know you move from the outside in, but why I needed to know that, I haven’t a clue. I don’t understand why rich people make things like having a simple conversation so complicated.
I blink to find I missed the teacher’s demonstration. The men all stand up, gathering at the front of the room. The women, me included, stay in our seats. I sit up straight, knowing if I slouch the teacher will zero in on me. That’s one thing I learned from this class: from the moment you walk through her door, Mrs. Bonavich expects you to treat the entire class as if it’s the most important dinner, event, or meeting of your life. She tends to make an example of me since I’m of “such low blood.”
I don’t bother looking around, just focus on the music that fills the air and zone out. It isn’t like any of these guys will actually ask me to dance. While things have settled, I’m still a pariah. Tinsley makes a point to talk to me when she sees me in the halls or at lunch, but Reed often interrupts and pulls her away. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me anywhere near his sister. Keaton, on the other hand, has encouraged my friendship with Tinsley. He also always smiles when he sees me. I don’t know if he’s sincere or not, but I try not to dwell on it. He won’t matter in eight months. Hell, this whole place won’t matter.
“May I have this dance?”
I gasp as I come out of my thoughts.
The brown-haired boy isn’t one I’ve noticed before. He’s an inch or two shorter than my own five foot seven, but he has a friendly smile. He bows, holding out his hand. I smile and take it, getting up from my seat and allowing him to lead me to the dance floor. Mrs. Bonavich gives me an approving smile, and while I dislike this class, that sliver of approval means something to me.
I was so distracted by that and the fact that he asked me to dance, I didn’t stop to think about what I was expected to do next.
Shit.
Seeing the look on my face, the brown-haired boy speaks lowly. “Put your left arm on my shoulder and clasp your right hand in mine.”
I do as he says as his own hands find their place within mine and on my hip. He takes a deep breath before he starts speaking again.
“Back, over, up, over.” He repeats this while also applying pressure to my body, leading me in the direction he wants me to move.
After a couple of close calls for his feet, I finally find the rhythm. Once he’s comfortable with my dancing, he stops repeating himself.
“I’m Jared, by the way.” He smiles.
I smile back at him. “Sage. Thank you for asking me to dance, although you probably regret it after having to coach me through most of it.”