Page 9 of When Hearts Ignite

Taylor is the artistic genius of our family, and her art is in the form of dance—a combination of ballet and hip hop, her dancing a juxtaposition of styles, the elegant with the edgy, much like the rest of her. Her angelic face is always caked with dark eyeliner which makes her slate-colored eyes look more piercing, and she sports equally ominous nails and has multiple piercings on her body. She always says her body is an extension of her art and her ever-changing nose piercing reflects her mood for the day.

She is truly talented, and this gift secured her a full-ride scholarship to the New York Institution of Dance and Performing Arts, a decent performing arts school on the East Coast, but Taylor has her sights set on something better, something higher, the crème de la crème of all ballet and dance companies in the country, the American Ballet Theater Corporation. And this Petit Jeté dance group has close ties with the lauded institution.

So, despite her I couldn’t care less attitude, I can tell she’s as nervous as fuck.

Grinning, I sling my arm around her much higher shoulders, her willowy, tall frame different from mine. I’m once again filled with dismay over my petite stature.

“Break a leg, sis. Go kick their asses. And don’t worry about money. We’ll figure it out as we always do. I’m going to get the job, then no one can stop us.” I hop on one leg and attempt to ruffle her hair. Even though I’m shorter than her and am only ten months older than her, I take every pleasure in treating her like the little sister she is.

“Ugh. Your early morning energy is super annoying. Are you even human?” Taylor mutters, pushing me away like I’m a nuisance, but I see the beginnings of a smile twitching on her lips.

“Do you know why they say, ‘break a leg?’”

“Oh God, another piece of interesting trivia. It’s not even six yet, Grace.”

I ignore her and Mom shuffles past us, laughing softly as she enters the kitchen, no doubt to prepare our coffees and breakfast so we can eat them on the go.

“In the olden days of theater, there was this line where ensemble actors were supposed to stand in. It was called a ‘leg line.’ If actors didn’t get to perform, they had to stay behind this line. So, people would say ‘break a leg’ to wish them good luck in getting out of the line and get paid to perform. Cool, huh? Maybe you can use that to impress some folks today.” I waggle my brows at her.

“If only it were that easy.” Taylor rolls her eyes and plops down on the wobbly wooden stool in front of the linoleum counter of our kitchenette. As I predicted, Mom slides a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of her along with a toasted bagel with peanut butter. Taylor takes a sip, letting out a deep sigh of contentment.

“You and your coffee.” I poke her backside as I walk behind her and grab my to-go tumbler and the sandwich bag with my piping-hot multigrain bagel nestled inside.

I kiss Mom goodbye on the cheek and double back to get my reading tablet charging on the kitchen counter—got to have my books with me. I beeline for the door again and perform my special doorknob dance—aka shake the doorknob to the right, then tilt it up—to open the creaky old door.

A gust of stale, humid air with the remnants of motor oil and something smelling suspiciously like urine fills the air. Far away chugging sounds of the subway train passing by filter up the exhaust vents. Got to love a hot and humid New York summer day.

“You and your books!” Taylor yells back and sticks out her tongue, her eyes glinting in laughter.

“Don’t you dare make fun of my book boyfriends, Tay. At least I know how to read!”

“Girls, it’s not even six in the morning. Will you guys ever cease bickering?”

We laugh and I throw back a wave of my hand, then march eagerly onto the sidewalk, a bounce in my step as I head to the bus stop.

I may currently only be an intern at Pietra Capital, but this is my first step to independence, my first foray into the business world, my first taste of financial freedom, and one day, everything will be very different.

And I hope it’s for the better.

Millie

How’s the internship going?

Belle

She’s smashing it, I bet. Millie, you don’t know this, but when we were in criminal psychology class during freshman year, she set the freakin’ curve. I’d hate her if I didn’t love her.

Taylor

You should’ve seen her this fucking morning. I hadn’t seen anyone more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before six.

Millie

I have no clue how you girls are sisters with your opposite sleeping habits. Grace, meet up at the end of the week to tell us all about your fancy job?

I grin as I stare at the messages from the girls. I haven’t been able to hang out with them for the last week or two because of studying and the new job, but this weekend looks promising. I type out a reply as I hear the click clack of stilettos hitting the floor at a brisk pace.

“He’s coming. Look sharp,” Hayley announces as she waltzes by the cubicles, a seductive breeze of floral and spice trailing after her. The afternoon sun cast a bright glow through the windows, illuminating the sleek hallways of chrome and glass of the ultra-modern office as folks amble in after lunch.

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