Page 6 of Pages of Amber

“Take that away. Bring fruits instead. She could use the nutrients.”Her mom waved her hand, ushering Dottie out, oblivious to the wreck that was her daughter.

“Yes, Ma’am.”Dottie cleared the cobbler, leaving the room quietly. Amber kept her head lowered all the while. She didn’t dare meet the older woman’s eyes. It was humiliating enough that she witnessed these scenes every time.

Her mother focused on her plate, cutting away at the dessert with sharp, precise movements. Amber’s mind spun, left untethered in the silence. Her mom wanted the best for her. She always had, from the very moment Amber had donned on ballet shoes and done a near perfect pirouette at her first try. Her mom had seen her talent and understood it. She’d been in those very same shoes all her life after all. Amber had always trusted her mom and her leadership. Of course she did. This was her mom. What mother wouldn’t want the best for their child?

Amber shook her head. Her mom was right. She should’ve known better than to relapse on her diet. That was one of the non-negotiable parts of being a dancer. There were other ways she could celebrate ending the competition, like going out with her friends for whatever surprise they had planned. She only had to wait two days to know what it was.

Her gaze flitted back to her mom as she dabbed her lips with a napkin, every move gentle and careful so as not to smudge her red lipstick, the color bold and fresh on her, never mind that it was nearing eight pm. Her mother was dressed immaculately in an emerald green evening gown, the neckline dipped to showcase the pearls gracing her neck. She was every bit regal and beautiful.

“It’s your last year at Redmington,”her mom said.“I expect brilliant grades and a spotless record. No complaints. No excuses. Don’t let your time there be a waste. Don’t disappoint me, Amber.”

Despite the effort to cheer herself, Amber had deflated once again at her mom’s words. By the time her head lifted her mother was already across the room, her feet gliding soundlessly across the floor years after she no longer danced. Her gaze followed her mom’s exit. She could admit she wasn’t an academic genius but she’d always done well despite the struggle of balancing dance and her studies when she missed classes so often that she lagged behind when everyone else was up to speed. She hadn’t said a word when any of that happened. Why did her mother expect complaints from her now?

The door closed with a muted click, but Amber stared on at the space her mother had formerly occupied. No complaints. No excuses. She fell back into her chair. Amber already found herself way behind on her school work. In every one of her classes today, she had been stuck staring into space while everyone around her nodded along with the teachers or asked follow-up questions. The next few weeks would be brutal for her to catch up with all the notes she had missed and any assignments she needed to complete. Amber was prepared to do it. She had done it all before.

Did her mom think she would somehow fail miserably at this the way she had the competition?

Was she already expecting nothing but failure from Amber? Was the standard really so low?

Her mood sank the more she questioned herself. With her appetite gone, Amber followed her mother’s steps out of the room. She turned right to the back of the house and let her feet lead her to the only place she wanted to be tonight.

The door creaked as she pushed it open and Amber made a note to oil the hinges. Dottie had helped look after the little garden while she was gone but she had asked Dottie to leave any major work that needed to be done for her. Amber liked to work on the flowers herself. It was a great distraction for when she wanted to turn her mind off for a minute. It was also one of the places she could unwind. She could have easily opted for a notebook instead. She preferred the inviting, blank page when she needed an outlet for all she bottled up. But at the moment, the stairs to her room were her biggest obstacle.

Picking up her watering can, Amber gently ran her fingers over the pink metal with an imprint of a daisy on the side. Cute and functional, it was her latest addition to the tools. She headed over to the small sink at the corner and filled her can. The budding tulips caught her eye and Amber checked them before she began to water the soil around them. The familiar movement relaxed her and soon she was humming mindlessly under her breath as she moved from one trough to the next.

This was where she had longed to be all day. She could have a million things at her fingertips, but here was where she really wanted to be. It was where she imagined she and her father could be together.

She placed the can down when she reached the last trough. The one dedicated to her father’s favorite flower. Her favorite, too.

Her breath lightly swayed a few petals as she started to speak. Slowly, her voice filled the room, her tone low as she chased away the silence.

Amber talked to her garden, to her flowers, to her father.

She told him about her day, about school and her friends. Her voice rose higher as she spoke about how excited she was for Beverly’s surprise, about her trip and the competition. Then it dipped as she spoke about her mom. She was concerned that her mother worked constantly. She hated that her mother never smiled anymore. She was scared that the space between her and her mom would remain never-ending.

Her voice shook as she unloaded the heaviest grief of her heart. Amber told her dad how much she missed him. Some days, she never knew what exactly she missed. Her memories of her father were a little faded but there were so many things she never wanted to forget about him or their short time with each other.

Out of everything though, Amber missed his presence. She missed his hand in hers. She missed his smile even when she did the silliest things. She missed having someone… anyone who would always be standing at her back no matter what. She had lost that the day she lost him.

That was what she hated the most because on the hard days when everything seemed to press in on her at once, when her worries made her want to fall apart, all she yearned for was someone to simply see her and tell her they were proud of her.

CHAPTER THREE

THREE MORE MINUTES,THE note read.

Amber glanced at the seat beside her. Beverly did a full body wiggle that somehow went unnoticed by the teacher. She could barely keep still and had been buzzing all morning. Amber expected lightning to shoot from her hands any second. But she had to admit, Beverly’s excitement had spurred hers. It didn’t help that their last class of the day dragged on endlessly.

Amber checked the wall clock.

Two minutes.

She had tried getting another clue to where they were going but Beverly was a locked vault now that Amber needed her to spill everything she knew. Lexi hadn’t been any help either and Willow and Casey had been hard to track down all day. Amber flipped through the notebook on her desk and cringed at the empty pages. Since she had gotten a few of her bearings the past two days she’d been back, she had spent yesterday making a note of the things she had missed. Amber had been right. The work awaiting her was enough to make a horse keel over.

She was already exhausted from thinking about all she had to do before the midterms.

The trilling bell was accompanied by a whoop from Beverly. Amber laughed as her friend jumped out of her seat like it had caught on fire. Mr. Loughrey sent Beverly a look she didn’t see as he rounded his desk. She stood with the rest of the class, tucking her note in her arm and picking her purse. The accessory had been a gift from Beverly for her recent birthday. The purse was everything a girl could love. It was pink, glittery and comfortably held her essentials. Her phone, lip gloss and a compact mirror. It wasn’t the best choice for a student but Amber loved it and carried it around as often as she could, even if she had to sacrifice her arms for the day.

A few steps away from the door, Mr. Loughrey called out to her,“Miss Coleman, may I see you for a minute?”

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