Page 17 of Filthy Rich

But given enough time, the unsteady roads wear down tire treads.

With enough sand, the hardest of rocks are polished smooth.

And after enough snide comments, even the fieriest hearts burn out.

Sometimes all I want is one day without needing to fight. I just want to walk out into the world and be small enough, normal enough, and average enough that the world doesn’t notice me.

I do appreciate the people who are raring to fight for me.

It just never changes anything, and I’ve been worn down over the years until I realize that the one being battered the most forcefully by all the lessons taught is always me. Nothing makes a noticeable difference, and I can’t fight things forever. The world will go on being exactly as it has ever been, so what I really need is to find a way to make a place for myself, a place that isn’t all sharp edges and bared teeth.

Jake means well.

Bea means well.

Whoever posted that video means well, too, I’m sure.

It’s just not a defense I want or need.

I know exactly how I look, and I’m acutely aware of how it impacts my future and my present. I’ve lived it for years, now.

“Are you ready? The studio wants you and Jake there soon, and today it’s recording, no blocking. You can’t be late.” Bea’s tapping her foot again. I swear, the woman hardly puts on any makeup at all, so she’s ready in three minutes.

“Not all of us have the face of a porcelain doll,” I say. “I’ll be ready in five more minutes.”

“You look great now,” Bea says, “but I wasn’t actually trying to rush you. Just checking in.”

“I’m just doing one more coat of mascara, and then?—”

Bea drops her hands on the small tabletop. “Hold up. I was serious that I wasn’t rushing you, but this is nuts. Are you actually nervous right now?”

My hand jerks and I spread mascara across my whole eyelid. I suppress my frustration and exhale. “I am, yes.”

“You’ve been a performer your whole life,” she says. “And you’re finally getting the chance to do it again, on a massive scale. Isn’t it kind of a dream-come-true?”

I’m wiping off my entire eye’s worth of makeup, but that doesn’t stop me from laughing. “I did perform as a child, but this has never been my dream.”

Bea drags a chair next to me. “Are you serious? I thought you were Eliza in My Fair Lady as a kid.”

“So. . .about that. I actually didn’t even audition.”

“You have to tell me about this. I totally thought you were obsessed with acting as a child.”

I shake my head. “I’ve always loved singing. I could sing all day and all night and be happy. I should’ve been born as a nightingale.” I can’t help my smirk. I pause to redo my eyeliner. “But my mother has always wanted to be an actor.” I frown. “She is an actress.”

“Okay.” Bea bobs her head. “And?”

“After having me, she couldn’t really afford a babysitter—she didn’t have any roles that paid yet. So she would take me with her to auditions, and when she got parts, she’d haul me to the practices too.”

“A baby?”

“Luckily I was a happy baby.” I shrugged. “And as I grew, I went as a toddler. I basically grew up on the sets of plays, commercials—you name it.”

“And?”

“Well, as I got older, I would watch what they did, and I listened, and I learned. So when Mom went to audition for My Fair Lady, she heard the cast was mostly going to be children, but she was desperate. The director of the local production was taking a sabbatical to spend more time with her child she had ignored, and she was heading back to Broadway after doing this one local production. Mom was sure if she could just be discovered by the woman, she’d finally get her role—the one she deserved. She’d break out.”

“Wasn’t it a production for the children?”

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