Page 4 of Whisked Away
Reaching my building, I jog up the steps, the concrete clacking beneath my low heels. I pull out my keycard and swipe it at the scratched-up reader, waiting for the familiar buzz before pushing through the heavy glass door. The small foyer smells faintly of coffee and rain-dampened concrete, the fluorescent light flickering in protest as I pass through.
The building is close to the station, which means it’s loud all hours of the night, but it’s also affordable and convenient. At some point, the blare of a train whistle announcing its arrival just became part of the background noise.
“Well, the Universe is definitely giving me a shove.” I grunt as I drop my bag to the ground, fish out my keys, and let myself into the apartment. “Gastronomywants me to spend a few weeks in Magnolia Cove.”
“Oh my god, you lucky bitch.”
Laughter spills out of me as I drag my bags inside, barely making it past the doorway before shoving them into the corner. I can worry about unpacking it later. That’s officially future-me’s problem.
“Alex!”
Missy closes the fridge and whirlsaround.
I point at my headphones and speak to Tish. “My sister’s here. I’ll have to let you go.”
“Tell her I said hi. Oh, and give the Universe a chance for once. This might be your lucky break.”
Sure, it might. Writing a trash piece about a tourism gimmick is exactly how I’ll achieve all my hopes and dreams.
“I’ll do that,” I answer, to her laughter, before digging out my phone and hitting the end call button.
Missy leans against the counter, a can of carbonated water in hand. Her thick, blonde hair is braided over her shoulder, and she has all the curves the Universe never blessed me with. Despite that, I still have a hard time seeing her as older than twelve. An eight-year age difference can do that to siblings, I guess.
“You’re home early.”
She grins, her fingers denting the can. Her nails are pink, nearly matching her dress. Keeping them short is a necessity for a cellist. Despite her talent, it still shocked me when she got accepted into Juilliard. Or maybe that was just the sticker shock.
I vowed she wouldn’t walk out of school with six figures of debt, but it feels like it’s slowly sinking me.
One more year and she’ll graduate.
Something about her energy is vibrating, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or nerves. I walk past her, open the fridge to grab a carbonated water for myself, then turn to face her.
“Spill. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
Inhaling sharply, as if it’s her final breath, she sets the can down on the cluttered counter. Books are stacked in haphazard piles, sheet music is tucked between photo props, and a candy thermometer rests in a mason jar next to metal skewers. You’d think we cook more than we do, given the amount of kitchen paraphernalia we own. It’s my guilty pleasure.
“First of all, I want to say I plan to pay for it.” Missy looks me in the eye as she says this, and I force myself to breathe, to count, to keep my expression from wavering. She practically shimmies. “I’ve been invited to spend my last semester at Schola Cantorum!”
My mind shuffles through the names of music institutes. That one doesn’t ring a bell, but it definitely doesn’t sound like it’s on this continent. “Is that in Europe?”
Missy’s smile breaks across her face—the before-Mom-got-sick smile. “Yes, in Paris! Isn’t that thrilling?”
More breathing. More counting. “Absolutely. And how much is the tuition?”
She drops her arms against the counter, takes a sip of her strawberry water, and moves the can so the condensation ring sparkles in the light. “I’m going to take out a loan.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Alex.” Her voice turns whiny, and suddenly, she’s seventeen again. Our mom is gone, and in one painful swoop of fate, I’ve become her legal guardian. Dad had passed barely a year before, and with no other family to lean on, it was just the two of us. “I really want to do this.”
“Okay, then you’ll do it.”
This is her dream. She’s worked her butt off for three years, kept her grades up, and excelled at music. She’s going to be somebody one day, and it’s stupid that money should hold her back. I’m sure this study-abroad program will come with another five-figure expense, but I’ll find a way to manage it.
Never mind that I’m barely keeping up with our regular expenses, that we live in a crappy apartment an hour outside the city because it’s all we can afford, and that medical bills sucked up what little our parents left behind.
None of that matters. Missy shouldn’t have to carry that weight. If there’s one good thing fate freely gave me, it’s my sister. I’ll do anything to protect her.
