POV Ella
Come back home after graduation. Get your hair done into the style referenced below. Wear the clothes you're sent and come to the given address. The cab will arrive at 5. DON'T MISS IT.
I stare at the condescending text and my hands ball into fists. I want to strike something. Two years. That's all they gave me to complete my college education. And now that I have, not even a congratulations.
"Only till you're twenty. That's all the time and money I'm willing to invest in your growth."
"How can you say that?! The undergraduate course is four years! 32 credits each year! How is it humanly possible to complete it in half the time?!"
He bangs his cane loudly. I flinch.
He smirks.
He knows exactly what it does to me, and he enjoys it.
"I don't care if it's possible or not… It's time you start paying us back."
"But—"
He bangs his cane again, and I stop. I can't bring myself to argue further. I'm shocked that I even managed to bring up college and convince them to let me study.
Sure, it's only for two years instead of four, and I can only go to the nearest city—state, not abroad, but I'll at least have a degree.
I grimace.
Only if you manage the impossible, the pessimistic part of me whispers.
Well, screw them. I did it. Against all odds I managed to get my degree. I'm barely scraping by—licking the bottom of the student pool for all my efforts — but I did it.
Was it worth it?
I shut that voice down before it takes hold again. Yes it was. It would be worse if I were an uneducated cretin. I know it, they know it. I'm sure they wouldn't have let me study otherwise.
I don't remember the last time they let me do something if it didn't bring them some value.
They won't be coming. Even after all these years, some small hope that flared in my chest dies.
The hairstyle, the clothes — all seem geared toward an old—money professional look.
Looks like your journey as a corporate slave is about to begin, I snort. I just hope it's not as bad as the two years I had to spend as my dad's secretary while I was in high school.
Another line in the text catches my attention. The cab will arrive at 5. Not a car, but a cab, and if my luck holds, it'll be the kind that's falling apart and unbearable to travel in.
I sigh.
I bet Eliana still gets driven around when she isn't looking to drive. That voice again.
At least I got to learn driving because Dad decided I should know how to cart him around.
I exhale deeply, trying to let go of the pain that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my chest since I was thirteen.
Who knew that a magical thirteenth birthday night was all the compensation the universe would offer for the horrors that followed.
"Miss Bryce, what are you still doing here?" Professor G asks.
I look up, startled, not realizing the professor has come in. I shoot up and make to exit the class, cheeks heating at being caught spaced out again.
"Miss Bryce, congratulations."
I stop and look around. Professor G has been my most vocal critic in the faculty. He has, time and again, voiced that I should quit, considering how bad my results are.
I search his eyes for the ever—present mockery, the derision that generally graces his lips specifically for me, and find nothing except genuine appreciation. I don't know what to say.
"Umm… thank you?" I turn to walk past, when he stops me again.
"Miss Bryce."
I glance at him again, unsure what he could possibly have to say to his most hated student.
"Hang on to that spirit of yours, Miss Bryce. It let you do the impossible. It will be sure to take you places."
He looks away then, heat rising up his neck.
A warmth that has been missing for years blooms in my chest, and I can't help but give him my first genuine smile in two years.
"Thanks, Mr. G. That means a lot." He nods, and I finally exit the class with a spring in my step.
Nothing can ruin my mood today — I practically float back to my dorm — until I see the dress that arrives for my post—graduation event.
The ceremony starts at 11 a.m., and ends at 5. I will have to wear this dress for graduation if I want to catch the cab and get my hair done prior to the event as well.
I stare at the dress in all its hideous glory. It's similar to the reference image in cut and style, but that's it.
It's an awfully bright orange pantsuit that clashes horribly with my brown hair and eyes and makes my petite frame look even smaller.
My heart sinks as I realize this color and cut would have looked stunning on Eliana. Another reminder of where I stand in the family hierarchy.
"Nowhere," my mother's voice whispers, and I feel a sudden urge to cry. Tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. I'm going to be even more of a laughing stock than I already am. A sob escapes.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, stricken, and force myself to stop. If I let myself break, there will be no stitching myself back together. I straighten my shoulders, try to project a courage I don't feel, and start getting ready.
Sitting in the cab, I can't help but reflect on the ceremony that just ended.
As this piece of junk clunks along, I close my eyes to try to escape the humiliation, but I can't.
"What the hell is she wearing?"
"Does she think wearing that suit will change the results?"
"Perhaps she doesn't have a mirror… Why else would anyone choose to look like that?"
The whispers and snickers follow me all the way to my seat, where I hunch to make myself as small as possible.
It was bad enough to endure it for the first hour, and it was finally dying down when my name was called to go up on stage. What followed was even worse.
"Wow—she should have been named class clown."
"Her lack of intelligence shows in all things, apparently."
"I hope I don't have to see her ugly mug at any reunions."
I want to lash out, but it will change nothing.
As I climb the stage, even the faculty are pointing and laughing at me. My cheeks burn with humiliation as I step forward to collect my diploma. Even my sense of achievement is robbed in this moment, and I feel my weariness grow. I'm so tempted to give up—run away and to hell with the consequences — but I can't. Not yet. Not when I don't have the resources or skills to safeguard myself. Just a few more years.
I square my shoulders and step forward. Professor G nods at me once, face void of mirth or mockery, and I feel my courage trickle back in. He hands me my diploma and holds my hand for the briefest of seconds, seeming to say, you can do it, before returning to the lectern.
I offer him a small twist of my lips before stepping off stage and enduring the remaining ceremony, trying to disappear and yet appearing like I don't want to.
I open my eyes as the cab slows down. I must've drifted off.
The driver stops in front of my destination, and dread coats my insides. If the graduation ceremony was a ten, this is going to be dialed up to a hundred.
I take a breath, put my game face on, and start walking toward the entrance of the best restaurant in town, dragging my luggage behind me.