“Isabella Marie,
you’ve got to read this!” squealed my roommate and best friend, Rosalie. I was
eating breakfast, preparing for another long day in classes, working on getting
my degree in elementary education.
You need to have another plan, Isabella. You’re not
going to be able dance forever. You shouldn’t be dancing at all, you ungrateful
brat. I
rolled my eyes at my mother’s voice in my head. She was the ungrateful one. I
will never forget the sacrifice my father gave in order for me to continue to
dance.
Rose slammed a paper
down in front of me – breaking me from my reverie - advertising auditions for
my favorite show, So You Think You Can
Dance? “We’re soooooooooooo going!”
“No, we’re not,” I
said, pushing the paper away and shaking my head emphatically. “I can’t … I
just …”
“Bullshit,” Rose
spat. “Look at me.” She grasped my chin, glaring into my eyes. She was fierce,
angry and not going to take no for an answer. “Don’t let that bitch tell you
can’t live out your dreams. Your dad would have wanted you to try out. And
don’t use that excuse of your knee … it’s better. Your doctors have cleared you
to dance.”
I pinched my nose.
“Do I even want it anymore?” I asked, glaring at her.
“I saw a glimmer of
happiness on your face, Bells,” Rose said, her expression softening. “You want
this. Your dad wanted this for you. He loved you …”
I screwed my eyes
shut, trying not to cry and remembering my father. He had loved me, fought for
me and did everything to make my dreams of being a dancer a reality. Until he
got shot in a burglary gone wrong. He had picked up extra shifts to help pay
for the rehabilitation that I needed to recuperate my botched up knee. If he
hadn’t been working, he would still be alive. If I hadn’t had my dream of
dancing, my father would still be here and loving me. Not buried six feet
underground, rotting in the Forks Cemetery.
“Bells, listen to me.
We go and audition,” Rose said, taking my hands in hers. “What’s the worst that
could happen? They say no?”
“The opposite. They
say yes,” I hissed, thrusting my hands into my hair.
“That’s not bad,
Bella,” Rose argued. “It means that they like you.” I arched a brow, getting up
from my seat and meticulously cleaning my cereal bowl. Rose huffed out a
breath, hopping onto the kitchen counter. “Look, I know Renee laid on the guilt
trip, but you have to know that it’s not your fault that your dad died.”
“Isn’t it?” I whispered, a few rogue tears
spilling over my cheeks.
Bella Swan
Rosalie Hale
Bella and Rose's Apartment
Rose's Room
Bella's Room
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