She swiped at the stupid tear that rolled down her cheek.
God, she hated this crushing sense of helplessness. Shewasn’thelpless, dammit. She had options; she was just too damn afraid to explore the one alternative that was a surefire way to improve her prospects.
“Shit,” Taylor cursed, angrily wiping her cheeks.
If there was one thing the Colonel had taught his children, it was that you never allowed fear to get the best of you. But fear had made Taylor its bitch these past few months. Even now, the thought of taking the college entrance exam stole the breath from her lungs. Yet, it was nothing compared to the sheer terror of finding herself without a viable way to make a living.
This sprained ankle had done so much more than just sideline her for a few weeks. It had put her future in stark relief. She could not count on pop-up fitness classes or the hope that views of her YouTube videos would provide enough income to live on. As of yesterday, she couldn’t even count on earning money from her clients, because she no longerhada client.
The decision to end their working relationship had not been a mutual one. Jamar contended that she could coach him via FaceTime or Zoom, but Taylor didn’t feel right continuing as his fitness instructor when she could no longer be there to provide adequate, one-on-one training. She offered to provide ongoing guidance as a friend, but she would not work as his paid trainer.
And then he’d completely negated her attempt to do the right thing by insisting he pay the balance of her consulting fee. They went back and forth, sending and returning the payment through Apple Pay before he pulled a fast one on her. He’d sent the money to Samiah, knowing she wouldn’t allow Taylor to return it.
Taylor was grateful, of course, but it felt as if she was taking advantage of his generosity. Or, more accurately, of his guilt, since he continued to maintain that her injury was his fault.
Yet, even with that huge lump sum payment from Jamar, which had thankfully allowed her to pay off two more credit cards and stash away enough money for the next couple of months’ rent, Taylor could not ignore her current reality. Just a few days ago, she’d thought she had it made. When Jamar disclosed that he wanted her to continue as his trainer indefinitely, the pressure to go back to school had all but evaporated.
Now it was back and more suffocating than ever.
“I can’t believe it’s come to this,” she murmured.
Taylor covered her face with her hands and gave in to the tears she’d been fighting for days—for months. Fuck, for all her life! This shroud of dread had begun the day her first-grade teacher had handed her a multiple-choice test and shushed her for not reading the words silently. But it wasn’t enough for her to justseethe words—she had tohearthem in order to grasp the meaning.
Taylor thought back on what Jamar had said about his friend Silas. She’d skimmed books on learning disorders during past trips to the bookstore and, after some serious mental gymnastics, had grudgingly accepted that she could identify with a number of the listed common signs.
But if a learning disorderwasbehind the difficulties she’d faced all this time, how could she have gone through twelve years of school without being aware she had one? How had everyone missed this? Her parents? Her teachers? No one had recognized that she learned differently from other kids?
She rested her head on the sofa cushion and let the tears continue to flow.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she felt Samiah gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find her friend staring down on her, concern etched across her face.
“Have you been crying?” There was both concern and accusation in Samiah’s voice. “Does your ankle hurt? Do you need more painkillers?” She rounded the sofa and reached for the bottle, but Taylor stopped her.
“No, I’m fine.” She lifted herself up, taking care not to jostle her ankle. “I’m just . . . I—” She couldn’t hold it in. Once again, the dam broke, sending tears cascading down her face.
“Youarecrying!” Samiah rushed to her side and perched on the arm of the sofa. “What’s going on?” she asked as she wrapped one arm around Taylor’s shoulders.
Taylor’s first instinct was to brush off her concern, but maybe talking it through with Samiah would help. She needed to talk tosomeone other than herself about this stuff.
“Do you promise not to judge?” Taylor asked. Samiah’s pursed lips and stiff jaw were answer enough for her. “I hate school,” she said. “I mean, I really, reallyhateit.”
“I’ve gathered that from past conversations,” Samiah answered.
“But what if this”—Taylor gestured to her ankle—“had turned out to be worse than a sprain? What if I couldn’t conduct classes or do one-on-one training?”
“Have you—”
“And I know I can still do a lot of things without a college degree. A degree isnotan indicator of a person’s ability to be successful.”
“No, it—”
“And comparing myself to you and London hasgotto stop. Not everyone is destined to be a doctor or a computer brainiac. Or a lawyer or an architect like my brother and sister.”
“Who said you—”
“A person’s occupation does not define them. It’s not a measure of how good a person they are. Well, except for London’s job, but who the hell can compete with someone who saves the lives of sick kids? I can’t—”
“Taylor!” Samiah screeched.
