Finally, the bell rang, and I quickly grabbed my things and exited through the door, on a mission to get to my room before the other girls decided to make fun of me or my nerd tendencies. Or my chubby buddies, as though I could control my oversized breasts and ass.
“Rosalinda,” a voice called behind me, and I wished the floor would swallow me, as the dragon was apparently out.
Sighing heavily, I turned around and came face-to-face with Principal Monica’s cold and distasteful stare. “Come to my office, please. Now.” As though I’d dare disobey, my feet dragged while I followed her. My mind chaotically searched the reasons for this ‘conversation.’ I used the term loosely, because it always meant she found new shit to scorn me about.
Sister Monica hated the Cosa Nostra and everything it stood for, but she didn't mind the money my dad so generously gave them. I think it was the only reason she still tolerated my ass in this place, considering how much trouble I caused.
We entered her office, and she pointed at the bare, wooden, un-freaking-comfortable chair as she sat on hers just opposite it. Her office had white walls, a black floor, and a heavy, black, wooden desk and two chairs. A giant cross rested behind and above her head as she pinned me with those icy blue eyes. The design of the room was so boring and uninteresting I had no freaking clue how anyone could sit here for hours. The depressing mood would have killed me.
Seriously, because of her, I started to detest the color black—I shit you not. She wore the nuns’ standard black habit. Her chin was raised so high her pointed nose was emphasized even more. Her wrinkled hands were clasped atop the table, while her fingers knocked on the wood several times as though she considered how to proceed with this conversation. Overall, the office’s owner was dull, uninteresting, and as scary as the rest of this establishment.
“As you know, you received an acceptance letter to Columbia University in New York.”
I almost laughed out loud, but managed to hold it in. Know? It was a dream come true. My days were spent googling New York, the universities there, and imagining what life could be like for me there. My notebook was already full of places I planned to visit, and different maps I printed during my vacation at home.
One would think the idea of living in a huge metropolis excited me, but the truth was pathetic as it went. I was born and raised in New York but denied the freedom to enjoy it because of my dad, who happened to be the don of the Cosa Nostra.
Well, now he wouldn't have a choice.
“Yes,” I replied quietly, and she nodded, continuing.
“Your dad was contacted about it, and we had a long chat. We came to the conclusion it would be better if you attended a community college with strong ties to Christianity.” I blinked a few times, letting the information she shared settle inside me. Then she added, “Thankfully, a Catholic university is located an hour from here, and most of your class will attend it too.” Was this information supposed to make me feel better? Because it only fed the desperation running through me.
My dad did what now?
He never let me do anything I wanted, and he tried to push me into the little cocoon where he could protect me.
I got it, I really did. He couldn't protect Mom, a pain I still felt anytime I thought about thebeautiful woman who never got the chance to fully enjoy a life with her family, but today it just infuriated me.I was sick and tired of living in the shadow of my father’s fear. “That’s nice and all, but I’m still going to Columbia.”
Her lips thinned and she shook her head in displeasure. “It’s already decided, Rosa. The letter has already been sent.” Cold seeped into every bone in my body.
“What?” I whispered, as my eyes watered. She must be wrong, right?
Right?
An unpleasant smile graced her face. “Yes, and you have been accepted at the university here. So everything has worked out well. After your graduation in May, you will relocate there.” This was a nightmare, and I would wake up soon. She lied.
But by the pleasure her unkind eyes held, I understood with a sinking stomach she told me the truth.
My dad would never do this to me. He knew how much going to medical school meant to me, the way I worked my ass off for this scholarship.
But maybe the principal had been contacted by Uncle Allegro, who didn't believe in women having a higher education and preached Christian values to anyone who’d listen.
With that hope in my mind, without another word, I went outside, took the cell phone from my bag, and dialed my dad’s phone angrily.
He answered on the second ring, and his soft and loving voice calmed some of my anger. He probably didn't know. “How is my princess doing?”
With a trembling sigh, I answered, “Not good.”
Immediately, his mood shifted, as he growled into the phone, “What’s going on? Do you need me to come to you, Rosa?”
Clearing my throat, I asked the most important question for me at that moment, the one that would determine the direction for the rest of the conversation. “Dad, is it true? You pulled out my application from Columbia University?”
He grew silent for several seconds and then exhaled heavily, giving me the answer I needed.
“It was my dream, Father! Why would you do this to me?” Didn't it matter to him that I dreamed about becoming a neurosurgeon?
“Princess, the world is full of dangerous things. New York is not safe for you.” Was he essentially saying he didn’t want me to live with him?
