“You will, or else your grandfather and I won’t be paying for your college. You’re planning on going to Yale—you should be studying, not working!”
“I don’t want your money!”
“How do you plan on paying for school then?”
“There are scholarships. In fact, I’ve already planned on applying for one.”
My mother appeared through the kitchen door. “There’s no point in trying, Mom, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“Yeah, well, this brick wall needs to get some shut-eye,” I said. I cared so little at this point, I wasn’t even offended.
“It’s almost dinnertime!” my grandmother said, crossing her arms. “And this conversation is not over, little lady!”
I didn’t answer. I just went to my room, shut the door, and locked it. Then I sat down at my desk, took out my sketch pad, and started to draw. Art had always been my therapy. No matter what happened, it was there for me. Canvas, paper—even a napkin would do—and a pen, a pencil, or paint.
After an hour, I had drawn an image of a girl, tears streaming down a face uncannily similar to my own. I looked up, and there was Thiago looking at me from his window. It was almost as if he had tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. I held his gaze for a moment. Then I decided this was enough. Thiago had toyed with me. He had tested me. He had taken advantage of my feelings, and then he’d tried to make me feel guilty for it. I couldn’t believe he’d dared to tell me to leave his brother alone becauseIwasn’t good enough for him. I was exhausted from thinking about it. I raised my hand, flipped him off, and pulled my curtains shut.
Thiago Di Bianco wasn’t going to tell me what I could and couldn’t do.
He was probably the last person in the world who had the right to do so.
