The alarm bleated next to my ear, and I reached up, slapping at it until it turned off. The morning sun was pouring through the open blinds—I’d left them that way on purpose to force me out of bed. My interview with The MountainEar was in ninety minutes. Unfortunately, J.W. Chadwick owned the very bar I’d been kicked out of more than once, making my interview a littler trickier.
I opened my closet, wondering what people wore on interviews. When I Googled What to wear to magazine interview, it resulted in a thousand outfits I would never wear, including a ball gown with a plummeting neckline and see-through skirt I was sure no one wore outside a runway show.
I pressed my back against the wall and slid to the floor, perching my elbows on my knees and resting my forehead on my fists. I was known for a lot worse things in this town than being the daughter of the local billionaire. No one was going to hire me, and once Finley found out what I’d done, she would never forgive me. I had lost everything, and my future seemed very bleak.
Tears streamed down the bridge of my nose, pooling at the tip and dripping to the carpet. Soon, I couldn’t control the sobs rattling my body, and all I could think about was how unfair it was that my parents dropped this bomb on me and took all the liquor in the house. Mother couldn’t even pack without consuming two bottles of wine to calm her nerves.
“Miss Ellison!” Maricela said, crouching in front of me. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
When I looked up at her, she used her apron to wipe my eyes. “No one’s going to hire me, Maricela. I’m the town drunk.”
“Not for the last two days, you’re not.”
“I can’t do this,” I cried. “I have no idea how to do this. They’re just throwing me to the wolves.”
Maricela rubbed my arms. “That’s how I learned to swim, mu?equita. Sometimes we have to be thrown in, or we’ll never do it on our own.”
“I messed up,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I hurt Finley.” I looked up, my bottom lip quivering. “She doesn’t even know it yet. All I can think about is getting high to make it go away.”
Maricela touched my cheek. “It won’t go away unless you face it. Admit to your mistakes, and then make amends.”
The little resolve I had left crumbled. “She won’t forgive me. Not this time.”
“Miss Ellison, is this about the place where José took you? To the Planned Parenthood? What did they say? What did they do?”
I sniffed. The pregnancy test came back negative, and it had been more than two weeks since I’d been tested for STDs, and they hadn’t called about results. With Planned Parenthood, no news was good news.
“Finley is your sister. She loves you the most. She wants the best for you.”
I began to sob again. “I really fucked up this time. I can’t believe I’m that person. Someone who would…” I shook my head again, despondent. “I’ve thought so many times since it happened that maybe it would be easier if … I can’t do this.” I looked Maricela in the eyes, solemn.
“I don’t understand,” Maricela said, worried.
“I just want it to be over.” The words sounded insincere, such a powerful statement with so little emotion. I wondered if that’s how Betsy felt about her own end—too damaged to feel anything but numb.
Maricela took my chin between her fingers. “Ni?a, no more of this. The Ellison who is destructive and full of anger … go on. Kill her. But you can live.”
I tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let me.
“If you want to prove that you’re not that person, then you have to stop being that person. Let her go. Look at you. She’s not making you happy.”
I blinked, and then nodded slowly. Maricela always knew what to say when I was upset, but she’d never raised her voice at me before. She was fighting for me. I couldn’t let her fight alone. “You’re right. She has to go.”
Maricela helped me to my feet.
I looked at my closet again. It was full of plaid flannels, hoodies, and ripped jeans, revealing shirts, and concert tees. “The interview is in an hour. I’m going to show up looking like I just left a drug deal.”
Maricela stood behind me, touched my shoulders, and whispered into my ear, “She’s dead. Go find a new Ellison.”
“What if I don’t know where to start?”