Page 37 of Final Verdict
FULL DISCLOSURE (N.):
THE NEED IN BUSINESS TRANSACTIONS TO TELL THE "WHOLE TRUTH" ABOUT ANY MATTER WHICH THE OTHER PARTY SHOULD KNOW IN DECIDING TO BUY OR CONTRACT.
SCARLETT
Refusing to let a single tear fall from my eyes, I press my ID against the dorm building’s keypad and wait for the beep.
Pushing the doors open, I walk through the lobby—stopping dead in my tracks at the sight of hundreds of turquoise and white balloons kissing the ceiling.
What the...
“Happy Birthday, Scarlett!” My friend Jeneva jumps from behind the couch with a glitter cannon.
My other theater friends pop up from all over, covering me in silly string and confetti.
“You’re finally twenty-one!” “It’s your mother-fucking birthday!” “Shots! Shots! Shots!”
Their cheers fill the room, and tears prick my eyes.
I’d nearly forgotten what today was.
“Awwww! She’s about to cry, you guys!” Jeneva pulls me into a hug. “Bring out the cake!”
Laura, the newest belle of the stage—the girl who’s living the life I so desperately want—rolls a table closer. On top sits a pink and white sheet cake that doesn’t hold a written birthday wish.
Instead, it bears a golden cursive, “Future Award-Winning Actress, Scarlett Winters.”
Jeneva sticks a “legal as fuck” candle at its center, and I hate that the word ‘legal’ instantly triggers the thought of Jameson.
FUCK HIM.
“Okay.” Jeneva claps. “Make a wish and blow it out!”
For a moment, I consider asking for Jameson to get struck by a bus, but he’s not worth wasting a wish on.
Shutting my eyes, I think hard on what I really want.
I wish for a starring role on Broadway within a year. Please, within a year...
I blow out the candles to cheers and applause, and within seconds, music is blasting and someone is passing out vodka shots.
Even though I’m the definition of a lightweight, I grab two and quickly down them. Then I grab another, and another, until my brain stops serving me thoughts of Jameson.
Until the only thing I can think about is my birthday.
I carry what’s left of my cake up to my room a little after ten.
A stack of forwarded letters from Harvard are waiting for me, along with a small white gift box that was rerouted from my parents.
Thank God forwarding addresses don’t come with tracking...
As usual, I tear the mail to pieces and throw it away. I run my fingers along the gift box’s edges, but I don’t have to open it to know what’s inside.
It’s a new golden watch to mark a new year, a not-so-subtle reminder that the clock is ticking ever closer to my twenty-fifth birthday. The date when my life will no longer belong to me.
“Family over everything, even your job, even your dreams...”
I sigh and toss it into a drawer.
