“I do love Taye as if she were my own, but I am not a Koslova.” She make a little gesture of prayer hands and says, “Thank you, Jesus,” to the ceiling. “My name’s Shareen, and I’m the CEO of the family. You must be Dashiell’s mom.” She grabs Mom’s jacket and doesn’t flinch at how grungy we are compared to the rest of the immaculate environment.
“You can leave the papers on that table there,” Katerina Koslova tells us from quite a few feet down the hall. “There’s no need to come in. I’ve hired a secretary to put the donations through. Shareen, give them their coats,” she tells her icily.
She’s an imposing presence, tall and elegant but also gaunt with sharp angles. She’s dressed to the nines even though it’s the time of day when most would switch to sweats or pajamas.
“Okay. Thanks for the opportunity,” I say.
“We worked a total of twenty-seven hours, so our wage would come out to three hundred and seventy-eight dollars,” Mom adds quickly.
I cringe even though I don’t want to. We’re desperate for the money, but I wish we didn’t have to advertise it like this. I’m relieved Sam isn’t around—until she walks out of a room and appears in the hall in front of her mother.
She smiles and waves and my heart feels like it’s being pulled through my body by an undertow so strong that I’m fighting to stay afloat.
“Hey,” I say, lifting my hand.
“Natayla, go to your room. They were just leaving.”
Sam obeys without even a breath of protest. Holy crap. Her mother is like her prison guard.
“I can cut the check for you, no problem. Would you like a drink while you wait? Water?” Shareen asks politely.
Katerina raises a sharp eyebrow and turns on a dime. Spiked heels and a tight pencil skirt make her walk with a clipped gait.
“Don’t mind her,” Shareen whispers as she scribbles out the check. “Hospitality isn’t her strong suit.”
“It’s fine. We just want to get paid for the hours we worked,” Mom says.
I feel embarrassed again, but I swallow it down.
“I hear you. I’m the same way, and I’ve got to deal with “this” every day.” She gestures with her pen in the direction Katerina disappeared as if commiserating with Mom. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m well-compensated for my job, and I love Taye, like I said, but working in the arctic circle would be warmer than this place.”
We grab the check, thank Shareen, and jump back in the elevator.
Once the doors close, Mom kisses the check like it’s a good omen. “Thank God,” she breathes as she leans back against the elevator car and closes her eyes.
We walk out of the ominous sleeping building in silence, our shoes echoing in the great foyer.
“Dash!” Sam’s voice echoes through the humongous lobby. She’s out of breath as she jogs over from another elevator bay. “Wait! I’m coming.”
She flies into my arms and I hug her back, not caring what Mom thinks. When she finally pulls away, she hugs Mom too, and I watch as my mother’s tired eyes well with tears.
“Thanks for all your work,” she says.
“Thank you, Sam. For giving us an opportunity. Dash told me all about you. I’m so glad you found one another.”
I can feel the wave of heat rise to my face, but Sam just nods enthusiastically like she agrees with Mom one hundred percent.
“It’s so special to meet a friend who has your back,” Mom adds.
“I think so, too. Dancing life can be tough,” Sam tells her. “But Haverton is worth it.”
And I think, out of all the opportunities at Haverton, I like getting to be Sam’s friend the very best.
Chapter Six
Natayla
Mother is not happy about Dashiell, and she lets it be known right away. Mainly by spraying Lysol into the air in the places they stood until Shareen and I are choking on the fumes.
“Where were you?” Mother demands as I step off the elevator into the cloud of disinfectant.
“The lady left her scarf, and I asked Taye to run and catch up to them.” Shareen covers for me.
I put my arm around Shareen and she squeezes me and kisses my forehead. I’m always affectionate with Shareen. Mother doesn’t seem to notice. Mother barely ever touches me.
“I wouldn’t have touched it. They don’t look like they belong at Haverton,” Mother says with disdain. “I don’t want you mingling with them. I’m going to let the dance faculty know how I feel about these scholarship cases,” she says briskly.
I stand there, mouth agape, shocked at her snobbery. “Aren’t the new scholarship students basically prodigies, Mother?”
Katerina glances at her nails, an air of boredom swirling around her. Talking about people in a lower class is a chore to her. “Yes. One in particular, I hear. But he’s into that hoodlum street dancing.”