Silver Linings

T W O

Genevieve

MOCKING "OOOHS" SOUND THROUGHOUT THE STUDIO AND I ROLL MY EYES, SETTING MY PEN to the side and closing my sketchbook.

I completely forgot Dad was coming to see me today. After the party, I spent the rest of my night avoiding his office so I wouldn't have to hear anything about my attitude—it looks like all of my efforts were in vain.

Lord, give me strength.

"Thank you, Candice," I reply with a smile. "I'll only take a few more minutes if you wouldn't mind telling him."

Candice nods and closes the door behind her, leaving me to shove my belongings in my tote bag hastily. I can feel my heart pounding in my throat; it feels like the air is being sucked from the room with every second I spend packing up.

"What do you think he wants?" Amari asks as she watches me toss the last of my things into my bag.

I throw it over my shoulder and straighten my lips distastefully. "He's probably here to give me another one of his infamous Montgomery lectures," I joke and make my way out. "Wish me luck."

Amari chuckles, waving me off, while Ana and Nichole ignore me to talk about the party tonight. But when the doors close, my smile slides off. Dread fills my lungs until I can't breathe; all I want to know is if a 140-pound woman can survive jumping out of a thirty-story building.

The elevator doors open and I step inside, wiping my hands against my ratty jeans. Dad's drop-ins usually don't last more than fifteen minutes but after last night's stunt—in front of just about every important face in Tria, too—I know I'm in deep shit this time... Well, deeper shit, considering my father only ever comes here to criticize and judge me. I sigh and watch the numbers grow until it stops at twenty-eight. The doors open and I step out, roll my shoulders back, taking in what feels like my first breath ever.

Here goes nothing.

My flats are silenced by the grey carpeting as I walk through the level. One after the other shows an employee at their computer, typing away on their keyboards (that I can hear through closed doors) while talking into a mic piece around their ear. They ignore me as I walk past them. The further I walk, the quieter it becomes until all I can hear is my pounding heart and shallow breaths.

My office feels like a thousand feet away until I reach it. I don't attempt to open the black door, too focused on the plaque engraved in it. The name "Genna Montgomery" is written out in golden cursive with the title SENIOR APPAREL DESIGNER inscribed underneath. Most employees would be ecstatic to have a title with the perk of their own office and fewer rules to follow, but when I think about it, I feel nothing.

With a deep breath, I open the door. My father stands by my window, hands covered with rings clasped behind his back; he is wearing the same brown trenchcoat he's had since I was a small girl, except now when I look at it instead of excitement and joy, I'm filled with anxiety. He turns around when I close the door and I avert my stare when it meets his ice-cold one.

"Dad," I greet shortly, keeping my place in front of the door. "You're earlier than usual."

"I have a meeting in thirty minutes and don't want to miss it," he says and turns back to the window. "Come closer, Genna."

My eyes narrow on his back. I make my way across the office until I'm a few feet beside him and look out the window. The view is not all that great. Skyscrapers shoot into the sky by hundreds of feet and block the natural lighting of the Sun, and I move my attention below I can see people the size of ants walking the streets. Still not the best view. I keep my focus on the sky. During my slower days at work, when I'm stuck in the office with nothing to do, I look past the giant buildings and the smoggy air and can see shining rays that brighten the rural roads leading out of the city and to the southern districts. I bet it smells fresher in the south, cleaner, and I could see the stars more clearly.