Dedicating Every Day to You

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"And, one, two, three, leap, twist, to pointe, try it again."

John sighs. "Can you please stop practicing your pointe routine in the kitchen? Go upstairs." He's got a wooden spoon in his hand.

"But my room has carpet- and it's messy again." I flex my feet, then begin my piece again. That's the hardest part in the whole routine for me.

"When will you learn to put your homework in your backpack and your laundry in the hamper?" He returns to his cooking.

"My show is in a few weeks, I need all the help I can get." I stretch my leg against the table.

"Take your feet off of my kitchen table."

"Okay, fine." I'm about to say more, but the kitchen phone rings. I grab it. "Laurens-Hamilton residence, Kathryn speaking."

"Kat?" The voice that comes from the other end of the phone is a little husky, tinged with a French accent. It's achingly familiar.

"Emmy!" I've missed my best friend more than I thought. "How have you been?"

"I've been doing alright. You haven't called since Christmas, Kat." Emmy's voice is a little sad.

"I'm so, so sorry about that. I've been really busy. We went to Canada, and I've had rehearsals for Cinderella-" I do feel bad. For the first few months that I've been here, Emmy and I talked nearly every day. Now, however, it sounds bad to say, but I forgot.

"How are Mr. Laurens-Hamilton and Mr. Laurens-Hamilton?" Emmy shifts a little on the phone, and I bet I know exactly where she is. Sitting in the window seat the way we always used to.

"Oh, they're so nice. I got my own bedroom, and we take all kinds of trips all the time. How is everyone doing?"

"Great." I hear that little sadness again, stronger this time. "Martin and Jacob got adopted, and Livv is going to Jackson Community College in the fall. She got accepted, and there's a little scholarship in there or something."

"Emmy, you didn't tell me how you're doing." John looks over curiously.

"Not so great." She sighs softly, and it makes a whispering noise across the line. "I went to stay with a different family for a few weeks, but they sent me back. They didn't want me, Kathryn." Emmy chokes back a sob.

"Oh, Em. You should have told me." I can feel tears welling in my own eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"The foster mother got pregnant, and said they didn't need a troublesome influence like me around."

"Troublesome? Emmy, you do your own laundry and help make dinner most of the time. You're the neatest person I know."

"Apparently, all foster kids are nothing but punks who will steal your stuff and be angry and aggressive. I don't think she understands that we're not all quite so two-dimensional as all that." This is Emmy's second stage of upset- righteous indignation. I've seen her sad enough times to know that next up is snapping anger.

"I'm sorry." I try to brighten up the conversation. "Can I tell you about how school has been going?" I perch on the counter, twirling the phone cord around my hand.

"I get it, Kathryn." Emmy's voice is cold. "Your life is perfect. Congratulations. Do you want a medal?"

I nearly drop the phone. Emmy and I were always excited for each other when anything good happened. We were each other's cheering section, bodyguards, and backup singers combined. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean, it's not enough for you to be the one who made it out, is it? You have to call back- after almost six months- and rub it in everyone's faces."

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? But just because you're upset doesn't mean everyone has to be." John has, thankfully, left the kitchen by this point.

"I didn't say that. It's just kind of rude, when I'm upset, to start going on about how perfect and amazing and wonderful your new life is." Emmy's voice is about ready to boil over and explode. "Do you know how hard it is to finally feel wanted, and then be sent away?"

"Yes, Emmy, I do!" My voice comes out in a furious burst. "You're not the only one who's suffered, okay?"

"Excuse me? Little miss high and mighty has suffered? Stop the presses, alert the carrier pigeons- this is a scoop, you guys!" There's a sarcastic drawl covering Emmy's normal tone.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this!" My knuckles are white, they're gripping the phone so hard. "And I don't think I want to."

"You know what?" I'm sure Emmy's standing up now, probably pacing. "I had tickets to your opening night show, and I was going to come and surprise you. Now, I don't think I will. Goodbye, Kathryyn- have a nice life." There's an unfriendly click, and then silence.

I can't help it- I start to cry. Emmy is- was- my best friend, and now I've gone and thrown it all away.

(A/N: Sorry for such a short, angsty chapter, guys! I wish I could promise sunshine and rainbows, but we've got a few more of these wild ones. It's going to be quite the ride, so please, fasten your seatbelts, keep hands and arms inside the car at all times. Remain in your seats, secure loose articles and small children named James Madison, and enjoy your ride.))