You are broken.
It’s been a weird day full of revelations. Are they right?
How will I ever find my diamond if I’m only rich coal?
I hear a voice. “It can’t be that bad.” I glance up to see a waitress wiping down the table beside me.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you’ve been sitting there for three hours looking completely miserable.”
“What?” I glance at my watch. One thirty a.m. . . . shit. “Sorry,” I splutter as I stand and dig out my wallet.
She rings up my tab. “Did you get dumped?” she asks.
I frown, confused at the concept. “No, nothing like that.”
“Did you dump someone?”
“No.”
Mind your business.
“Fired?”
I’m not in the mood for talking, and I just want her to shut up. “Yes. Fired,” I lie.
“Well, that’s great.” She smiles. “I love crossroads.”
This woman’s a bona fide idiot.
“How is being fired great?”
“Because you get to start again. You can design who you want to be.”
I frown as I stare at her.
Design who you want to be.
“Like a do-over . . . ,” I whisper to myself.
“Yeah.” She begins to wipe the counter down again.
“What would you do?” I ask her. “How would you start again?”
She smiles dreamily. “I’d disappear and travel the world. See it through new, untainted eyes.”
I stare at her as my mind begins to run a million miles per minute. Not the first time I’ve heard this. I thought of this concept years ago myself.
“I mean, not that anyone can realistically afford to do it.” She shrugs. “But wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would . . .” I pay her, and deep in thought, I walk around the corner to the taxi stand. There’s one waiting, and I get into the back seat.
“Where to?” the driver happily asks.
I smile. See . . . I can catch a cab by myself. In fact, I’m sure I could do anything that I set my mind to. I’d show those fuckers what I’m really made of.
But no money?
Ugh . . . that’s tough.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling of my darkened bedroom.
I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t leave me alone.
Ever since the idea of a do-over came to me, I can’t stop thinking about it.
But do I really need to become invisible so that I can be seen?
Am I overreacting?
I don’t want to fall into the trap of money dictating my life, if I haven’t already.
I hate how my brothers see me. I hate how Carly thinks I’m coal. The worst thing is, I know that she’s right. As I am right now, I’m 100 percent coal.
I don’t even know how to find substance, and I hate the thought of it.
I’m better than this. I know I am.
There is more to me than my surname . . . but how do I find what it is?
If I lived a year without money, how would it feel?