Then I noticed the kitchen clock. 7:30? Already? I flew around the condo getting ready for school,
and despite some unintentional banging and clanging, I managed to slip out the door without waking my mother.
I hurried toward school, and as I walked, my flip-flops seemed to slap to the rhythm of the steps outlined in Welcome to a Better Life.
Speak Your Fantasy. See Your Fantasy. Live Your Fantasy.
The cadence of it was catchy. Like the chorus of a song.
Speak Your Fantasy. See Your Fantasy. Live Your Fantasy.
And as it repeated in my head, I suddenly realized how much my life had been dominated by my parents’ breakup.
When was the last time I’d even thought about my own love life?
Speak Your Fantasy. See Your Fantasy. Live Your Fantasy.
Maybe it could be that easy. I could just live my own life! Get out from under their dark cloud! Have some fun.
Speak Your Fantasy. “I want a crimson kiss!” I shouted into the sky.
See Your Fantasy. I spun in a fantasy dance across an intersection, adored in my mind’s eye by my own dashing Grayson.
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