Last night I went further than I had planned, the ecstasy hit me too hard. The night is fuzzy when I think back, I remember Chloe dancing with Avery Duncan. He looked pretty into her. I was sure he was gay though. I cant remember what happened to my dress either, which sucks; it took a lot of term papers to buy that dress.

I enter the bookstore and walk to the stacks. I only need two books:Advanced Physics, and English Lit. I grab my books from the shelf, and take my place in a mile long line. While waiting I look out the glass ceiling pondering how I'm going to tell my parents the bad news.

They don't understand, I've done all they've asked of me since I was five. "Sit up straight! Again, with more feeling!" They would snap. I do love the piano, but they want a prodigy: for me to give into basic Asian stereotypes, leave Turner and accept my scholarship to Juliard. But I cant bring myself to do it.

I want them to be proud, but I have to stick to my guns. I just want to feel normal.

The bad news is that I wont be going to Juliard, instead I wish to pay my dues and find a record label to sign me. Wishful think I know, but I have to try.

The line finally starts moving and I eventually pay for my books, just before leaving the bookstore I see Avery Duncan in the stacks. He flips through a book titled Inside The Mind Of A Psychological Sadist. Catching me spying on him, he shuts the book and places it back on the shelf. His charming face almost looks cold.
I give an awkward smile and push the door open, I glance back and hes gone. I wonder what his problem is. Maybe hes one if the bulky jocks who gets embarrassed when people see them reading. Whatever it is I've never seen his eyes so dark.

Its then I decide that maybe Chloe could cheer him up.

I make my way up the street, the heel of my boots clank against the pavement with a little jingle sound from the decorated beads hanging from fringe that surrounds my calf's. Fashion is a passion that burns inside me, one of the "useless talents" my parents frown upon. Ive been successful at keeping my dismal home life from my much wealthier friends, vacations in Bermuda and Cancun didn't exactly happen in my childhood. More like stay-cations in our compact Brooklyn apartment. I used to imagine the fire escape outside my bedroom window was a balcony looking over Paris.
I guess I've always wanted distance.

Once I got older my Paris vision was replaced with fantasies of Romeo and Juliet when I started sneaking boys into my room. Each one a point against my parents with an ultimate screw you.

The city is buzzing as I descended the steps to the Subway, a handsome man in his middle age crisis gives me a smile and a wink, sneaking a peek at my backside. older men tend to be attracted to me, I think its my charm; in reality its mostly likely because they have a young Asian girl fantasy.

A fantasy I'm not willing to oblige. Stereotypes are like the base of bullshit; I'm supposed to be a prodigy to my parents, a tutor to my friends, and "love you long-time? I don't think so! Ill take a greasy cheese burger over my moms stir-fry any day of the week.

The Subway gets me around the city and within time to Brooklyn, three blocks from my parents walk-up I pause for a moment to get my wits about me. I know my parents are going to flip when I break the news that I got a small part in a huge Broadway production.

My friends don't know yet, but I imagine we will celebrate into the night while my parents cry into the morning. "They wont hate you. Disappointed yes, but they won't die from it." I tell myself, now walking up the cold hard steps to their apartment.

I slip my key into the lock, taking a large inhaling breath. The door swings open with a squelch, my dad sits at the small two person table outside the kitchen reading a newspaper, while my mother washes dishes in the tiny sink. "Hey guys." I say greeting them.
"Kathryn, we expected you to arrive next week, is something wrong?" My mother asks while drying a decorated plate, strolling towards me with a look of concern.
I instantly feel my shoulders tense, I brace myself by holding onto the tiny table top.
"I have news, and I didn't want to tell you over the phone, before you freak out just please try to understand where I'm coming from." I plead.
"If this is about a boy and two pink lines. . ." My father begins before I cut him off.
"What? No, nothing like that. A few weeks ago I auditioned for a small part in a very successful Broadway musical. I got the part." I say, looking at the floor.

Without looking up I hear the plate in my mothers hand fall and crash to the floor, breaking into pieces; a lot like our dwindling relationship.