(Empire State of Mind-Jay Z)

We're in a Taxi Cab driving down the busy street, 8th street. There are buildings everywhere; I've never seen this many buildings in one place. There are so many people; to my left, there are people; to my right, there are even more people. My heart beats faster, just at the site. Not a bad faster but a good faster. If that even makes sense.

I'm so excited; my stomach is fluttering. I'm astonished at everything. We've passed like twenty hot dog stands since the airport: There's a man dressed up as the statue of liberty on the side of the corner he's holding a sign in his hand. We turn right onto a street that has even more people than the road before. How is that possible?

I spot a group of people, a band; they're playing music right in front of the subway. People are standing around dancing to the music—some throw money into an open guitar. Everyone over there looks different; no one looks like the other, with different backgrounds, ethnicities, and styles, but they all make up one beautiful sight.

We continue driving forward. There's a huge sign hanging on a building. It reads Julliard Presents: The Phantom of the Opera Tonight at 9.

We drive farther down the street and stop at a red light. We stop right in front of a little café that has a few people sitting outside. Most of the people sitting out there look young. I notice one girl with brown skin and curly hair, just like mine. She's typing on her computer; her shirt says NYU. She's an NYU student!

For a second, I place myself in that exact seat, with my NYU sweatshirt, and my computer, studying for a test or homework, sipping on coffee. That could be me. I could live here. Maybe I could do this.

I can.

For the first time, I can see it clearly. Why can I see it clearly now? Maybe... maybe it's the medication. It's blocking out my darkest thoughts, and now the bright ones can shine through.

The light turns green, and we drive away from the little café.

...

"Roosevelt Hotel." The scruffy New York man says. We pull up to this massive building; I've been to hotels before but never one this big.

"Thank you." My father says. He pays the man as my mother, and I slide out of the cab. Everything looks much better outside of the car. I stand in the middle of the sidewalk and take it all in. I take a deep breath and think back to what Alexander said; he said that New York would take your breath away; it'll seem like your breathing for the first time.  He was right; it is taking my breath away.

"This probably isn't the type of air you should be breathing in, Jay," My father says.

He hands me my suitcase. He waits for me to laugh, but I don't. I would laugh at his comment, but I'm still mad at him. I take the suitcase and roll it into the hotel. My eyes go straight to the large chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. It's massive, but yet it's hanging.

"I'll take that, Miss." A concierge comes over to me and takes my suitcase out of my hand.

"Oh, I got it," I tell him.

"Miss, it's my job." The man says to me. I don't like people waiting on me; it doesn't seem right I'm capable of holding my own stuff; he really doesn't have to. But it is his job. I let go of my bag; he grabs it and smiles at me. My father and mother walk in. The concierge takes their bags also.

"I'll go check us in." My father says. He walks past me and over to the check-in desk.

"It still looks the same." My mother says, looking around.

"You've been here before?"

"Yes, this is where we stayed on our anniversary. That was over 10 years ago, and it still looks exactly the same. Beautiful as ever." She smiles brightly; my father waves us over.

...

The elevator stops on the eighteenth floor. The concierge is still with us; we walk down the long hallway and stop in front of a double door room; my father scans open the door. The room looks even more significant than the lobby. It's enormous. There's a living room and two-rooms, one on the right and one on the left, right in front of me. There is a balcony; I walk right over to it and look down at all the people on the street; I look across at the massive build that is facing us. I wonder if that is a hotel too.

"If you all need anything, just call the front desk." The concierge says.

"Thank you." My mother says. The man walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. "This is amazing." My mom adds. "We didn't need a room this big, though."

"Well, I wanted my favorite girls to have the best." My father walks over to my mom and embraces her in a hug.

"So, is there something you want to tell me, dad?" I say, ruining their moment.

They both sigh, "Look, we were going to tell you, we just were waiting, trying to find the perfect time."

"Ok, well, now is fine." I snap.

They both stare at me blankly. "Look, my friend from Yale called me and asked what your college plans were, I told him you were still looking around, and you haven't committed to anything. He then said that he could get you an interview with the dean. I agreed; because you don't have any colleges lined up, I want you to have a vast array of options."

"But I do have options, thanks to you paying those people to hold a spot for me.."

"Jayda, I'm sorry about that."

"Well, if you're sorry, get your money back."

"I'm not going to do that," he says.

"Why not?"

"Because those are backup plans, if you don't get in anywhere, you'll have those."

I sigh. "What schools did you even do that for?"

"Brown, Stanford, Harvard Princeton, UCLA-"

I cut him off, "I don't want to go to any of those places." I snap.

"Well, you haven't told us any place you do want to go to. If you have a place please let us know. And I will happily get my check back from those schools." He yells. I want to tell him that I have an interview with the admissions dean at NYU. I want to say to him that I got it all by myself without him, without his money. But I stay silent.

"I didn't think so. What do you want me to do, Jayda? We can't just wait around for you to figure everything out. By the time you do, colleges will be filled up. And then you'll be nowhere." he says.

I shrug my shoulders and say "Maybe, that's for the best,"

"That's not an option." He snaps back.

"I'm not going to that interview, I don't know where I want to go, but I don't want to go to Yale."

"Well, you're not presenting me with any other college or any other plan, so you're going." My father's phone rings; he takes it out of his pocket and looks back up at me. "I have to take this." He walks out of the room, and into the bedroom he shuts the door behind him. My mother walks over to me.

"Let's just unpack, and we'll talk more about this later." She says. I nod my head.

...

I look at the scratch that's on my face under my eye. I touch it; it doesn't sting anymore; it looks like a welt now. I wonder when it'll go away. I turn the light off and walk out of the bathroom—I'm glad there's one in my room; that way, I don't have to run into my father.

I walk over to the bed and finish taking my clothes out of the suitcase. I take out the red dress and hang it up. I take out my pants and some shirts I bought. What's this? I pull out a short white dress. I didn't put this in here. I examine the dress more, its v cut at the chest, and it has spaghetti straps. I definitely didn't put this in here. I take the dress and walk out of my bedroom.

"Mom," I call. "Mom!" I call again after receiving no response the first time.

My mother and father come out of their room. "What's wrong?" My mother asks.

"Did you put this in here?" I ask, holding up the dress.

"Yes."

"Why? I already have a dress. I'm wearing a red one tomorrow.'

"It isn't for tomorrow; it's for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"It was a surprise, but I guess we'll have to tell you now." My father says. "We're taking you to see a play. Phantom of the opera."

My jaw drops. "Oh my god! Are you serious?"

"Mhm." My father smiles.

I walk over to him and embrace him in a tight hug—something I haven't done in a while.

"So, you're not mad at me anymore?" He asks

"Shhhh, don't ruin the moment," I say.

He laughs and then wraps his arms around me, hugging me back. This feeling, I haven't felt it in a while, more than a while, years. As I got older, he stopped hugging me. Usually, he gives me a quick pat or a hug as two friends hug, but this hug is a hug that a father gives his child. This is why I can never tell him about the dealership because I'll never get a hug like this again.

...

I look at myself in the mirror and smooth the dress with my hands. I should stop. My palms are sweaty; I don't want to get it dirty. I had to wear a sweater with the dress because of the cuts on my arm. I don't know how long it'll take for them to go away; I have never had them go away entirely. I always end up opening them back up, but it's been weeks since I've cut, yet they're still here.

I decided to wear my hair in a bun, not a messy one, though. It's a tight bun; it looks more elegant this way. My mother loaned me her diamond earrings for tonight. I never wear earrings. I don't know why, though, you would expect me to after all the buns I wear.

I'm wearing heels too; I hope I don't fall. I'm a little wobbly, I've only worn heels once, and that was last Christmas.

"Jayda!" My mother calls. I walk out of the room and into the main room. My father and mother are standing right in front of the door. My dad has on a black and white suit along with his gold watch.

My mother's hair is straightened. I don't know why but she always straightens her hair when she goes to things like this.

She is wearing a long white cream dress, her heels are sparkly, and she also has makeup on. She looks beautiful, people tell me I look like her, but I don't see it.

"Who picked that dress out?" My father asks, scorning me about my outfits as always.

"I did." My mother says she walks over to me. "She looks beautiful."

"She looks too grown." My father growls.

"Marcus, she is almost eighteen." My mother snaps.

"Almost. Not yet." He says back to her.

"Ugh, let's go." My mother hooks her arm on mine. We all walk through the door.

...

The elevator ride down seems to take forever. Maybe I'm just excited, anxious, but a good anxious. The elevator dings and then opens up.

"They said they were in the lobby." My mother says to my father, looking around.

"I don't see them."

"See who? "I ask. I didn't know we were going with people.

I thought it would just be us. I'm kind of disappointed that it's not just us.

"The Adams." My mother says.

Adams? Oh my god, the Adams. Ryder's parents. No, no, no, This can't be happening right now. I can't...is he with them?

"There they are," My mother says. I follow her eyes and look at where she's looking. I see them.

My heartbeats start to slow down Ryder isn't with them. I sigh, letting out a deep breath of relief. For a minute there, I thought I was going to pass out.

"Ah, Josiah." My father says when they get closer.

"Marcus." The man says back; he greets my father and then shakes his hand. He is wearing a grey suit, along with a white shirt and a burnt orange tie. He looks like Ryder. Well, Ryder looks like him; the vibrant green eyes the man has tells me that Ryder gets his eyes from him.

"Evelyn." My mother greets his wife in a hug.

His wife has on a long dark purple dress, with a sparkle belt around her waist. Ryder gets his raven black hair from her. Her hair is pulled into a low back bun. She's beautiful.

"Jayda. You got big," Evelyn says to me. I give her a small smile while thinking about the many times in elementary she dropped Ryder off at school. I remember how he always held her hand tightly, never wanting her to leave.

"I got a limo for all of us," Kenneth says. "It should be outside."

"You guys, ready?" My father asks.

"Our son is still upstairs; he should be down soon," Evelyn says.

"Ryder's here?" I ask, blurting out the question. Everyone looks at me.

"I thought you guys were coming to New York alone." My father says. I forgot he doesn't like Ryder for whatever reason. I mean, Ryder is a hard person to like, but my father doesn't know him, so why doesn't he like him?

"We were, but Evelyn insisted we bring him along," Josiah says harshly. He doesn't sound like he likes his son that much. He has to like him; that's his son.

The elevator door dings again. I turn around and see him. Ryder walks from the elevator over to us. He has on black jeans, and a white shit, with a black suit jacket. This is the tackiest thing I've ever seen; even I know that's inappropriate to wear to a play. It's tacky, but in a way, it works.

"I thought you were going to put on the suit; I got you." His mother says.

"I didn't want to." He says with an attitude.

Josiah clears his throat. "Shall we?" He grabs his wife's hand and starts to walk; my mother and father follow behind them, I do too, along with Ryder behind me. I know he's looking at me. I wish he would stop. I swear I can feel his eyes burning a hole into my back.

Ugh, just when I thought I was escaping everything and everyone from Crossland, Pennsylvania. Of Course, the thing I dislike most about the place would follow me all the way to New York!