Beautiful Monster (Beautiful Monster #1)(4)
Author: Bella Forrest

“Next week they are having auditions for the winter semester, so they’ll have an overload of potential students flooding the school, which means the cafeteria will be extra busy. I need to make sure things are prepped and ready so we don’t get slammed. The last thing the headmaster will want is for us to appear as though we are not top quality. Even if that means we’ve just run out of fries and pizza.”

“Anyone interesting?”

“Just mostly potential transfers from that drama school down south,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “You practically have to have a pedigree to get into a school full of pedigrees.”

“Right,” I replied, taking a bite. “How is it?” I asked, alarmed, when he put his fork down after only one bite.

“It’s fine. Good herbs, not bad on the sauce. It’s just…” After a minute he pushed his plate away. “Sorry, Amy, I’m just not very hungry today. My stomach has been upset since breakfast.”

“Oh!” I replied, alarmed, but he shook his head and gave me a soft smile. “Nothing to worry about, love. It really is good.”

“Good enough for a professional chef?” I asked, and his face darkened.

“You need to set your sights higher than that, Amy. Speaking of, when are college applications due?”

“Next month.” I replied. “But I looked into it today. I mean…you don’t just fill out a form and submit as many as you like. They cost money to even submit. It’s about 100, each time.”

He winced at this, meeting my eyes.

“100? For each one?”

“More for the private schools,” I said, looking down. “And that’s for online applications too. But Dad, we don’t have to…” The last thing I wanted to be was a burden. Already, I had seen my father go without a hat or warm coat because of the cost of my medication.

“Don’t be silly. This is your future,” he said, standing up and carrying his plate to the sink. “We’ll figure it out, one way or another, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Submit to as many as you can, Amy.”

“But…” I started, and he glared at me.

“The discussion is closed. Now,” he rinsed his plate, his back to me. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, see if I can’t shake this. I’ll do the dishes later tonight. You should get a head start on those applications, look into them and see how many you’d like to submit.”

“Alright,” I replied, reluctantly. I already knew in my head that the number was in the double digits, if I could have my way, and I knew that there was no way we could pay for it. But Dad wasn’t giving me a chance to protest, and before I could say another word, he was gone.

After I finished my own dinner, I rebooted my computer, bringing my notebook to the kitchen table. Turning to a blank page and trying to ignore the pages already filled with theater notes, I wrote College, in big letters on the top of a page, and began to write down admission requirements for each. However, each time I clicked on a page full of a list of programs, I couldn’t help but check out the requirements for the Theater Majors. Most required an audition, although I knew already which were good schools and which were not. College or not, none of them compared to the education offered at the theater school down the road, but perhaps it could be another dream of mine.

I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps upstairs, and then, to my horror, my father choking. I shut my notebook in a hurry, heading to the bottom of the stairs. “Dad?” I called, and after a long silence, he responded.

“I’m alright, Amy. Just an upset stomach.”

“Oh no,” I came a few steps up to the landing, where I could see him leaning over the sink. He looked terrible, the transformation from just an hour ago was stunning. Pale and sweaty, his jaw clenched as tightly as his hands, he looked like he was about to fall over. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“No, stay away.” He waved an arm at me.

“You think you have a bug or something?”

“Chef’s curse,” he said, with a shaky grin. “I’ve felt it before. I think the milk from this morning might have gone bad.”

“You don’t think it was my peppers, do you?” I asked, alarmed that I might have done something careless.

“No,” he shook his head. “If it was, you’d be sick, but it also wouldn’t have come on so fast. We had left-overs among the kitchen staff this morning which tasted off. I ignored it then, but that’s probably what it is now. Still, if it’s contagious, I don’t want you too close, Amy. I want you to stay downstairs, and wash your hands.”

“Can I get you anything?” I offered, unsure of what to do. My father was my rock, my stronghold, and seeing him weakened was frightening to me.

“No, thank you, darling. Just stay downstairs. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Right,” I said, unbelieving that he could go from looking so wretched to making a fast recovery. Still, I listened to his wishes, and back tracked down the stairs.

Parts haven’t been cast yet, and I think I food poisoned my father. I failed you on both fronts. I texted Sarah once I was back in the kitchen.

I’ve got something that will cheer you up. She replied, sending me a link. With a smile, I clicked on it, and sat back in my chair watching Dame Judy Dench perform Shakespeare at London’s West End. Sarah always knew how to save the day. Thank God for best friends, even ones so far away.

CHAPTER 2: AMY

I opened my eyes to a now familiar sound – that of my father coughing in the early dawn light. This had been going on for a week and it wasn’t getting any better. What he thought was just food poisoning was either the worst case that had ever existed, or something more. Either way, I was suffering along with him. Not just from seeing him in pain, but from his lack of work. The chefs relied not only on their salaries, but also on tip outs that were shared with the staff when they catered big events. Dad had not been to work for a week. When I checked the bank account online yesterday, which should have been pay day, I was shocked to find a negative amount. And it was two more weeks until he got paid again. We needed money; we were already only just getting by. We couldn’t go on like this.

“Dad,” I said, appearing in his room as the sun rose. I was dressed in black pants and a white shirt, with my jacket on. The moment he saw me, I’m sure he knew what I was going to do.