Juilliard or Else Read online

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I dedicate this book to my wonderful husband.

  For always being so patient with me in this process.

  For always being there, for always loving me.

  One choice can make you or break you.

  That one choice can be life changing.

  Choose right or choose wrong.

  What's more important…Fun or Happiness?

  That one choice is yours.

  -Nichele Reese

  "This going to be enough?" the stranger asked, looking at what I had given him, opening his hand and then closing it fast again.

  "Should be," I answered quickly, then glanced down the street because I heard police sirens getting closer to us as they headed our way.

  One police car rounded the corner, and I watched as it pulled over to the curb to stop in front of us with its lights flipped on. "Stay still, man," I told the stranger who complied. "Whatever you do, don't run." I turned my body and looked at the lit up vehicle. Of course, I was pretty sure I knew who was driving it: the one and only Officer Daniels. He always patrolled this area and knew me pretty well, including all the shenanigans I had gotten myself into over the years.

  Sure enough, it was Officer Daniels who stepped out of the patrol car. He slowly walked over to us, taking his sweet time with one slow step after another. He had on his usual policeman attire, but today he had on an extra jacket. The weather took a turn for the worse, making it a very cold and windy during this early morning. The wind was so cold that it almost felt like tiny paper cuts on my face. In Brooklyn, it always got really windy around the beginning of September to remind us that winter was coming.

  "Tucker," Officer Daniels growled and nodded his head. My body went stiff as a board when he used my name like that. He already knew what I'd been doing this morning.

  "What, Daniels?" I snapped, shoving my hands in the front pocket of my hoodie.

  "I hope you're not selling your product out here to this guy…or should I say boy."

  I glanced over my shoulder at the kid, who slowly backed away from me. I knew he was young, but he was old enough to know what the hell he was getting himself into by contacting me and coming into this part of town. Watching him back away from me some more, I already knew what he was planning to do, and before I could say anything to stop him, he took off down the sidewalk at full speed.

  "Goddamn it, Tucker! You promised you were done with this shit!" Officer Daniels yelled at me while pulling off his Walkie Talkie to give out the description of the kid who took off and which direction he was headed in.

  I heard the sirens of the rest of the cop cars that always patrolled this area with Daniels. No matter what, the kid was going to get busted; he didn't stand a chance against the cops around here. He was a noob in the drug world – even I could tell that. But if I didn't get rid of it fast, my buddy would be in even more trouble – life or death kind of trouble.

  Daniels just glared at me. "You said you were done, Tucker, or should I just finally take your ass into custody?" Daniels knew my situation at home. He knew I didn't have any money to get myself out of jail; my mother wouldn't bail me out either. She didn't have a dime to her name, and even if she did, it would evaporate faster than water.

  I put my hands up, defending myself as I heard more sirens coming in our direction. "I'm done, Daniels, swear."

  He let out a big breath that I could see in the cold morning air. "Get outta here," he warned me and jerked his head to the side.

  "Alright, man," I muttered at him, turning around to leave, cutting through the alleyways to head back where I belonged: Bushwick, Brooklyn.

  The morning sun was beginning to shine through the spray painted buildings, which were marked up in graffiti. The sound of beer cans echoed through the empty alleyways as the cold wind blew around them.

  I made my way back to the run-down apartment I shared with my mother. The cold air was hitting my face harder than before, so I pulled up the hood from my gray hoodie to help keep warm, wishing that I had worn something heavier.

  As I rounded a corner, I kicked an empty pop can most of the way back. Thinking about what Officer Daniels just told me, I really did need to stop dealing, or I was going to find myself in a situation I would regret. As I passed more buildings, black trash bags lined most of the front walls – just another day to show that the garbage man could give two shits about our trash. Most people considered where I lived an unwelcome part of the neighborhood, and it was. You shouldn't be caught walking around here after dark, carrying any money or wearing any sort of jewelry on you. It was simple; you shouldn't come to this part of town, but if you did and you were smart, you'd carry a gun.

  A screaming woman on the sidewalk shouting at her husband didn't make me move any faster as I buzzed myself into my cold, dirty building and walked up the creaky four flights of stairs to my apartment. The screaming woman reminded me of my mom and my dirt bag of a father always fighting. When I was eight, I would scream at them to stop, but my dad just ended up beating me until I stopped or passed out. They could never get along and my dad finally left us. He left me and my mom dirt poor and in a shitty apartment. He never came around at first, but then he started coming around sporadically to beat my mom and take what little money she'd had. But I haven't seen him in a couple of years now, so I don't know what's happened to him.

  As I climbed the stairs, my eyes scanned over the dirty green and brown flowered wallpaper stripping away. The holes in the walls seemed to grow larger by the day, and the broken banister looked like it had its day a hundred years ago when the building was first built. The hallway lights flickered as if they were trying to stay on, but the electricity was deciding on something else. This building was so run-down and old that you had to watch your every step on the stairs or you might just fall through the boards; each step almost felt like it would be your last.

  A little warmer now that I was inside, I pulled my hood down as I reached the top of the dirty stairs. I paused a moment as I heard loud bass music coming from the end of the hall where my apartment was.

  Groaning, I knew when that type of music was playing, it meant Skinner was with my mom. I made my way down the hallway to my apartment and reached above the doorframe for the little copper key. When I stepped into the apartment, all the lights were off. The music pounded away as if the speakers were ready to blow, and my eyes scanned the room, looking around for evidence of Skinner.

  Inside the apartment was shittier than the building itself. Garbage was everywhere; fur stuck to the carpet from my mom's three cats, and the crappy furniture looked even trashier since she never vacuumed. Dishes with old food stuck to them flooded the sink. Newspaper was crumbled up all over the counter and table. I stomped my foot hard at one of the cats, making it hiss and skitter away fast as lightning.

  God, I hated cats.

  I turned down the stereo in the living room and walked into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge. When I opened the fridge doo
r, it smelled as if something had died in there because of all the rotting food. Mold contaminated a full loaf of bread; I don't know which revolted me more – the rotting food smell or the loaf of bread that had just gone to waste.

  When I was a kid, that bread would have lasted me at least a week. When my dad left us, my mom stopped trying to take care of me. I taught myself to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for my main meal of the day and wash my own clothes in the bathtub. Sometimes it was days before I could eat because she went on a drug spending spree. Now sitting here in the fridge was a loaf a bread, just fucking rotting away.

  Out of anger and pure disgust, I slammed the door shut, causing the fridge to rattle and bang into the wall behind it. I stalked my way to my mom's room and turned the doorknob, but it was locked. I banged on the door with my closed fist and yelled for her, but no one answered… no sounds… no movement. I tried again...nothing.

  With my hands clenched in fists, I yelled, "I'm gonna break down the damn door if you don't answer!"

  Nothing.

  "Mom!" I pounded on it again, hoping Skinner or my mom would finally answer.

  I hated to cause more damage to this shithole of a place and have Skinner bitch at me for more money that I didn't have…or so I told him. I banged on the door once, but no one answered. Grabbing the doorknob, I slammed my body into the door. It gave away fairly easily and I watched as the door fell back into the wall, barely hanging by its broken hinges.

  My mom, who was beautiful at one point in her life, was motionless; her body was sprawled out on the bed in her dirty pink nightgown, which just barely covered her body. Her eyes were closed as Skinner crouched over her right arm.

  Heat blazed my face as I saw the rubber strap wrapped tightly above her elbow. Skinner was drawing a needle out of the vein from the crook of her arm. He whispered to her, "Sleep now, baby girl," and then kissed her cheek.

  I walked over to her in two short steps and pulled her nightgown down to cover her more modestly. "Damn it, Mom." I pulled on her free arm but she didn't move. I expected her eyes to flutter open, but when she was high like this, she never opened them. I looked up at Skinner, who was now injecting the same crap in his own arm, using his belt and the same damn needle he just injected into my mom's arm.

  Shit!

  He inhaled a rush of air and looked up at me. "Now that's some good shit."

  I watched as his eyes rolled into the back of his bald head. He deeply exhaled and opened his eyes to look back over at me. I just wanted to punch him in his stupid fucking face for always doing this to my mom…to us. So what did I do? The answer was simple; I punched him in the face.

  He didn't even see it coming. I reached over my mom, grabbing the front of his white shirt, and punched him straight in the nose. Blood sprayed across my gray sweatshirt and onto my mom's pink nightgown. The punch didn't even faze Skinner because he was so out of it. All he did was smile in my direction with his nose dripping blood. And it covered his teeth, which for some reason pissed me off even more. So, I punched him again and he fell backwards on the bed, and then landed onto the floor. My mom stirred and mumbled something; I tried to shake her awake, but nothing happened.

  "Damn it, Mom, every time," I yelled, hoping she would be her old self and talk back to me for yelling at her.

  I heard groans coming from the opposite side of the bed and Skinner stumbled to his feet. He dabbed his face and glared across the bed at me. "Did you hit me?" he asked through clenched teeth.

  "No. You're a clumsy ass who fell off the bed," I said, turning to leave the room, but Skinner grabbed the cowl of my hoodie, tugging me backwards and spinning me around in the process so I would face him directly.

  "You hit me!" he yelled, while spitting blood in my face. I quickly wiped away the splattered blood with my sleeve.

  I shoved him hard off me, but he came back swinging, hitting me in the jaw. I heard and felt a pop in my head. Skinner tackled me with a blow of his shoulder, slamming me back through the open door of the room and into the wall in the hall. The wind burned from my lungs and I could hardly breathe.

  "You fucking hit me, Tucker!"

  Now more than ever, I was really angry. I could feel the rage boiling through my veins; my face burned and my heart started to race faster. "You fucking hit me, too!" I shoved at his shoulders to release the hold he had on me. He stumbled back into the room and fell on his ass, his head hitting the metal bed frame as he went unconscious.

  I fixed my sweatshirt and made my way towards the front door. I couldn't stay another damn minute with that jackass; he was a loser. I locked up the apartment and went back down the crappy stairs. I banged on the manager's door and waited for him to answer. Bouncing with rage, I felt like I was going to explode. When he finally answered, he looked at my bloodied hoodie and shook his head.

  "Skinner is causing problems again," I said through gritted teeth. Then I started explaining what had happened.

  He shook his head some more. "Your problem, Tuck," he told me, then slammed the door in my face.

  Shit!

  I raked my hands through my long brown hair. Normally, he would call the cops to get Skinner to leave the building; I guess Sam was done helping me and my deadbeat drug addict mother.

  Finally leaving the dirty building, I decided to take the subway and two buses to get to Central Park to a little hideout I always hung around. Some of my friends that I'm not proud of hung out there with me. I'll admit that they're not good people, but it's where I belong. They felt more like brothers to me. They came from the same outskirts as I did and always understood my problems with Skinner. Pulling out a fresh pack of cigarettes from my back pocket, I grabbed one and lit it up. Smoking was a bad habit – something I wished I could break, but never could. I sucked the tobacco down in record time and flicked my butt in the street.

  Of course, in the main part of the city close to Central Park, cabbies honked their horns non-stop. So when I crossed the street and a cab honked at me, it was an instinctive reaction to flip him off. I kept my head down as I walked down the street; the cold air turned warmer with each passing hour, but out of habit, I pulled my hood up and decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway…and that's when I saw her.

  A car with the darkest tinted windows was parked up against the curb, and a girl like no other was standing next to it. Suddenly, an urge came over me to watch her – to stay still. Everything about her looks screamed innocence as she stepped away from the black Bentley Mulsanne.

  My eyes took in her pale skin. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun thing that girls do. She wore jeans that clung to her body with black boots that made her legs look twice as long, and a black leather jacket. I was too far away to know what color her eyes were, but whatever color they were, I'm sure they were perfect. I could clearly see her smile from the alleyway; it was simple, yet wonderful. It brightened up her pale face.

  When she walked toward the moving truck, I felt like I could hear every step her black boots made against the asphalt. One of the moving men met her at the back while the rest opened up the big lift and handed each other pieces of furniture.

  Everything screamed out to me in a rush of words: spoiled, rich, snob, brat, daddy's girl, but I brushed it off. She was the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen. What was a guy like me doing, checking out a high class rich girl on the Upper East Side of town? And in Central Park West, no less…I had no idea.

  She moved back to the Bentley as a window was rolling down. She was speaking to whoever was inside, and for some reason this bothered me. Whoever was in the car didn't show much respect to the vision of this beautiful girl I was looking at. They should have walked her to the door of her new place in New York, or at least made sure she had a key or something.

  As she stepped away from the car, it sped off. She was alone now with a big purple bag in one hand, just staring at the back of the Bentley's taillights. She walked over to the three movers and pointed up to an apartment in the build
ing. The man spoke to her and nodded. She looked back up the street to where the Bentley was disappearing around the corner.

  Looking up towards the sky in the morning light, she inhaled a deep breath and began smiling like at that very moment, she didn't have a care in the world. She was too breathtakingly beautiful, even for her own good. I couldn't help but stare.

  Turning, she lowered her head, the beauty of her neck stretched gloriously around as she looked down the alleyway. I couldn't tell if she saw me. Most of my body was behind a dumpster, and my gray sweatshirt hood covered my head, but I swear I saw her innocent little smile curve up on the corner of her mouth before she turned back to the movers who were starting up the stairs to her new apartment.

  "YES!" I screamed out as I jumped up and down, scanning the letter again for the hundredth time.

  Dear Miss Abigail McCall,

  We would like to take this opportunity to welcome you to The Juilliard School of Dance for Ballet. Enclosed is your dance schedule and apartment information.

  Those were the most wonderful words that I'd ever heard concerning my future. Not only was I accepted into the most prestigious dance school in New York, I was also leaving the parental units' nest. With my letter in hand, I immediately left my room, looking for my mother.

  When I found her, she was in the kitchen, shadowing our maid Isabelle. She always made sure to do everything perfectly because my mother was constantly watching her every move. Considering my mother grew up with the "proverbial silver spoon" in her mouth, she'd watched my grandmother hover over their maid the same way. I didn't want to follow in either of their footsteps. Simply put, I wanted to live my own life and my dream was finally coming true.

  After applying and being denied twice by Juilliard, I figured why not apply again…third time's a charm, right? As luck would have it, I was right. I knew my mother was going to be thrilled I'd finally been accepted…or so I thought.

  Rushing to her side, I beamed a smile. "Mother, I got in, I finally got in," I said, pretty much screaming the announcement as I jumped up and down, flinging the acceptance letter in her face. I looked over her shoulder towards Isabelle, and she had a big smile plastered on her face for me, sending me a secret congratulations.