Chapter 3 #2
Dad sighs and slips his hand into his pocket. “Don’t ask stupid questions.” He glares at Minnie. “You can leave now.”
Minnie squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be in the other room, then.”
Dad’s head turns as he watches my aunt leave the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner, he faces me. “I have a meeting to get to, so this will be quick.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “Okay?”
“Starting today, you’ll learn how to be a proper young woman.
These lessons will teach dining etiquette, poise, and dancing.
” Dad checks his watch like he’d rather be at his meeting than speaking to me.
“There will be a freshly pressed outfit on your bed. You’ll wear it for each of your lessons.
Tim will drive you to and from these lessons.
You won’t skip any of them, as I’ve already paid well in advance. Do I make myself clear?”
I don’t understand why I need lessons about things I already know. Dad taught me the difference between a salad and an entrée fork at a young age. It’s all stupid and pointless. Why can’t people eat with whatever fork they want?
I blink. “Why do I need lessons?”
Dad sighs and slips his hand back into his pocket. “Because someday you’ll become a wife to a gentleman who will require you to be a lady.”
“But I’m ten.”
“And soon you’ll be eighteen.” Dad pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen with a heavy sigh. “I need to go. Be ready for Tim by noon.”
Without another word, he leaves me in the kitchen.
Tim—Dad’s driver—stayed silent on the ride to the gothic mansion. The whole time, I restlessly shifted in my seat while my mind raced with thoughts about what would happen.
I never got close to understanding how stressful it would be.
The teacher—Madam Joan, as she stressed for me to address her as—is an uptight middle-aged woman with a close-cropped haircut. She also has a habit of slapping my hands with a long ruler if I do something wrong.
“That’s not how you do it,” Madam Joan snaps. Her shrill voice grates on my nerves every time she opens her mouth.
I clench my molars together until they grind as I try to curtsy while holding the skirt of my new white dress. She showed me once and now expects me to do it exactly as she did, which I’ve been doing, and she still keeps swatting my already stinging arm with that stupid ruler.
“No, no, no .” The ruler whistles as it flies down with a sharp swing and slaps against my arm. I yelp and flinch away from her reach, but that doesn’t stop her from closing the space and swatting me again.
“Stop it!” I scream.
Madam Joan thwacks me again. “I will once you do it right.”
“I have been!”
She gives me a displeased look and arches a thin eyebrow. “You call whatever that monstrosity you’ve been doing, right ? Any potential suitor for your hand will take one look at your pathetic excuse of a curtsy and walk away. Now do it as I showed you.”
I suck in a breath and hold it, just so I don’t lash out at her.
Raising my chin, I carefully lift my skirt and curtsy.
I squeeze my eyes closed as I brace for the looming swat from Madam Joan’s ruler.
When it doesn’t come, I pop open an eyelid and peek at her.
Madam Joan nods once with the same displeased expression.
“Better,” she says, then strides toward the long table lined with large wooden chairs splashed with red velvet. “Next lesson.”
The next few hours drag as Madam Joan lectures about fine dining.
I’ve already heard most of her lessons from my father.
It’s so boring that I sometimes zone out, only to be brought back when Madam Joan smacks me with her stupid ruler.
I leave the first lesson with red welts on my arm and the urge to angry-cry.
“How did it go?” Tim asks, breaking the silence on the drive home.
I don’t bother looking at him from the back seat. My gaze remains out the window. If Dad wants to send me to Madam Joan, then I’ll make sure I do a horrible job at learning how to be a lady. Maybe then he’ll realize I don’t want any of this and will remove me from the lessons.
“I don’t ever want to get married,” I finally say.
Tim makes a sound in the back of his throat that could pass as a sarcastic laugh. “Not sure if you’ll have a choice in that, kiddo.”
My fingers curl into my palms on my lap. Another surge of anger rushes through my veins. “I’m not marrying anyone.”
If I say it enough times, then maybe he’ll believe me.
My dad wouldn’t make me marry some boy, would he?
I don’t want to curtsy. I don’t want to sit at a dinner table with a back so straight that it hurts while I try to somehow eat my food without looking like a slob.
Madam Joan’s words, not mine. I don’t care if I look rude for eating like a normal person would.
“You may not want to marry right now,” Tim says, “but when you aren’t a kid anymore, you’ll be paired with someone.”
I glare at the back of Tim’s head. The rest of the ride is quiet, and the whole time, I want to scream.
I make a promise to myself that I’ll never marry or even kiss a boy. My nose scrunches at the thought of even pushing my mouth against a boy’s lips like what I’ve seen in movies.
I’ll never have a boyfriend or even a stupid husband.