Set the Moment (The Moments #2)

Prologue

Blood pools in my mouth as I chew on the inside of my cheek, my heart racing.

“No seriously, Keegan! Sienna has such a stick up her ass…” I hear my classmate, Natasha, laugh.

I don’t mean to flinch at her words. My nanny raised me better than to let foolish haters affect me.

But I do.

I cringe as Keegan laughs. The sound is wheezy and loud, like a toy rooster as she cackles away at my expense.

“It’s because her family is famous, Tash…She wouldn’t be in this program without Mommy and Daddy.”

Hello pot, meet kettle.

It’s always Daddy's money this, Mommy’s money that when people talk about me, as if I had gotten into one of the most competitive dance programs on my parents’ merit alone.

I rest my head back on the wall behind me, covering me from their view as they continue to spew their nonsense.

Today’s the last day of classes at NYU before the summer break begins, and it’s also my last day ever in this cesspit. From the moment I stepped foot on campus two years ago, my life has been a living hell.

I’ve had random people follow me from cafés to my condo, a study date with a weirdo from my econ class who wanted me to take his feet pics, and not to mention all the times where my things would come up “missing” in the studio with the girls in my class being a pain in the ass .

I mean seriously, who puts a nail in someone's pointe shoe?

Heaving a sigh, I prepare to enter the cold room when another voice stops me in my tracks. My skin boils with anger as the person giggles with the two dancers.

“Oh c’mon, girls, you two both know her parents don’t love her enough to pay for schooling. That’s why little Miss Perfect’s always overachieving. I bet all she needs is a good fucking to get her out of that bitchy attitude she has.”

My heart sinks as none other than Valencia McAllister, my idol, current mentor, and professor for Dance Technique, speaks.

Never meet your idols , they say.

I smooth a stray, brown coil from my face, take a deep breath, and straighten my spine. I refuse to give these assholes the satisfaction of my tears.

“Oh, you’re so right! Anthony told me that she was a frigid bitch who wouldn’t put out when they had a date a while back.” Keegan cackles.

My breathing shakes as I try my hardest not to cry. They’ve been nothing but cruel to me since I stepped foot on campus. I could storm in there and give them a piece of my mind, tell them all off.

But I don’t.

It would bring shame to my family if I ever did something worth headlines. That’s my cousin Zola’s job. She’s the star in that department.

Deep breath in…

Hold for ten seconds.

Exhale.

The breathing technique from yesterday’s hot yoga class is no use. Everything feels like it’s caving in on me.

The walls are closer, I’m as tall as the ceiling, and my legs are wobbly.

“Oh! Hey, Sienna!” A familiar voice calls out to me like a life raft, but I don’t take it even though I need to. Instead, I sink further into the depths of my mind as the girls in the room gasp, now fully aware of my presence.

Ignoring the voice, I get out of there as fast as I can. I don’t think about the fact that we have evaluations today or that I’m running around Washington Square like a chicken with its head cut off in a lavender leotard .

My breathing doesn’t calm itself until I make it to my shell of a condo that I’ve lived in for less than two years. The place is cold, lacking in anything that screams Sienna Jones. The only distinctive quality in the apartment is the six-tiered pink cage that houses my pet ferret, Oscar.

Sighing, I drop my dance bag on the ground as I make my way inside, locking the door behind me and putting a door stopper up that my uncle Clef bought me.

He’s a serious security nut, and me moving away from my parents’ home in California to New York by myself only upped his anxiety.

“Oscar, we’ve gotta get out of here…I can’t do it anymore. What do you think?” I ask the white ferret, pausing momentarily for him to speak.

Is this what my life has come to? Communicating with a Mustelid?

Maybe those girls were right. I haven’t seen my mom or dad since they started touring in the UK last year.

I have zero friends, the social life of a guinea pig, and I’m a twenty-year-old virgin who likes to read spicy books more than have human interactions.

The only exceptions to that last one being my family and my cousin Cleo’s two friends, Jace and Georgia.

As a kid, I would spend summers in their hometown, Summerfield, Maryland.

They would go to my dance recitals in Maryland, we’d play games, and if we were lucky, we got to go on small trips together.

In the winter, I’d spend the first week of winter break there, too.

My uncle would try to teach us how to ice skate—Cleo and Jace were naturals, but Georgia, my cousin Ryan, and I were horrible.

I miss Summerfield. I miss the person that I was before life dealt me its shittiest hand at age ten.

Stepping into my bathroom, I discard my clothes, leave on my bra and underwear, and connect my phone to my waterproof speaker, preparing myself for the next hour I’ll spend in here.

I need to wash away all the trauma I’ve dealt with this past decade, starting with an everything shower .

Getting my body scrubs and Nair hair removal ready, I apply the remover to my pits and legs ,then wait. Soft R&B plays in the background as I look in the mirror and take myself in.

My hair is dull and lifeless from throwing it into a bun for dance, and my skin has lost its glow.

I need to reset everything, starting with my look.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I type the number of my favorite travel stylist in the city and call her, asking for the Reset Special, which includes a wash, blow dry, color, trim, and silk press.

I haven’t straightened my hair in months, and I usually don’t in the summer or spring.

But considering the circumstances, I think it’ll be okay.

My stylist, Ranae, responds quickly, saying that she’ll be at my place within two hours.

Quickly turning on my favorite songs by the band Twisted Vipers, I hop in the shower. The water is hot against my skin as I wash off the Nair, exfoliate my entire body, and perform a one-woman show in forty-five minutes.

By the time I’m done showering, steam fills both the bathroom and my bedroom. I’m quicker than the speed of sound as I moisturize my body, dancing naked in the mirror.

There’s something freeing about allowing myself to just be when I’m alone.

After letting Oscar out, I make my way into the living room. After my appointment, I’ll have the entire day to do whatever I want, and I know just where to start.

I’m getting the hell out of New York, but where can I go? I refuse to go home—California may be known as the Golden state, but my life was dim. The only company around were staff and my endless flow of nannies.

Pass .

I could always go to Georgia and live with my grandparents. Papa would love to have one of his grandbabies back home to play music for, but he’d also make me eat black eyed peas every day.

Pass .

My phone dings, pulling me from my thoughts. I pick it up and raise a brow.

Cleo

Can’t do it anymore, Si Si

I’m going home.

What the hell? Home? Last time Cleo and I talked, she seemed to be having the time of her life…Is she moving back to Summerfield? If she is, maybe I could move there too. I mean, some of my best memories were there.

He’s there.

Could I?

My phone dings again.

Cleo

I love you, but I’m transferring to SFU. I know things have been tougher for you here, too. You should think about it.

Talked to Dad and he’d love to see you again. Gloria, too.

I smile at that. Cleo’s stepmom, Gloria, makes mean empanadas and handles everything like a boss. Maybe moving wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It could be a fresh start, a new me? I need a plan.

“Listly, you better not fail me now,” I say aloud as I make a list, opening the app on my computer.

Lists are what keeps me from losing my marbles on a daily basis. I have morning routine lists, life goals lists, and even bathroom checklists.

If it can be a list, I probably have it.

Every good list needs a name. I type all of the things that I’ve always wanted to try, but was too scared in the past to do it when the name hits me.

If I’m going to do this, I’m giving it my all. What better way than to get it all done by my birthday?

“Sienna’s 21 before 21,” I say as I type the words at the top of the page.

By New Year’s Eve, I’ll be a new me.