Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,20

night. I spent most of Tuesday doing homework and brushing up on French for this morning’s class before checking in on Sophia.

The waitress swung by, filling my coffee mug to the brim, and as steam billowed out, I inhaled that nutty scent. I stabbed the next bite on my plate, shoveling it into my mouth. “He actually thought I would just sign off on extra hours for him. Because, what, he had cute dimples? Because he was so thoughtful as to grace me with his flirting?” I snorted.

Reagan’s eyebrows shot up. “Well…”

“Well what?”

She shrugged. “I’m not saying he’s right for asking, but hell, girl, this is college. People call in favors from their friends—”

“We are not friends.”

“Fine. From their peers, all the time. It doesn’t mean he’s a good guy for asking, but maybe he’s not quite the asshole you make him out to be.” Reagan cracked one hardboiled egg, peeling the shell and removing the yolk, placing it in her napkin. I eyed her carefully as she tore the egg white into bits, placing a piece in her mouth.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner last night, either,” I noted quietly, and her eyes shot up, flashing with…something. When was the last time I saw Reagan eat something hearty? We had pizza on moving day, but she insisted that we order gluten free and only ate one slice, which she peeled the cheese off of.

“I did so. My salad was huge.”

“Yeah, it was a giant bowl of lettuce, no protein and barely any dressing.” I swallowed. “You’re not…again…are you?”

“No.” She gritted her teeth, and I wet my lips, nodding.

“Because if you are—”

“I’m not.” After a deep sigh, she popped another piece of egg white into her mouth. “I just have an audition coming up, and I want to look good. It’s senior year. I don’t have a lot more chances to get a leading role.”

I nodded, knowing that desire. That drive to be in the spotlight. My throat tightened as I remembered the ballet slippers my mom had framed in a shadow box for me. My first pair ever. Like anytime I thought of my mother, I was met with a complex symphony of grief and fury. Sorrow was common, but it was the rage that surfaced even more. An all-consuming anger at everyone—at her doctors for not doing more to save her, at the insurance companies for not covering the drug trial…and at my mom.

For leaving me.

How fucking stupid was that?

Who gets mad at their own dead mother? She did nothing but love me. She gave everything in her life for me. And I was still irrationally pissed, as though it was her fault for getting cancer. As if she could have fought any harder than she already had.

But mostly, I was angry with myself for not appreciating her while I had her. For not visiting more often.

Those combative feelings of sorrow, rage, and guilt were such a driving force that I had to push my fingernails into my palm to tamp it down—replace that emotional pain with something physical.

I cleared my throat, wiping my hands on my jeans, palms still stinging and indented with marks from my nails. “Just be careful, okay?”

She brushed me off with a wave of her hand. “Okay, Mom.”

Which one of us is the mother here? My mom’s playfully chastising voice rang in my memory, echoing Reagan. Those words stabbed into me and no amount of fingernails in my palms could make that pain subside.

“Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that—” Reagan apologized.

“It’s fine,” I said and her eyes lifted to mine. “I mean it.” I added more gently. “It’s fine.”

All she did was nod. And that was all I needed. For now.

I poured another glob of syrup over my pancakes and forked a chunk into my mouth. “So,” I said between chewing, searching for something—anything to change the subject. “What’s the audition for?”

She took a deep breath. “Singin’ in the Rain.”

“Oh,” I squealed, offering her a smile. “You’d be a fantastic Kathy Selden.”

“I know, right? Let’s just hope Jim sees it that way, too.”

“After the audition, we’ll go celebrate with ice cream, okay?”

Reagan rolled her eyes, but her smile slipped through. “Okay, okay. A small ice cream.” With a quick glance at her phone, she popped up, dropping some cash onto the table. “We better go.”

I did the same, pulling out my tips from a couple weeks ago and dropping a ten onto the table. Reagan handed it back to