1. Blair

T here's one thing that people don't tell you about dreams as a kid. Eventually, you wake up from them.

Getting accepted into Happily Ever After University has been my dream since I was a little girl. I spent countless hours fantasizing about wandering the ornate buildings and lounging in the lush flower gardens.

Once I knew that it existed, I refused to settle for anything else. If I could get into that school, I thought that any problem that arose in my life wouldn't matter because HEAU would become the solution.

I remember seeing their advertisements on TV, and it looked like they'd plucked the place straight out of a fairy tale with every building carefully crafted like a castle. Magnificent architecture, tall towers, long corridors, the highest ceilings, a bell tower in the center of the campus, and seemingly unlimited chandeliers that hung in every room .

Every inch of the campus is whimsical and magical. Tall hedges line most of the walkways while overflowing beds of colorful flowers decorate the outside of each building, making the air smell like heaven when they bloom. They even have gigantic marble water fountains in the courtyards.

The campus is almost completely isolated from society, hidden away in the wealthy, luxurious town of Evermore, Washington. I think to be a resident, you have to come from money. I swear the only vehicles I ever see are luxury sports cars and SUVs. Although most residents never drive a day because their chauffeurs take them everywhere.

Tucked in the furthest corner of Evermore, amid a handful of industrial factories, are the only housing options in the entire town for those not dripping in wealth. That's where my dad and I found a house when we moved here a few months ago.

It's hard not to gaze upon the self-proclaimed elite with raging envy when they have the world and all its treasures at their fingertips. My father and I were not dealt the same hand of cards. Not a day has gone by when I haven't watched my dad work himself into the ground to provide for us. He has sacrificed so much to ensure I can chase my dreams, and I refuse to let him down.

When I got that golden acceptance, I felt like nothing else could ever top that moment. But that piece of paper left a cut, a gaping hole in my plans. Everything would have been fine had I gotten a full scholarship, but the school only granted a partial one, leaving an enormous amount of debt to be paid out of pocket.

It didn't make sense that they hadn't chosen me for the full ride. I had the application full of volunteer hours, extracurriculars, perfect grades, and the tug-at-your-heart story. I know everyone who applied probably felt the same way I did, expecting to be chosen. However, it was slipping through my fingertips after the years I spent meticulously shaping my high school career to get accepted into HEAU.

I'm tenacious and a hard worker; I have been my whole life, although I didn't have much choice. My father has stretched every dollar he's earned since I was born to help keep us afloat, and once I could contribute, I did my part to help. I've worked part-time jobs since I was old enough to help pay our bills. That's why getting a full scholarship was so critical; I wasn't sure if I would still be able to continue my education without it.

My father had been so excited when I told him I was a shoo-in for the scholarship that I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth when I got the unfortunate news. I knew I had to find a way to make everything work. I couldn't live with myself if I had to settle for a different school. I couldn't even accept that as a possibility.

After discovering that I would only receive half, I applied for every scholarship I could find online. I got selected for many of those, which helps, but that money is still just tiny drops in the gigantic pond. I needed to find a job that would allow me to continue pitching in financially with my father while also making school payments.

After scouring the hiring sites and postings, I found the one job that would give me everything I would need. Even if it was somewhat out of my comfort zone, I was so desperate that I had no choice but to accept it—a job as a bartender and server at The Fallen Petal, a strip club.

Even though I bring home a few hundred every night, my father and I are always playing catch-up on bills, including the tuition he doesn't know I have to pay. It's the best money I've ever made; even if it comes at the cost of lying to my father, it's worth it. He would probably strangle me if he found out I work there. He always supports me, but I think it's just one of those things a father doesn't want to picture his daughter doing.

I don't strip down completely. Instead, I wear booty shorts, short skirts, and tight and revealing tops while I serve. The more scandalous, the more tips.

My father thinks I work at a restaurant on campus as a bartender. Allowing him to believe this is just easier for the both of us.

But I wish I had the confidence to get onstage. I would never have to worry about money again. Those girls bring in the big bucks. But I can't bring myself to do it, as much as I need the money. The thought of dancing onstage in front of a crowd is terrifying.

I like to stay out of that spotlight as much as I can. I make the drinks, help serve the customers, flirt until my cheeks hurt from fake smiling, and help keep an eye on the girls. If anyone gets too rough or handsy, we alert our security, and they handle it.

Honestly, this job has become my second home, as wild as it sounds. All of my coworkers are so supportive, and vice versa, like a little family. Of course, I don't want to work here forever, but I owe the club a lot because it's helping me pursue my real passion in the long run—literature.

I've always wanted to work in the publishing world. I know I'm not cut out to be the one writing the stories. Is that a skill you can learn, or is it one you're born with? Are writers born capable of creating entire lives in their heads, or do they have to teach themselves how to do it?

Those questions have always tickled my brain. If you have to be born with it, then I think I'm screwed. I can write a fifty-page paper about any topic we discuss in class, but I usually use the materials provided to bring it to life, not generating ideas from thin air. That's why I will go into another side of the industry as a literary agent.

I would still experience the whirlwind and whimsical world of books, but from a different perspective. I get to hype the author's work up and find publishers who believe in their stories as much as I do. I would be like a real-life fairy godmother, helping authors' dreams come true.

I can picture it so clearly in my head that I can practically taste the crisp, clean air of my oversize office and the scent of hardwood from my desk. The sunshine fills the room through the large windows, and bookshelves line every wall. I'll do anything to make that dream a reality, and getting into this school was only the first step.

HEAU has the most renowned programs in the world, and they are the most elite. It's a relatively small campus because of that. Their acceptance rate is around point-one percent of applicants, so when I was selected, I made it my mission to see it through. I can't deny fate. They'd chosen me out of hundreds of thousands of applications. I'm destined to be here .

It's well known that if you graduate from HEAU, you will succeed in whatever path you desire. It's like a winning lottery ticket for life. The name Happily Ever After holds true, granting that to every graduating student. That's why I work as hard as I do day and night. Failure truly is not an option.

Susie, my coworker, shouts over the deafening music, yanking me from my thoughts as I walk toward the back room of The Fallen Petal, where we keep our belongings in the staff lounge, "Are you heading out?"

I open the door, and we step through. The music dies down as we shut the door behind us, sighing in unison at the peaceful quietness.

Nodding, I answer her as my feet scream for relief from these heels, "Yeah. When are you off?"

"I'm leaving now. My sitter called and has to go for some family emergency, so I have to go relieve her," she says with her back to me as she gets dressed.

Her daughter, Melody, is the sweetest and most polite five-year-old I've ever met. Susie hates being here late nearly every night and missing tucking her into bed, but she does this for her daughter and their future.

"You know I can always watch her if I'm off," I offer genuinely.

She doesn't have a lot of friends or family around here to help her, but she has employees here who would do just about anything for her.

She glares at me over her shoulder. "You know I won't let you. I have it handled." She spins around and sits down on the bench, tying her shoes. "Besides, it's not like you don't already have enough on your plate."

Rolling my eyes, I throw my coat and sweats over my uniform, consisting of a pleather miniskirt, stockings, and a lace tank top. "Yeah. But I can always use extra cash."

She hooks her arm through her purse, and I grab my own as she says, "Margo wants you onstage. You could be making four times what you're pulling right now."

Margo manages the dancers and their schedules and helps with wardrobes. She has nothing to do with the bar side of the club.

My cheeks flush at the thought of being on that stage. "Yeah, I don't know. I don't think people would want to see me dancing onstage."

Walking over to me, she boops my nose and says, "If you're onstage and practically naked, you could stand there and do nothing and still make more than you do now, working your ass off nightly."

She's right; I know. But I can't hype myself up enough to do it.

"Yeah. For now, I'm good with bartending and serving. Besides, I wouldn't want you guys completely out of work if I started dancing," I tease her with feigned confidence.

"Oh, yeah, hot stuff?" She laughs and pulls the door open, music enveloping us as we leave the building, waving goodbye to the bouncers and staff.

Wrapping my fingers around my Taser in my purse, I part ways with Susie and say, "Good night! Get home safe!"

"You too!" she shouts as she gets into her car.

I check my phone to see if my Uber is almost here.

"Seems busy in there tonight," Jared, one of our bouncers, says as I see my Uber is one minute out.

Nodding, I continue our small talk. "Yeah, busier than usual for a Thursday night, I'd say."

The black Chevy Cruze pulls up in front of us, and once I match the license plate to the one showing on my phone, I step forward.

"You have a good night, Blair." He smiles and gets the car door for me.

Grinning back at him and his chivalry, I say, "You too."

He shuts the door behind me once I'm inside the car, and the driver greets me instantly.

"Good evening. Do you have a music preference?" the clean-cut guy asks me as he drives the car and pulls away.

"No. Whatever you prefer is just fine by me," I say quietly, pulling out my phone and opening my e-book.

I'm currently reading a contemporary romance book that follows a girl named Avery Fox. She's a premed student who has to move in with her brother and his rock-star bandmates. Rock star plus nerd means I'm obsessed. As a self-identified nerd, I love seeing the hot guy in romance books get that girl. Because in real life, that is not realistic. Not that a nerdy girl couldn't get a jock or rock star, but from my personal experience, it never works out because their egos usually outweigh their personalities and good looks .

My ex, Grant Gustavson, is proof of that. He's the backup quarterback for the HEAU Legends football team. The mascot for our school is the Legends, represented by a dragon. He was also the quarterback at our high school. For three years, he did his best to convince me to date him, but I always turned him down. I didn't see how he and I would be a good match. That didn't stop him from leaving gifts in my locker, notes on my desk, and chasing away any other guy who showed interest in me.

At the beginning of our senior year, I gave in. We dated for two months. But when I couldn't take any more of his self-centered behavior, I ended our barely beginning relationship. He still won't let it go. He seems to think that I didn't really mean it. But that makes sense because it's not like my words mean anything to him.

When high school ended, I wrote him off for good. But then I ran into him at the end of summer, right before classes at HEAU started. It was move-in day at the dorms, and I volunteered as a student worker to get some volunteer hours. Surprisingly, it was kind of nice to see a familiar face, even if it was Grant.

Grant was helping his friend Felix move in, and he made sure to spend equal time helping Felix as he did flirting with me. I figured that a date wouldn't hurt anything. Maybe he was different. Maybe he grew up since our senior year.

I, in fact, was terribly wrong.

It took all of three-weeks for me to realize that no matter what, we were never going to last. He was going to earn the title of ex-boyfriend permanently.

I'd had other boyfriends in high school from other schools, and unfortunately, they all checked a box for some sport. It is becoming a horrible pattern at this point. I lost my virginity to a basketball player named Chad Summers. It was in the summertime between sophomore and junior years.

At the time, I thought it was so romantic. Chad laid a bunch of blankets and pillows out in the bed of his pickup truck, and we parked in a field under the stars. What no one tells you about that cute plan is the bug bites that you get everywhere .

Chad told me he was also a virgin and that he loved me. I didn't realize that you could be a virgin more than once because I later found out he'd lost his virginity fourteen times that summer—thirteen of them not with me.

I was willing to give Grant another chance when I saw him again. I was settling into Evermore, ready to start my life and career and potentially find my college sweetheart. So, I might have ignored a few red flags along the way, chasing the high of a happily ever after.

His lust and so-called love blinded me. The first red flag should have been when he told me he never stopped loving me after only dating for one date. He had told me in high school that he loved me, but that felt like a lifetime ago. At first, he was so fun to be around, and I felt comfortable with him. But his clingy lust quickly morphed into a smothering, overbearing obsession. He wanted to manage my every minute of every day to revolve solely around him.

He pretended to listen to what I had to say before cutting me off and completely changing the subject. He never really heard me. He just waited for me to finish so he could finally talk. Anything I was genuinely interested in; he couldn't care less about. Unless we were conversing about football, football practice, football games, or his dream to go pro, he made no effort whatsoever.

He became possessive, accusing me of cheating on him when I so much as looked at another guy, even going so far as beating a guy up who had winked at me. He also demanded to know where I was at all times, and at first, I thought it was cute; he was protective of me.

Then, he would somehow appear at places I was— the bookstore, library, mall, etc. He would say he was at practice, and then I would see him clear as day minutes later. It became creepy and started to make me uneasy. I had no idea how I didn't see this behavior in high school. Maybe I was just in denial, wanting the relationship to be better than it really was. Regardless, I knew his second chance had to come to an end.

On our three-week anniversary, he picked me up to take me to dinner, and I knew I had to end it. We weren't healthy, and I sure as hell wasn't happy.

He had other ideas for us. I showed up with his broken heart on a plate, and he showed up with a diamond engagement ring. After three weeks! When he pulled it out and set it on the table, I literally laughed in his face, at my limit for his ridiculousness. I hadn't meant to laugh, but I was so shocked that he even thought that was a possibility in our relationship.

I stood up immediately and told him that we weren't working out. He really couldn't take the hint. Over and over, he told me how we belonged together and that, no matter what, we would end up together. The days following the breakup were tense. Nonstop texts from him, calls at all hours, and voice mails as long as the phone would let him record. Eventually, his texts begging me to be with him and to love him turned into mean and menacing lashes. He went from calling me the love of his life to calling me a bitch, slut, whore. Then, he would apologize, say he didn't mean it, and again tell me he loved me. The whiplash he gave me still hurts my damn neck.

It's been about a month since our breakup, and I still get texts from him, but they are far more sporadic. Sometimes nice, sometimes mean, but completely unpredictable. I don't respond; it would just make things worse. And for some reason, I can't bring myself to block him. I will. But it's become entertainment for Lumi, my best friend, and me, like a comedy segment in our everyday lives. What did Grant say today?

The driver pulls up in front of my house and turns down the music. "Feel free to grab a water bottle or candy."

Realizing I haven't even read a word in my book, I close the app and respond, "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Have a good night." He smiles kindly, and I grab my bag.

"Thanks. You too."

I'm tired, and I can't wait to dive-bomb into my bed. Nothing makes your bed feel comfier than utter exhaustion.

Quietly unlocking the door, I open it and enter the silent house. My dad is fast asleep at this hour, as he works early tomorrow morning at the factory where he recently got a job. He's worked in warehouse factories for years, and luckily, there was an opening here when we moved. He knows I get home late from bartending, and I do my best not to wake him. Although he always says that he doesn't get to sleep until he knows I'm home safe.

Kicking my shoes off, I tiptoe into the kitchen and examine the endless bills hanging by magnets on the fridge. Checking the overdue dates, I select the one that needs to be paid first and pull it off the door. Taking the cash out of my bag from my tips tonight, I attach all but fifty dollars to the electric bill and set it on the counter for my dad to take.

I know it hurts him to have my help, but he needs it, and I don't want to see him or our house go under. I wish we made better money. We are constantly playing catch-up on invoices and never ahead. It's draining, more so than I'll ever admit. But if this is how we must do it, then so be it because I'm not giving up on my future anytime soon. I will work every day and night if it means I get to stay in school at HEAU.