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Moving out entirely right now? Taking on rent and a full-time job while trying to navigate this mess? It feels too drastic. It would trigger the exact nuclear option I’m trying to avoid. I’m not ready for that fight yet.

But maybe I don’t have to jump off the cliff all at once. It’s about baby steps.

“You know what, Grace is right. If I can just show him I’m responsible,” I continue, “that I can handle both work and school…maybe he’ll listen.”

“Maybe,” Skyler agrees.

“It’s worth a shot,” Stacey nods.

I know it’s never that simple with my dad, but for once, I feel like there’s a small chance for an exit from the path he’s laid out for me, and if I can reach it, I might finally get to make my own way.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE INTERVIEW

HADLEY

Just one day after applying, I score an interview at Millie's skating rink. I can't believe it was that quick.

As I pull into the parking lot of the rec center, my hands are clammy against the steering wheel, and my stomach is doing a series of high-velocity flips. I am a ball of jittery, wired energy, but underneath the nerves, there is a strange rush of relief. For the first time in months, I’m not waking up to the anxious monotony of scrolling through a digital syllabus or staring at a textbook about a career I don't want. I’m actually doing something about it.

As I cut the engine, the reality of the situation hits me. I have never had a real job. I have certainly never had a job interview.

When I was pulling my resume together last night, I felt like a total imposter. It was a pathetic single page cobbled together from high school volunteer hours, my personal history and family history when it came to skating, and my coursework. I had stared at the blinking cursor for an hour, terrified that the hiring manager would take one look at my empty employment history and laugh me out of the room. Why would they hire someone who has never earned a single paycheck?

When I arrive, I take in the large, modern-looking rec center. It has tall windows along its front and maintains its minimalist aesthetic with its steel facade.

I make my way inside and check in at the reception desk. The lady manning it points me toward the rink. When I step through the doors into the space, the cold air hits me, and I suck in a deep breath.

This place feels completely different from the arena I’ve grown used to. It’s just a community rec center in a Denver suburb. Groups of parents are huddled together on the bleachers with steaming travel mugs. A few young girls are sitting on a bench gossiping as they lace up their skates. Younger kids are running past the lobby windows, laughing.

Peeking over the boards, I watch a handful of kids going through various group lessons. On one end, a line of toddlers is carefully weaving around bright orange cones, while closer to me, an instructor is helping a little boy back onto his feet after a harmless wipeout.

Seeing the sheer, unpretentious fun of it all makes a knot in my chest uncoil. There's no pressure here. No one is scouting these kids, and no one is evaluating their metrics. It’s just people learning to love being on the ice, and for the first time all day, the tight, jittery nerves in my stomach start to give way to genuine excitement.

“Hadley?”

I blink, startled at the sound of my name, and turn to find a middle-aged woman in tight leggings and a gray pullover walking toward me. She has a short brown bob cut and a friendly green gaze. Her smile is wide.

“Hi,” I reply. “Are you Becky?”

The woman nods, and I offer her my hand to shake. “That’s me. I manage the youth skating program here. Are you ready for your interview?”

I smile at her. My stomach flutters with nerves. “Yep!”

“Follow me.”

She leads me away from the rink and back out into the hallway, then to a set of small offices. We enter one. She closes the door behind me.

“Take a seat.” Her tone is friendly as she moves to sit behind the little metal desk. The office is small and somewhat plain, with exposed brick walls that give the small space an industrial feel. Overhead, a fluorescent light fixture hums with a steady buzz that cuts through the quiet.

Becky studies me for a second, then begins. “So, Hadley, tell me a little about your skating experience.”

“I grew up skating,” I answer without hesitation. “My grandfather is the coach for the Night Hawks, and my dad was a semi-professional player for a short while. I was on the ice almost as soon as I could walk, and am a trained figure skater.”

She nods. “Knowledgeable about proper technique and performance, then.”

“Yeah,” I answer with a small smile. “Very.”

“Good,” she says, making a quick note on a notepad in front of her. “We get a mix here. Some people come in never having stepped on the ice before, and others are trying to refine their technique. We need people who can adjust to both.”