Shattered Glass

My entire life has been spent atop a pedestal encased in glass. Like an animal in an exhibit, I am on display for the world to see, watch, and judge. 

I suppose that comes with being the heiress of a business empire. Every step I take is followed to ensure I never fall from the pedestal's edge. All my words are criticized in the case they echo and frighten my audience. My actions are examined lest they cause a break in the glass. 

I can count on one hand the number of times I've been left to decide something for myself. First, I chose Choir over Band in middle school. Next, in freshman year, I wrote an essay on "life" and "liberty" over my father's vote of "the pursuit of happiness". Finally, I volunteered for a peer's community service project rather than create my own. 

Not to say I would have come up with the idea - not to my credit, anyway. Dad would ask me my plan, I would explain it, and he would later claim he told me exactly what to do based on his real-world experience. In some way or another, all of my ideas "come" from him. 

"Kay, are you all right?"

I glanced up and flashed a vibrant smile. "Of course. I'm great." 

Jason, the peer whose project I decided to help with, narrowed his eyes. His expression softened finally. "I won't pry." 

I ran my roller through the tray of blue paint I was using. "Saying that implies there's something wrong, which there isn't, so there's nothing to 'pry' about." 

He pointed his brush at me with a smirk. "Kiara Woods, you may fool everyone else, but not me! We've spent hours together between singing and tutoring the underclassmen. I know which smiles are fake."

Maybe he was the only one, but I couldn't tell him that. He knew me better than anyone, though I refused to call him my friend. I knew better than that. 

My glass box was small - enough room for me and whichever "friends" my parents shoved in with me. Throughout my school years, I've gotten close with only a handful of people. One way or another, however, they realize the effort to stay close to a girl who can't even speak without her parents' watchful eye isn't worth it. They figure out I'm not worth it, so they fade away, saying "I'm busy" or "I'm too distracted to get to know someone new." 

"Seriously, Kay, what's wrong?" 

I rolled the paint on in W patterns. Eventually, this would be a company's conference room. "It's nothing, Jason." 

"Liar," he pouted. When his eyes brightened, I knew I was in for it. He took his brush and, before I could react, streaked the paint down the part of my arm left exposed. 

"Jason!"

"Now that I have your attention-" 

"My parents will kill me if I come home a mess like this!"

"So it is about your parents!" He snapped his fingers and grinned proudly. When his efforts were met with a glare, he sobered. "They can't control you forever, Kiara." 

Something in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. I could almost hear my glass box breaking. Still, I countered, "It isn't as simple as you think it is." 

"Isn't it? We haven't got long before we graduate, then you can move out and go to some university. And you're the smartest girl in our grade, so you'll get scholarships, and not having your parents' money won't be a problem. You could get a job for extra cash; any place would hire you, since I know you have a good work ethic when you aren't distracted by yours truly." He gestured to himself. "I guess I don't understand what isn't simple about your situation." 

"Well, when it put it all like that..." I grumbled. Before he could get too cocky, I snickered and rolled some paint onto the tee he wore for this project. 

His eyes widened. "Kay!"

"I don't want to hear it; you got my arm first. Be lucky I didn't go for your face!"

For a few minutes, we had an all-out war. Jason flicked the bristled and sprayed me with paint; I countered by attacking his jeans. We called a truce when he dipped his hand in the paint can and swiped it from my left cheek to the right. The tip of my nose was an unfortunate casualty. 

"You look ridiculous," I pointed out. 

With a smile, he replied, "And you look perfect. You should smile like that more often, Kay." 

Crack, crack went my glass case. 

"Kiara?" echoed my father's crisp voice. "What on earth - you're a mess!"

Crack, crack. 

"Dad!" I exclaimed. "Um, I-I wasn't-"

"Kiara, Jason whispered promptingly. 

I took a deep breath (crack, shatter). " I was just having fun with my friend here.

The board of the company that would eventually inhabit this building awkwardly watched our family dispute. The audience pushed my father over the edge. 

"Harvard won't accept a student who entertains such horseplay."

"I didn't realize Harvard cared so much about my every activity," I replied icily. I had broken my glass box; now to step off the pedestal. "Well, it doesn't matter. I never wanted to go to Harvard, anyway. I was thinking about Tulane, actually." 

"That's wehre I'm going," offered Jason brightly. 

My father's lips twitched. "I don't care where you go, kid. My daughter won't be there." 

"Yes, I will." 

I was always so afraid of heights. The pedestal was so high and the ground so far. As it turned out, the fall was exhilarating - I imagine that's why so many people skydive. My veins were full of fire. 

I promptly turned to my friend. "Hey, Jason? We're basically done with this accent wall. We should move on to the office on the next floor. We'll need that beige from your trunk, right? Let's go and get it, then we can start." 

He smirked and bowed playfully. "Yes, ma'am."