The Ghostlight Girls | Part Four | Hana

Chapter Twenty-One

Somehow I manage to pull myself together long enough to get through the rest of the day and escape. I inform Mei that I'll be walking home, unable to bear another moment in this awful place. But I don't walk, I run, as fast as the wind, like maybe I can outrun all my troubles.

As soon as I reach home, I retreat to my room and throw myself into my homework and practicing the violin. Anything to keep my mind occupied and avoid confronting the overwhelming reality. At one point, Umma comes to my door and just stands there, observing me silently. I wonder what she's thinking. Does she have any idea what I'm going through right now? But she doesn't say a word, and then she leaves.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I should bury my true self deep within, just conceal it from the world, and try to conform to the image of the perfect daughter Umma so obviously desires. That way no one else will get hurt. But can I really do that? Just thinking about it makes my heart hurt. I want to wrestle, I want to play Andrew in The Breakfast Club, I need it so much I feel like I might seriously die. I know it sounds like I'm being dramatic but that's the truth.

That evening, just after dinner, the doorbell rings. Naturally, I assume it must be Emma paying another visit. But when I open the door, it's Mr. Winslow I see standing there. He's dressed in a suit, holding his hat respectfully over his chest. "I believe we should have a conversation," he says. "May I come in?"

I stand there, dumbfounded, as Mei comes from the kitchen to see who it is. "Oh, hello, Arthur," she greets him with a smile. "Please, come inside."

Mr. Winslow gives her an apologetic glance. "I actually came to speak with Hana," he explains. "With her permission, of course." Both of them turn their attention to me.

"Oh, yes, of course," I stammer, feeling flustered.

"Hana, why don't you show Mr. Winslow to the living room?" Mei suggests. "Arthur, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Please," Mr. Winslow replies, politely bowing his head. "Decaf, if you have it. Otherwise, I fear I'll be up all night."

"Of course."

So Mr. Winslow follows me to the living room, where his eyes roam his surroundings, taking in the elegance of our antique furniture. Umma has a deep love for antiques, sometimes even restoring them herself. Mr. Winslow selects a mahogany armchair with claw feet and burgundy cushions, sinking into it with a contented sigh. I settle on the matching sofa.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he begins, lowering his head.

I give him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"I made a grave mistake in the casting process. Your audition was far superior, and you would have been perfect for the role."

"Then why...?"

"I violated the fundamental principle of casting. I chose Darian, hoping that the role would bring about positive changes in him, that the weight of responsibility might help him mature. Regrettably, I was mistaken." Mr. Winslow removes his glasses, producing a cloth with a subtle flourish to wipe them clean. "I've been made aware of the harassment you endured. Even without his unfortunate injury, I would have reconsidered his casting." He puts his glasses back on, offering me a wry smile. "Unfortunately, wisdom doesn't always accompany age."

My mind reels from this revelation. The role always should have been mine. Mr. Winslow just said it himself. But it doesn't really matter anymore. It's all about how it looks, and it does not look good if I take Darian's role.

"Thank you for informing me," I say, trying to maintain a respectful tone. "But I have to decline. I already have the entire school against me. I don't want to make it even worse for myself."