"Come on," I mutter, yanking at the broom handle in frustration. "You're not going to get the best of me."

Great. Now I'm talking to myself. A sure sign of mental illness.

I tug again. It's stuck on something that refuses to give way. I grit my teeth as I adjust my grip. I'm going to have to put some more muscle into it. I brace my feet and jerk at it again.

Once.

Twice.

I heave with all my strength and it finally breaks free with a cracking sound, sending me sprawling to the floor, half in and half out of the fireplace.

"Ouch." That's going to leave a bruise.

I look at the cracked shaft of the broom. Figures.

I huff out a breath, seeing the grime and dirt caked on my jeans and my once-white t-shirt, and probably on my face and hair, considering that my arms are as dirty as my clothes.

I fight back the sudden urge to just sit there and cry.

It won't do any good.

Cleaning the chimney has never been my favorite chore, but today it's just one more not-so-great thing to add to my list of reasons to break down. The list is growing exponentially. At this rate, it'll be so long that I'll have to make a table of contents for it.

I've ruined my one chance to get into Parsons, to make my dream a reality.

My one chance!

I worked so hard for it, only to fumble at the goal line.

Now I don't even have that hope to keep me going through the day. No escape chute I can think about when I'm down. Like right now, covered in soot with a broken broom handle I know I'm going to be yelled at for.

If my regret about the cotillion isn't enough to occupy me, the reason for my ridiculous distraction that night still haunts my dreams. The Singarti prince plays a starring role every night without fail. His handsome face with those perfect cheekbones. His ripped body that I'm sure looks even better naked though I didn't get the chance to see him without his tuxedo.

There’s another regret, though it’s a minor one on the list.

I can't stop dreaming about the way he touched me, the way he looked while he was inside of me. The way we looked when we were moving together, as close as two people can get. How funny, and smart, and charming he was.

Then I wake up and remember how stupid I was for being distracted by him. For running out what I knew was a short battery life.

Then I ran off in a panic without an explanation. I didn't even tell him my name. Or get his!

I'll never see him again now.

I rest my head against the brick of the fireplace.

"Stupid," I mutter to myself.

Worst of all, there's nobody to blame for any of this mess except me.

I wallow for a while, but I'm distracted from my pity party by approaching footsteps. I look up as my stepsisters walk in, dressed in pristine clothes straight off the trendy runway. The bright colors and the voluminous cuts don't really suit them, but I'd never say that out loud. They're enough of a thorn in my side as it is.

I’m not proud of it, but I kind of like that they look like idiots. It makes my day a little brighter. They’ve brought me down to their level, and that’s the worst part.

Their conversation pauses as they watch me start to stand, the disdainful smirks on their faces telling me what they think of my appearance.

I simply don't care right now. I have more important things to worry about than what they think. I ignore them as I brush myself off as best I can, not that much can really be done with soot. I need a full shower and these clothes need a good scrubbing.

They laugh as I bend over to pick up the broom, the high-pitched cackling grating on my nerves. What would happen if I just smacked them across their smug faces with this soot-covered broom? I picture it with relish, imagining the shock on their faces. They'd probably just run to their mother. Maybe it would be worth it. See? I’m on their level.

"Look at you!"

"You're supposed to use the broom to clean the chimney, not yourself you idiot!"

They laugh again.

Ha ha. Very funny. My mouth tightens, but I force myself to ignore them. It really isn't worth the hassle of responding.

"She really is stupid, isn't she?"

"Yes. It's a wonder she's even graduating on time. At least she can put chimney sweeping on her resume!"

Another mean giggle.

"I wonder if there are any job openings for chimney sweeps in the city?"

"I doubt it. Who would hire her when they could get a perfectly good robot to do a better job at half the price?"

They laugh again as they saunter away, probably off to spend more of my father's money. My face burns, a combination of rage and humiliation.

I lean against the brick, feeling utterly defeated, the fight leaving me as they move on.

This is it.

This is my life for the all the future I can see.

I don't know how I can handle it without the hope of escape to help lift me up. I might snap.

I sigh as I shove a stray lock of hair off my face, the strands gray from soot.

What am I going to do?