Ellie
“Ellie, how long are you gonna sleep? We had a deal!”
Ugh, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to peel my eyes open this morning. Now my roommate and best friend Natasha, who prefers to be called Tasha, is gonna grumble all day about how we’re always running behind. And it’s not even my fault that the romance plot in that book I was reading last night was so gripping I couldn’t put it down until I knew what happened next. Sure, it’s not the best excuse, but that’s just me—Ellie Umanets, in a nutshell.
Truth be told, I’m usually pretty responsible and almost never late, but come on, it’s Sunday. My body’s used to sleeping in forever on weekends, and now I’ve been totally blindsided. Tasha decided that today, of all days, she absolutely needs to update her wardrobe, and to get everything done, we have to leave by 9:00 a.m. sharp.
“I’m up, I’m up, don’t freak out!” I yelled back to her as I dragged myself to the bathroom to deal with the bags under my eyes.
“Breakfast is ready. By the way, your favorite coffee is getting cold, so I’d hurry up if I were you.”
Of course, after all these years of living together, Tasha knows exactly how to light a fire under me.
I’m obsessed with coffee, but only when it’s hot. I get that it’s summer, and tons of people are into iced coffee drinks right now, but not me. Even when it’s ninety degrees outside, I can’t resist my beloved cappuccino.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in our cozy, familiar kitchen, happily sipping my morning dose of caffeine.
Tasha and I have been living in this two-bedroom apartment for two years now. It’s not some fancy, designer-renovated place, but everything’s done with taste. The first time we walked in, we instantly felt at home, so we rented it on the spot. That was back in our fourth year of college. Before that, we shared a dorm room—that’s how we met.
By the way, the owner of the apartment is a young woman who was moving in with her boyfriend (now husband) at the time. Her name’s Sophia. We somehow ended up chatting with her pretty regularly. At first, it was just about apartment stuff, but then it naturally shifted to more personal things. Since then, this endless ball of energy has become an essential part of our little trio of girlfriends. We make quite the interesting group: me with my dark brown hair, Tasha the blonde, and Sophie with her fiery red locks. Whenever we’re out together, we always turn heads.
“Okay, first we’ll hit the stores, then spa treatments and a salon visit,” Tasha muttered to herself, making sure she didn’t forget anything. She’s got this habit of thinking out loud.
“Wait, hold up—what spa treatments? What salon? We agreed on just shopping. I was planning to chill a bit today before the workweek starts. With a schedule like that, we won’t get home until tonight,” I said, a little annoyed that I’m only hearing about this now, and by accident, no less.
“Ellie, come on, pretty please? It’s been forever since we’ve spent a proper day together like normal young women.”
Tasha gave me that look—the one that’s straight out of Puss in Boots from *Shrek*. It got to me, but I’m hoping I can convince her later to cut the day’s agenda down a bit.
Don’t get me wrong, I love staying active, but with my work schedule, all I dream about in my free time is my soft, comfy bed at home. I’ve been working as a restaurant administrator for two years now, and I barely managed to snag two days off in a row.
It’s a rough schedule, but I don’t have much of a choice. The pay’s good, and I’ve gotten close with my coworkers. From what I’ve heard from friends, that kind of workplace vibe is pretty rare.
I studied to be a choreographer. Dance is my passion, my love. I used to have another favorite thing in my life, but that’s in the past now. These days, it’s just dance. My teachers predicted a bright future for me in the cultural field, but after graduation, things didn’t go as planned. First, I had to keep traveling back home to my parents because my brother was in a terrible accident. My family needed my support. Then came auditions for various show ballets. I even performed at concerts for a famous singer, but I quickly realized it wasn’t for me.
My dream is to open my own dance studio, a place where anyone can unlock their potential. Age, profession—none of that matters. If someone has the desire to dance, I want to give them that chance.
But that takes money. A lot of money. No, scratch that—a TON of money. And little by little, I’m working toward my goal. I save most of my paycheck, and sometimes I pick up side gigs that my old college classmates throw my way. Basically, I’m not giving up.
But those are just dreams. Right now, I’ve gotta snap back to reality. And here I am, all ready to go. I threw on my favorite denim shorts and an oversized tee. My long, dark brown hair is down because it’s easier that way, and honestly, I’m sick of the tight ponytails and buns I have to wear for work. All that’s left is to dig out my Converse from the closet, and I’m good to go—before Tasha starts yelling across the apartment again.